NormalizeHEADmain

1 files changed, 0 insertions, 8737 deletions

diff --git a/old/54570-0.txt b/old/54570-0.txt
deleted file mode 100644
index 0254da4..0000000
--- a/old/54570-0.txt
+++ /dev/null
@@ -1,8737 +0,0 @@
-Project Gutenberg's An Old Man's Darling, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: An Old Man's Darling
-
-Author: Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
-
-Release Date: April 19, 2017 [EBook #54570]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN OLD MAN'S DARLING ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed
-Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy
-of the Digital Library@Villanova University
-(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-  An Old Man's Darling
-
-
-  BY
-
-  MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER
-
-  AUTHOR OF
-
-  "LITTLE COQUETTE BONNIE," "THE SENATOR'S BRIDE," ETC.
-
-
-  [Illustration]
-
-
-  NEW YORK
-
-  STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
-
-  238 WILLIAM STREET
-
-
-
-
-  Copyright, 1883,
-
-  By NORMAN L. MUNRO
-
-  Copyright, 1900,
-
-  By STREET & SMITH
-
-
-
-
-AN OLD MAN'S DARLING.
-
-BY MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER.
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS
-
-
-  CHAPTER I.
-  CHAPTER II.
-  CHAPTER III.
-  CHAPTER IV.
-  CHAPTER V.
-  CHAPTER VI.
-  CHAPTER VII.
-  CHAPTER VIII.
-  CHAPTER IX.
-  CHAPTER X.
-  CHAPTER XI.
-  CHAPTER XII.
-  CHAPTER XIII.
-  CHAPTER XIV.
-  CHAPTER XV.
-  CHAPTER XVI.
-  CHAPTER XVII.
-  CHAPTER XVIII.
-  CHAPTER XIX.
-  CHAPTER XX.
-  CHAPTER XXI.
-  CHAPTER XXII.
-  CHAPTER XXIII.
-  CHAPTER XXIV.
-  CHAPTER XXV.
-  CHAPTER XXVI.
-  CHAPTER XXVII.
-  CHAPTER XXVIII.
-  CHAPTER XXIX.
-  CHAPTER XXX.
-  CHAPTER XXXI.
-  CHAPTER XXXII.
-  CHAPTER XXXIII.
-  CHAPTER XXXIV.
-  CHAPTER XXXV.
-  CHAPTER XXXVI.
-  CHAPTER XXXVII.
-  CHAPTER XXXVIII.
-  CHAPTER XXXIX.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.
-
-
-    "The sea, the sea, the open sea;
-     The blue, the fresh, the ever free,"
-
-chanted the fresh and delicious voice of a young girl walking along the
-sands of the seashore in the summer sunshine at Cape May.
-
-"Cross my palm with silver, and I'll tell your fortune, bonnie maid,"
-said a cracked, discordant voice.
-
-The singer paused abruptly, and looked at the owner of the voice--a
-lean, decrepit old hag, who extended her withered hand imploringly.
-
-"Nay, now, good soul," answered she, with a merry laugh, "fortune will
-come to me anyway, even if I keep my silver piece."
-
-"Aye--aye, it will," said the old crone, wagging her head like a bird
-of evil omen; "it aye comes to faces as bonny as your own. But it's I
-that can tell you whether it be good or ill fortune."
-
-"Here, then," said the girl, still laughing, and putting a silver piece
-into the trembling old hand; "be cheerful, now, and tell me a brave
-fortune for my money."
-
-The old sibyl did not appear to relish the light and jesting tone
-of the other, and stood for a moment gazing at her in grave and
-portentous silence.
-
-What a contrast the two presented as they stood looking at each other!
-
-The girl was beautiful, with all the delicate freshness and slimness of
-eighteen. She was a dazzling blonde, with sea-blue eyes, and hair like
-spun gold falling beneath her jaunty sailor hat in long, loose curls
-to her graceful waist. She was fair as a lily, with a flush like the
-heart of a sea-shell on her round, dimpled cheeks. Her brow was fair
-and broad, and fringed with soft, childish rings of sunny hair. Her
-nose was small and straight; her mouth was curved like Cupid's bow, its
-short, exquisite upper lip lending a touch of archness to the patrician
-mold of her features. The small, delicately shaped hands and feet were
-in keeping with the rare beauty of her face and form. She was simply
-clad in a jaunty sailor costume of dark blue serge trimmed with white
-braid and pearl buttons, and carried a volume of poems in her gloved
-hand.
-
-As contrasted with this peerless beauty and youthful grace the old
-sibyl appeared hideous as a fiend beside an angel.
-
-She was diminutive in stature, and bent nearly double with the weight
-of years. Her scanty, streaming white hair was in odd contrast with
-the dark, parchment-like skin and jet-black eyes that sparkled with
-a keen and unnatural brightness. A wicked, malevolent expression was
-the prevailing cast of her wrinkled features, and her cheeks and lips
-having fallen in upon her toothless gums, converted her grim smile into
-a most Satanic grin. The dreadful old beldam was attired in a _melange_
-of ancient and faded finery, consisting of a frayed and dirty quilted
-satin petticoat and an overdress of rich brocade, whose original
-brilliant oriental hues were almost obliterated by time and ill-usage.
-She gathered these faded relics about her with a certain air of pride
-as she said to the young girl:
-
-"Sit ye down upon the stone there, and let me look at your palm."
-
-She was obeyed with a demure smile by the listener, who drew off her
-glove and presented the loveliest hand in the world for inspection--a
-lily-white hand, small, and dimpled, and tapering, with rosy palm and
-tips--a perfect hand that might have been enclosed in a glass case and
-looked at only as a "thing of beauty."
-
-The sibyl took that dainty bit of flesh and blood into her brown,
-wrinkled claws, and scanned it intently.
-
-"You are well-born," she said, slowly.
-
-"You can tell that much by the shape of my nose, I suppose," laughed
-the girl, mischievously.
-
-The old hag glanced at the elegant, aristocratic little member in
-question and frowned.
-
-"I can tell by your hand," said she, shortly: "Not but that it is
-written on your features also--for you are very beautiful."
-
-"Others have told me so before," said the girl, with her musical,
-light-hearted laugh.
-
-"Peace, will-'o-the-wisp!" said the old woman, sternly. "Do not pride
-yourself upon that fatal gift! You are lovely as an angel, but your
-beauty will be your _bane_."
-
-"But beauty wins _love_," cried the listener, artlessly, while a rosy
-blush stained her fair brow and cheeks.
-
-"Aye, aye, it wins love," was the crusty answer. "Your life will have
-enough of love, be sure. But beauty wins _hate_, too. The love that is
-lavished on you will be shadowed and darkened by the hate your fair
-face will inspire. Do not think you will be happy because you are
-beautiful. Years of wretchedness lie before you!"
-
-"Oh! no," said the girl, with an involuntary shiver.
-
-"It is true," said the sibyl, peering into the hand that she held. "If
-you could read this little pink palm as I do, you would go wild with
-the horror of it. The line of life is crossed with sorrows. Sorrow and
-shame lie darkly over your future."
-
-"Not _shame_," said the young girl, cresting her small head with a
-queenly gesture of pride. "Sorrow, perhaps; but never _shame_!"
-
-"It is written," answered the old woman, sharply. "Do you think to
-alter the decrees of fate with your idle words, proud girl? No, no;
-there will be a stain on the whiteness of your life that your tears can
-never wash out. Love and hate will brand it there. You will be a young
-man's bride, but an old man's darling."
-
-She paused, and a faint smile dimpled the young girl's cheek.
-Apparently the latter prediction did not seem to overwhelm her as the
-witch expected.
-
-"I have been an old man's darling all my life," she said gently. "I
-assure you it is very pleasant."
-
-"Girl, I meant not the tie of consanguinity," cried the sibyl, sharply.
-"You do not understand. Ah! you will know soon enough; for I tell you,
-girl, a cloud is gathering over your head; gathering swiftly to burst
-over you in a tempest of fury. Fly! Fly! Go and cast yourself into
-those raging Atlantic waves yonder, rather than breast the torrent of
-sorrow about to break upon your life!"
-
-Her voice had risen almost to a pitch of fury with the last words, and
-her eyes flashed as with the light of inspiration. She cast a strange
-look upon the trembling girl, and, dropping her hand abruptly, turned
-away, hobbling out of sight with a rapidity that scarcely seemed
-possible in one so stricken with age.
-
-The young girl, who a moment ago had seemed so blithe and _debonair_,
-sat still a few moments where the sibyl had left her, looking curiously
-into the pink palm from which such dire prophecies had been read. She
-looked like one dazed, and a slight pallor had momentarily usurped the
-rose tint on her cheek.
-
-"How earnestly the old creature talked," she murmured, musingly, "as
-if that horrid jargon of hers could be true. What is there in my hand
-but a few lines that mean nothing? She saw that I did not believe in
-her art, and predicted those dreadful things merely to punish me for my
-doubt. Heigho! I have never had a sorrow in my life and never expect to
-have one."
-
-She drew on her glove, and taking up her volume of poems, pursued her
-way along the shore, looking a little more thoughtful than when she had
-tripped that way a little while before singing in the lightness of her
-heart.
-
-After walking a short distance she paused, and selecting a shady seat,
-sat down where she could watch the blue waves of the ocean rolling in,
-crested with snowy foam, and the wild flight of the sea-birds wheeling
-in the sunny air, and darting down now and then for some object of
-prey their keen eyes discerned in the water. After watching these
-objects for awhile she grew weary, and, opening her book, began to read
-fitfully, turning the pages at random, as if only half her heart was in
-the task.
-
-She had been reading perhaps half an hour when the light dip of oars
-in the water saluted her ears. She looked up quickly and saw a fairy
-little skiff with one occupant coming around a curve of the shore
-toward her. The skiff was very dainty, with trimly cushioned seats. It
-was painted in shining blue and white, and bore around about the prow
-in letters of blue and gold, the fanciful name, "Bonnibel." The single
-occupant, a young man singularly handsome and resolute-looking, called
-out as he neared the shore:
-
-"I have borrowed your skiff very unceremoniously, Miss Vere; but since
-I have been detected in the theft, may I not persuade you to leave your
-lonely eyrie there, and accompany me in my little pleasure-trip this
-evening?"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.
-
-
-Bonnibel Vere closed her book and sprang up with a blush and smile of
-pleasure.
-
-"Of course you know that I cannot refuse the invitation," said she,
-brightly. "I am just dying to talk to some one."
-
-"Woman-like!" answered Leslie Dane, laughing, as he assisted her to a
-seat.
-
-"I suppose you never find your high majesty in a like predicament,"
-said she, rather pettishly, as the skiff swept out into the blue,
-encircling waves.
-
-He smiled at the childish air of offended dignity she assumed.
-
-"_Au contraire_," he answered, gaily, "it was only this evening that
-I was experiencing a like feeling. For instance, when I captured your
-skiff and set forth alone I was just dying to have you along with me
-to talk to. And now I have my wish and you have yours. We are very
-fortunate!"
-
-"Do you think so?" she inquired, carelessly. "If gratified wishes make
-one fortunate, then I have been fortunate all my life. Uncle Francis
-has never refused to indulge me in anything I ever set my heart upon."
-
-"He has been very kind, then, and you ought to be a very happy girl,"
-he answered; "yet you were looking rather grave and thoughtful this
-evening as I came around the curve. Was your book so very interesting?"
-
-"It failed to awaken an interest in me," she answered, simply, "for I
-was thinking of other things."
-
-"Of weighty and momentous matters, no doubt," he commented.
-
-"Perhaps so," she answered. "Come now, Mr. Dane, guess what I have been
-doing this evening."
-
-"It would be a hard task to follow the movements of so erratic a star
-as Miss Bonnibel Vere," he said in a light tone of railery, yet looking
-at her with all his manly heart in his large, dreamy, dark eyes. "Do
-not keep me in suspense, fair lady, this sultry evening. Confess."
-
-She looked up, and, meeting his ardent glance, dropped her eyes until
-the long, curling lashes hid them from view. A scarlet banner fluttered
-into her cheeks like a danger signal.
-
-"I have been getting my fortune told--there!" said she, laughing.
-
-"Whew!" said Mr. Dane in profound surprise. "Getting your fortune told!
-And by whom, may I ask?"
-
-"Oh, by a horrid old crone who stepped into my path on my way here and
-demanded a piece of silver and wished to foretell my future. Of course,
-I do not believe in such things at all, but I humored the poor old soul
-just for fun, you know, and a dreadful prediction she gave me for my
-money."
-
-"Let me hear it," said Leslie Dane, smiling.
-
-Bonnibel recounted the words and gestures of the old sibyl with patient
-exactness and inimitable mimicry to her interested listener.
-
-"It was Wild Madge, no doubt," said he, when she had finished. "I have
-seen her several times on the shore, and I made quite an effective
-picture of her once, though I dare say the old witch would want to
-murder me if she knew it. The gossips hereabouts assert that she can
-read the future very truly."
-
-"You do not believe it--do you?" asked she, looking up with a gleam of
-something like dread in her beautiful blue orbs.
-
-"Believe it--of course not," said he, contemptuously. "There were but
-two things she told you that I place any faith in."
-
-"What are they?" she questioned, anxiously.
-
-"I believe you will be an old man's darling, for I know you are that
-already. Your Uncle Francis loves the very ground you walk upon, to use
-a homely expression, and, Bonnibel," he paused, his voice lingering
-over the sound of her name with inexpressible tenderness.
-
-"Well?" she said, looking up with an innocent inquiry in her eyes.
-
-"And, Bonnibel--forgive my daring, little one--I believe you will be a
-young man's bride if you will let me make you such."
-
-They were spoken--words that had been trembling on his lips all these
-summer months, in which Bonnibel Vere had grown dearer to him than
-his own life--the words that would seal his fate! He looked at her
-imploringly, but her face was turned away, and she was trailing one
-white ungloved hand idly through the blue water.
-
-"Perhaps I am presumptuous in speaking such words to you, little one,"
-he continued, gently. "I am but a poor artist, with fame and fortune
-yet to win, and the world says that you will be your uncle's heiress.
-Yet I have dared to love you, Bonnibel--who could see you and not love
-you? Are you very angry with me, darling?"
-
-Still no answer from the silent girl before him. She kept her sweet
-face turned away from his gaze, and continued to play with the water as
-though indifferent to his words. He went on patiently, his full, manly
-voice freighted with deep emotion:
-
-"I am as proud as you in my way. Bonnibel, I do not ask to claim you
-now in my struggle with the world. I only ask you to remember me, and
-that when fame and fortune are both conquered, I may return to lay them
-at your feet."
-
-He paused and waited, thinking that she must be very angry indeed to
-avert her face so resolutely; but suddenly, with a ripple of silvery
-laughter, she turned and looked at him.
-
-Oh! the beauty of that face she turned upon him! It was fairly
-transfigured with love and happiness. It was bathed in brilliant
-blushes, tinted like the sunset red that was flushing the evening sky.
-A quivering smile played around her delicate lips, and two vivid stars
-of light burned in the blue deeps of her eyes.
-
-"Bonnibel," he cried, rapturously, "you are not angry; you forgive
-me--you will let me worship you, and you will love me a little in
-return?"
-
-"You are very presumptuous, Mr. Dane," said she, trying to frown away
-the smiles that danced around her lips.
-
-"Do not play with me, Bonnibel," he said, earnestly. "You are too
-young and innocent to play the coquette. Lay your little hand in mine,
-dearest, and promise that one day, though it may be years hence, you
-will be my wife."
-
-He dropped the oars, and suffered the fairy bark to drift at its own
-sweet will, while he reached his hand to hers. She hesitated one moment
-between girlish shyness and a mischievous love of teasing, but a swift
-look at the dark, eloquent face of her handsome lover conquered her.
-She laid her beautiful hand in his slender fingers, and murmured, in a
-tone of passionate tenderness:
-
-"Leslie, the greatest happiness the world holds for me is to be your
-wife!"
-
-Leslie Dane's dark eyes grew radiant with joy and pride.
-
-"My darling, my queen," he murmured. "A thousand thanks for that
-assurance! How can I thank you enough for giving me so much happiness?"
-
-"You have made me very happy, too, Leslie," said the girl, simply.
-
-"But what will your uncle say to us, do you think, Bonnibel?" said he,
-presently. "Will he not be angry with the portionless artist who dares
-to sue for this fairy hand?"
-
-"Oh! no," she said, innocently. "He has never denied me anything in his
-life. He will consent when he knows how much I love you. You must ask
-him this very evening to let us be engaged while you are away winning
-fame and fortune. He will not be angry."
-
-"I hope not," said the less sanguine lover. "But the sun is setting,
-darling. We must return."
-
-In the beautiful summer evening they rowed back through the blue waves,
-with the curlews calling above their heads, and the radiant sunset
-shining on the water with a brightness that seemed typical of the
-future which lay before their young and loving hearts.
-
-At length they anchored their boat, and stepped upon the shore in full
-view of a large and handsome white villa that stood in the middle of
-beautiful and well-kept grounds. Toward this abode of wealth and pride
-they directed their footsteps.
-
-"Uncle Francis is sitting out on the piazza," said Bonnibel, as they
-went up the smooth, graveled walk. "You must go right in and ask him,
-Leslie, while I run away up-stairs to dress for dinner."
-
-"Very well, dear. And--stay, darling, if I should not be here when you
-come back, run down to the shore after the moon is up, and I will tell
-you what answer your uncle gives my suit."
-
-"Very well; I will do so," she answered. "But I am sure that Uncle
-Francis will keep you to dinner, so I shall see you directly I come
-down."
-
-He pressed her hand and she tripped across the piazza into the hall,
-and then ran up the broad stair-way to her room with a lighter heart
-than ever beat in her breast again.
-
-Leslie Dane walked down the piazza to where Bonnibel's uncle and
-guardian, Francis Arnold, the millionaire, sat in his easy-chair
-puffing his evening cigar, and indolently watching the blue wreaths of
-smoke curling over his head.
-
-Mr. Arnold was a spare, well-made man of sixty-five, with iron-gray
-hair and beard. His well-cut features were sharp and resolute in
-contour, and betokened more sternness than Bonnibel Vere ever dreamed
-of in his unfailing tenderness to herself. He was elegantly dressed,
-and wore a costly diamond ring on his little finger.
-
-As the young man drew near, the stately millionaire arose and
-acknowledged his respectful greeting with considerable cordiality.
-
-"Ah! Dane, good-evening. Have a seat and join me in a cigar."
-
-"Thank you, I do not smoke," answered the young artist, politely, "but
-I am sorry to interrupt your enjoyment of that luxury."
-
-"It does not matter," said the millionaire, tossing his own cigar away
-and resuming his seat. "Sit down, Dane. Well, how do you get on with
-your pictures?"
-
-The dusky, handsome face lighted up with pleasure.
-
-"Famously, thank you. I have sold two little pictures in New York
-lately at quite a fair valuation, and the critics have praised them.
-They say I have genius and should study under the best masters."
-
-"Indeed! I congratulate you," said Mr. Arnold, cordially. "Do you think
-of taking their advice?"
-
-"I do. I shall sail for Rome very soon now, and study there a year
-or two," said Leslie, his features beaming with pleasure. "I believe
-I shall succeed in my ambition. I feel within myself the promptings
-of genius, and I know that my persistent labor will conquer fame and
-fortune."
-
-The elder man regarded him with some surprise. He had never seen him so
-enthusiastic on any subject before, even that of his beloved art.
-
-"You seem very sanguine and determined," he observed with a smile.
-
-"I _am_ determined," answered Leslie, gravely. "I mean to _conquer_
-success. You remember the hackneyed quotation:
-
-    "'In the proud lexicon of youth which fate reserves to a bright manhood,
-      There is no such a word as Fail!'"
-
-"I did not know you had such a towering ambition, Dane," said the
-millionaire, with a smile.
-
-"My ambition is no higher than my hopes, Mr. Arnold, for I have come
-here this evening to ask you for the hand of Miss Vere when I shall be
-in a position worthy of that high honor!"
-
-"Sir!"
-
-The word rolled out of the millionaire's mouth like a thunder-clap.
-
-He straightened himself in his chair, seeming to grow several inches
-taller, and his iron-gray hair seemed to stand erect on his head with
-indignant surprise. His keen gray eyes regarded Leslie Dane with a
-stony stare of surprise, bordering on contempt.
-
-"I have the sanction of your niece, Miss Vere, to ask of you her hand
-in marriage," repeated Leslie Dane, calmly.
-
-Mr. Arnold sprang to his feet, furious with rage, pale as death under
-the influence of this overmastering emotion.
-
-"Villain!" he cried out in loud, excited tones. "Do you mean to tell
-me that you have abused the confidence I reposed in your honor as a
-gentleman, to win the heart of that innocent, trusting child? You, a
-poor, penniless, unknown artist!"
-
-"I grant you I am poor, Mr. Arnold," answered Leslie Dane, rising and
-confronting his accuser with a mien as proud as his own. "But that I
-have abused your confidence, I deny! Bonnibel loves me as I love her,
-but I have taken no undue advantage to gain her love. You invited me
-here, and gave me every opportunity to cultivate her acquaintance. Can
-you wonder that I learned to love one so sweet and beautiful?"
-
-"I wonder at your presumption in telling her so!" flashed the angry
-guardian. "If you loved her you should have worshiped her from afar as
-a star too far away to warm you with its beams. By Jove! sir, do you
-know that Bonnibel Vere will be my heiress? Do you know that the best
-blood of the land flows in her veins? Do you know that her father was
-General Harry Vere, who fell bravely in battle, and left a record as
-proud as any in the land?"
-
-"General Vere's fame is not unknown to me, sir," answered Leslie,
-calmly. "I give him due honor as a hero. But, sir, my blood is as blue
-as Bonnibel's own! I belong to the noblest and best family of the
-South. True, we lost all our wealth by the late war, but we belong
-to the first rank yet in point of birth. I can give you perfect
-satisfaction on these points, sir. And for the rest, I do not propose
-to claim Bonnibel until I have realized a fortune equal to her own,
-and added fresh laurels to the name that is already crowned with bays
-in the far South, from whence I come. My father was an officer in the
-army, too, sir, and not unknown to fame."
-
-"We waste words," said the millionaire, shortly. "No matter what your
-birth, you were presumptuous in addressing my niece, knowing that
-your poverty must be an insuperable bar to your union. Perhaps it was
-her wealth you were after. The idea of making love to that child!
-She _is_ but a child, after all, and does not know her own mind. A
-simple, trusting child, ready to fall a prey to the first good-looking
-fortune-hunter that comes along."
-
-"Were it not for your gray hairs, Mr. Arnold, I should not permit you
-to apply such an insulting epithet to me!" flashed out Leslie Dane in a
-white heat of passion.
-
-"You provoked it, sir," cried the old man, wrathfully; "_you_ to try
-to win my little ewe-lamb from me. She, that her dying mother, my only
-sister, gave to my arms in her infancy as a precious trust. Do you
-think I would give her to you, or to any man who did not stand head and
-shoulders above his fellow-men in every point of excellence? Would I
-waste her sweet years waiting for you to grow worthy of her? No, no,
-Leslie Dane, you can never have my darling! She shall never give you
-another thought. Go, sir, and never darken my doors with your unworthy
-presence again!"
-
-He pointed to the door, and the young artist had no choice but to obey.
-He was trembling with passion, and his dark eyes blazed with a light
-not pleasant to see.
-
-"I obey you, sir," he said, proudly. "I go, but remember I do not give
-up my claim on Bonnibel! Sooner or later she shall yet be my wife! And,
-mark me, sir, you have done a bitter work to-day that you shall one day
-repent with all your soul."
-
-With the words he was gone, his tall, proud figure striding down the
-graveled walk, and disappearing in the twilight shadows.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.
-
-
-Mr. Arnold and his family, consisting only of his wife and
-step-daughter, Felise Herbert, were in their places at the table before
-Bonnibel came floating in, a vision of rosy, innocent loveliness.
-
-If she had been beautiful before in her plain blue walking-dress she
-was doubly so now in her soft white robe of India muslin, with fleecy
-trimmings of rich Valenciennes lace. A pale blue sash was knotted about
-her slender waist, and clusters of fragrant blue violets looped back
-her long golden curls. A golden chain and a cross studded with pearls
-was clasped about her white neck, though she scarcely needed such
-adornment. Her beauty was a crown in itself.
-
-She came in a little shyly, and blushing very much, for she expected to
-see her lover, and she glanced under her long lashes along the length
-of the table as she took her place, expecting to meet his adoring gaze.
-
-He was not there.
-
-The young girl scarcely knew what to think. She glanced at her uncle as
-if to enlighten herself.
-
-He was not looking at her; indeed, he seemed to avoid her glance
-purposely, and a moody frown was fixed upon his brow. Her aunt
-vouchsafed her a cold, unmeaning stare, and Felise Herbert's large
-black eyes dilated as she looked at Bonnibel as if with gratified
-malice.
-
-These two ladies, mother and daughter, deserve more than a passing
-mention at our hands. We will briefly describe them. Mrs. Arnold was a
-fine-looking brunette of about forty-five, and would have been rather
-handsome but for a settled expression of peevishness and discontent
-that rested upon her features. She was elaborately dressed in a soft
-summer silk of silver-gray trimmed in black lace, and wore very rich
-cameo jewelry.
-
-Miss Herbert was a younger and handsomer copy of her mother. She was
-tall and well-formed, with quite regular features, large black eyes,
-and silky braids of black hair. She was about twenty-five years old,
-and was becomingly dressed in a thin black grenadine, richly trimmed
-with satin of the color of old gold. Her ornaments were necklace,
-earrings, and bracelets of gold. Mr. Arnold could not complain of the
-beauty of his household, though his tastes in that particular were
-extremely refined.
-
-"Bonnibel," he said, when the dinner which had been discussed in most
-unusual silence was over, "come with me into the library. I have
-something to say to you."
-
-Bonnibel linked her arm fondly in his and they passed out together.
-
-Miss Herbert looked at her mother, and a glance of great significance
-passed between them, the expression of discontent on the elder lady's
-features now deepening to positive anger and hatred.
-
-"Yes," she said, as if answering her daughter's look; "go and hear what
-he has to say to the little witch!"
-
-Miss Herbert arose and passed out of the room with soft, subdued
-footfalls.
-
-Mrs. Arnold paced the floor restlessly, clenching her white hands
-angrily.
-
-"My clever, beautiful Felise," she murmured. "How my husband slights,
-and ignores her to lavish his whole affection upon that little hateful,
-yellow-haired child! After all my scheming to get him to love Felise,
-and at least divide his fortune between them, he boldly declared this
-evening to that young artist-fool that he would make Bonnibel his
-heiress. And Felise--she will have nothing but what I can give her
-out of my portion! which he will make as small as possible in order
-to enrich his idol. It is too bad--too bad! Something must be done to
-induce him to change his mind. I wish she would elope with Leslie Dane.
-That would alienate my husband from her forever."
-
-The entrance of the servants to clear the table interrupted her.
-She left the room, with its glitter of lights and glass, silver and
-flowers, and hurried away to her own luxurious apartments to nurse her
-wrath and jealousy in solitude.
-
-She hated Bonnibel Vere, and she hated her husband. He had married her
-twenty years ago, when she had palmed herself off upon him as a widow
-of high family and small means, while in reality she was a vulgar and
-penniless adventuress, having but one pure affection in her heart, and
-that her blind, idolatrous love for her spoiled and wayward little
-daughter.
-
-Francis Arnold had discovered the cheat practiced on him long ago, and
-though too proud to proclaim the secret to the world, the love he had
-felt for his handsome wife had changed into quiet contempt that stung
-her more than the loudest upbraidings.
-
-Her daughter, who was treacherous as a cat and vindictive as a snake,
-he simply hated, and no blandishments or persuasions could induce him
-to settle anything upon her, though the one object of the mother's
-heart was to secure his whole fortune for herself and Felise.
-
-We will pause in our contemplation of the ambitious woman's rage and
-follow Bonnibel and her uncle to the large, well-lighted, and elegant
-library.
-
-"Uncle," said the girl, going up to him as he sank into his easy-chair,
-and laying her hand caressingly on his cheek, "are you not well? You
-seem so strange, you do not smile on your little girl as usual."
-
-He was silent a moment as if struggling for words in which to express
-his grievance, then he broke out impetuously:
-
-"I am sick, little one, sick at heart. I have received a dreadful blow
-this evening--one that fairly stunned me!"
-
-"Dear uncle," said she, with innocent unconsciousness, "who was it that
-dared to wound you so?"
-
-"Bonnibel, it was Leslie Dane, the poor young artist whom I have
-patronized this summer because I pitied him! Darling, he had the
-audacious impertinence to ask me for this little hand!" he lifted it
-from his shoulder, where it rested fondly, and pressed it to his lips.
-
-But Bonnibel caught it away and started back from his side, her cheeks
-growing white and her blue eyes dilating.
-
-"What did you say to him?" she inquired, breathlessly.
-
-"I told him he was a worthless fortune-hunter, and I drove him forth
-with scorn and contempt," said the millionaire hotly.
-
-"You did--you did!" she cried, horror and incredulity struggling in her
-voice and face. "You insulted him thus? Why, Uncle Francis, I _love_
-him!"
-
-In those concluding words there was at once a protest and a defiance.
-It was as if she had felt and said that _her_ love should have been a
-sufficient shield and protection for him it clung around so fondly.
-
-"Pooh! nonsense!" said Arnold, trying a light tone of railery; "you are
-but a child, Bonnibel, you do not know what love means. Do you think I
-would suffer you to throw yourself away on that worthless fellow?"
-
-"He is not worthless," she cried out warmly. "He is noble, good and
-true, and I love him dearly. But, Uncle Francis," she said, suddenly
-changing her indignant tone to one of gentle entreaty, "surely you are
-only jesting and teasing your little girl, and I beg you not to use
-such dreadful language again, for you insult the man whom I love with
-my whole heart, and whom I shall one day marry."
-
-"Never! never!" he shouted madly. "Girl, you have been spoiled and
-indulged until you are silly enough to cry for the moon and expect me
-to pluck it from heaven for you! But I will save you from your folly
-this time. I will _never_ permit you to marry Leslie Dane!"
-
-It was the first time he had ever denied her anything in the course of
-her happy, care-free life. And now his cruel and resolute refusal of
-this new toy she wanted so much, absolutely stunned her and deprived
-her of speech.
-
-She sank into a chair helplessly, and looked at him with parted,
-tremulous lips, and with wild, astonished blue eyes. He saw how shocked
-and incredulous she was, and altering his tone, began to explain and
-argue with her:
-
-"My darling, Leslie Dane is no match for my little girl. He is poor and
-has nothing to recommend him but a handsome face, and a little talent
-for daubing with paints and pencils, while you are a beauty and an
-heiress, and can boast a proud descent. I have made my will, and it is
-there in my desk this moment. In it I have left you everything except
-one-third of my property, which my widow will legally inherit. Surely
-my generosity merits the one little return I ask of you. Simply that
-you will give up Leslie Dane."
-
-She looked up at him as he offered his costly bribe, and shook her head
-gravely.
-
-"You have been very kind to me always, uncle, I never knew you could be
-cruel until now. I thank you for your kind intention, but I will not
-give up Leslie for such a sordid bribe. Keep your money, and I will
-keep my love!"
-
-"I am not giving you the choice, girl," he answered, angrily. "I intend
-you to have the money whether you want it or not, and I have already
-said that you shall _never_ marry Leslie Dane."
-
-"And I say that I _will_ marry him!" she cried, springing up in a rage
-as passionate and unreasoning as his own, her blue eyes blazing with
-defiance. "You shall not prevent me! I love him better than any one
-else on earth, and I will marry him if I repent it every hour of my
-after life."
-
-So saying she rushed from the room, and pausing only to catch up a dark
-shawl and wrap it about her, she sped down the graveled walk on her way
-to seek her lover.
-
-She paused outside the gate, and crouching down, peered anxiously back
-to see if she was followed. The moon was up, shining brilliantly over
-everything. She saw her uncle come out on the piazza and drop into his
-favorite seat. Then the fragrance of a cigar floated out on the warm
-August air. Bonnibel hurried on down to the shore.
-
-Leslie Dane was waiting for her, pacing the sands impatiently in the
-soft moonlight.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.
-
-
-Bonnibel ran forward and threw herself on her lover's breast in a
-passion of tears.
-
-"You know all then, my darling?" holding her fast against his
-wildly-throbbing heart.
-
-She could not speak for the sobs that came heaving from her aching
-little heart.
-
-Bonnibel had never wept so wildly in all her life. It seemed to her
-that she would die of her grief as she lay panting and weeping in
-Leslie's tender arms.
-
-"Do not weep so, my little love," he whispered. "We were too sanguine
-of success. But try to bear it bravely, my Bonnibel. We both are young.
-We can bear to wait a few years until my success is assured, and then I
-will claim you for my own in spite of all the world!"
-
-Bonnibel did not answer. She continued to sob heart-brokenly, and
-Leslie could feel her little heart beating wildly against his breast as
-if it would burst with the strain of her grief.
-
-So absorbed was he in trying to comfort the agitated girl that he did
-not hear the sound of an approaching footstep.
-
-The next moment Wild Madge, the sibyl, stood before them, and the echo
-of her weird and mocking laugh blent strangely with the hollow beat of
-the Atlantic waves.
-
-"Aha," she cried discordantly. "You weep, my bonny maid! Ah! said I not
-that the clouds of sorrow hung low over that golden head?"
-
-Bonnibel started and clung closer to her lover, while a tremor shook
-her frame.
-
-Leslie turned angrily and rebuked the old woman.
-
-"Begone!" he said sternly. "How dare you come prowling about this lady
-with your croakings of evil? Never dare to address her again."
-
-Wild Madge retreated a few steps and stood looking at him malevolently
-in the moonlight. Again her laugh rang out mockingly.
-
-"Never fear, fond lover, Wild Madge would not harm a hair of that bonny
-head you shelter on your breast. But destiny is stronger than you or
-I. Her doom is written. Take the little maid in your arms and spring
-out into the sea there, and save her from the heart-aches that are
-beginning now!"
-
-"Begone, I say!" reiterated the young artist threateningly.
-
-"I obey you," said the sibyl, retreating, with her mocking, discordant
-laugh still ringing in their ears.
-
-"Bonnibel," he whispered, "look up, my sweet one. The crazy old
-creature is gone. You need not fear her predictions--they mean nothing!
-Try and calm yourself and listen to me. I have much to say to you
-to-night for it is the last time we shall meet until I come to claim
-my bride. In a few hours I must leave here. To-morrow I shall be on a
-steamer bound for Europe."
-
-"So soon?" she gasped brokenly, stifling her anguished sobs.
-
-"The sooner the better, darling. I must not dally here when I have so
-much work to do. Remember I have fame and fortune to conquer before we
-meet again!"
-
-"It will be so long," she moaned, slipping out of his arms and sinking
-down on the pebbly beach with her face hidden in her hands.
-
-Leslie picked up the shawl which had slipped from her shoulders and
-wrapped it carefully about her, for the sea-air was chilly and damp.
-
-"It may seem long to us now, dear," he said, sitting down beside her,
-"but in reality it will pass very quickly. I shall work very hard
-with such a prize in view, and I hope the time of our separation will
-not be long. I shall go at once to Rome and place myself under the
-best masters. I have genius, for I feel it within me, and the critics
-already admit it. Never fear, darling, but that my success will be
-speedy and sure."
-
-"But away off to Rome," said the girl. "Oh! Leslie, that seems as if
-you were going out of the world. Why need you go to Italy? Cannot you
-study here in this country?"
-
-"Not so well, my little love, as in Italy, where I can have better
-masters, and better facilities for studying the paintings of the
-world's greatest artists in the beautiful old churches and cathedrals.
-I must have the best instruction, for I want to make the name you will
-bear an honored one."
-
-She lifted her beautiful, tear-wet face in the moonlight, and said,
-gently and simply:
-
-"We need not wait for fame and fortune, Leslie. Take me with you now."
-
-For a minute Leslie Dane could not speak. She waited, _patiently_ for
-her, laying her hands in his, and looking up into his face with eyes
-beautiful enough to lead a man's heart astray and bewilder his reason.
-
-"My child," he said, presently, "I wish that I might do so, but you
-know not what you ask. You have been reared in the lap of luxury and
-pride. You could not live through the deprivation and poverty I must
-endure before I conquer success."
-
-"I could bear anything better than the separation from you, Leslie,"
-said the poor child, who had but the faintest idea what those two
-words, "poverty and privation," meant.
-
-"You think so, dear," said the artist, "because you do not know the
-meaning of poverty; but adversity would wither and destroy you as
-quickly as some hot-house blossom would die when transplanted to
-regions of ice and snow. No, darling, I am too proud to take you now
-in my obscurity and poverty. Let us wait until the name I can give you
-shall be an honor to wear."
-
-"It must be so if you wish it, Leslie," she answered, sadly; "but, oh,
-how can I bear the long separation when I love you so devotedly?"
-
-"It will not be for long, dearest--two or three years at best. The time
-will pass quickly to you in your happy home, under the devoted care
-of your Uncle Francis--only you must not permit him to alienate your
-affections from me, for that I am sure is his present intention."
-
-She was silent, resting her head against his supporting arm, and
-passing her small hand wearily over her brow as if to dispel some
-gathering mist from her sight. The solemn, mystical sound of the
-foam-capped waves breaking silently on the shore seemed strangely
-pathetic to her ears. They had never sounded so sad before.
-
-"Darling, of what are you thinking?" he asked, gently.
-
-She started and shivered, lifting her white face up to his with a look
-that nearly broke his heart, it was so pitifully pathetic. He had never
-seen anything but happiness on that beautiful face. Why had he won her
-love only to plant the thorns of sorrow in that fond and trusting heart?
-
-"Leslie, dear," she said, in a strangely altered voice, "do you believe
-in presentiments?"
-
-He started at the words.
-
-"Bonnibel," he answered, "I hardly know whether I do or not. It would
-be very superstitious to believe in such things, would it not? And
-yet may not a merciful Providence sometimes vouchsafe us warnings of
-things, as the Scotch say, 'beyond our ken'? My darling, why did you
-ask me that strange question?"
-
-He took her little trembling hand in his and looked searchingly into
-her face.
-
-"Leslie," she said, "I have such a strange feeling. Perhaps you will
-laugh at it. I should have laughed at it myself two hours ago."
-
-"Tell me, dear," he pleaded; "I will not even smile."
-
-She looked up with something like awe shining in her large eyes.
-
-"Leslie, I can hardly find words to put this strong presentiment in;
-but I feel that if we part now--like this--that before you win the
-honors you covet, some terrible bar of fate will come between us and
-sunder us so widely that we shall never meet again."
-
-The low, impressive words fell heavily on his heart, chilling it like
-ice. How strangely they sounded from his little Bonnibel, who but
-an hour ago was as gay as a butterfly in the sunshine. Now the very
-elements of tragedy were in her voice and face. A jealous pang struck
-him to the heart.
-
-"Bonnibel," he said, quietly, "do you mean that your uncle would marry
-you to someone else before I came back to claim you?"
-
-"I do not know," she said; "I hardly think my feeling was as clearly
-defined as that. It was a dim, intangible something I could not fathom,
-and took no peculiar shape. But he might try to do that, for, oh,
-Leslie! Uncle Francis is terribly angry with us both."
-
-"I am quite aware of that, my dearest," he answered, bitterly. "But,
-Bonnibel, this presentiment of yours troubles me. Perhaps I am foolish,
-but I have always been a half-way believer in these things."
-
-"Leslie, I believe it firmly," she said, choking back a sob that rose
-in her throat; "Uncle Francis will dig some impassable gulf between us.
-When we part to-night, it will be forever."
-
-Hiding her face on his shoulder she sobbed aloud. Poor little bonny
-bird! she had been soaring in the blue ether, her fair plumage bathed
-in sunshine all her life. Now her bright wings were clipped, and she
-walked in the shadow.
-
-"My love has only brought you sorrow," he said, regretfully.
-
-"No, no; you must not think so," she answered, earnestly. "It seems to
-me, Leslie, that I have never fully lived until this summer, when I met
-and loved you. Life has seemed to have a fuller, deeper meaning; the
-flowers have been sweeter, the sunshine fairer, the sound of the sea
-has seemed to have a voice that spake to me of happiness. If you had
-gone away from me with your love untold I should have missed something
-from my life forever. You do not guess what a wealth of love is in my
-heart, Leslie. It is not your love that brings me sorrow; it is the
-dreadful, dreadful parting with you!"
-
-He pressed her hand in silence. A terrible temptation had come to him.
-He was struggling mutely against it, trying to fight it down in all
-honor. But love and jealousy fought madly against white-handed honor.
-
-"If you leave her now, in her beauty and youth," whispered jealousy,
-"some other man will see that she is fair. She will forget you and wed
-another."
-
-"Make her your own _now_," whispered love.
-
-He was young and ardent; the warm blood of the South, whose flame
-burns so hotly, fired his veins. He looked at her sitting there so
-angelically fair in the beautiful moonlight, and knew that he should
-never love another as he loved this beautiful, innocent child. If she
-were lost to his future life what profit could he have in wealth and
-fame? Love and jealousy conquered.
-
-He drew her to his side with a passionate clasp, longing to hold her
-there forever.
-
-"Bonnibel," he whispered, "do not be frightened at what I am going to
-say. I am afraid that they will marry you to some other while I am gone
-away. Your uncle may persuade you against your will, may even bring
-force to bear with you. But there is one way in which we can bridge
-any gulf they may dig between us, darling. Will you marry me secretly
-to-night? I can leave you more willingly, then, knowing that no power
-can keep us apart when I come to claim you."
-
-"Marry you to-night?" gasped the child. "How can I do that, Leslie?"
-
-"Nothing easier, darling. Only a mile and a half from here is the
-little fishing village of Brandon. We can take your little skiff and
-go down, be married by the Methodist minister there, and return in a
-few hours, and then I can leave you without being haunted by a terrible
-foreboding of losing you forever. They will think you are asleep in
-your room at home, and no one will miss you or be the wiser for the
-precious little secret that we will keep sacredly until I come to claim
-my little wife. Bonnibel, will you make this great sacrifice for love?
-It will make our future happiness secure."
-
-"Yes," she whispered, without a moment's thought.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.
-
-
-The fairy little bark, the _Bonnibel_, swept blithely out into the
-moonlighted waves.
-
-Bonnibel tied her lace handkerchief over her head, and wrapped the
-shawl about her shoulders.
-
-Somehow her heart began to grow lighter. This moonlight flitting seemed
-so sweet and romantic.
-
-Her dark-eyed lover sitting opposite lightly swaying the oars looked
-handsome as a demi-god to her partial eyes. She trusted him implicitly.
-
-"The king can do no wrong," was her motto.
-
-"You shall never regret this step, never, my darling," Leslie Dane kept
-saying to her over and over, as if to soothe his conscience, which
-perhaps reproached him.
-
-And Bonnibel answered with a smile every time, "I never expect to
-regret it, Leslie, dear."
-
-His rapid strokes of the oar soon brought them to their destination.
-Brandon was a poor little fishing village consisting only of the
-rude huts of the fishermen, a little Methodist chapel, and a little
-parsonage down by the shore rather neater than the rest of the shanties.
-
-Here lived the aged minister and his kind old wife. Thither the young
-artist directed his steps with Bonnibel clinging to his arm.
-
-Fortunately they met no one on the way, and almost before they knew it
-they stood in the shabby "best room," which served the good man for
-study, library and parlor.
-
-There the minister sat with his books, and the good wife with her
-knitting.
-
-Leslie Dane drew the old man aside and they held a brief whispered
-colloquy. Apparently the young man made everything satisfactory, for in
-a minute he came back and led Bonnibel forward to breathe those solemn
-vows which are so quickly cemented but which death alone can sunder.
-
-Bonnibel was trembling very much, though the hitherto thoughtless child
-did not in the least realize the magnitude of the step she was taking.
-
-She only thought to herself how sweet it would be to be bound by that
-sacred tie to Leslie Dane, and she quivered from head to foot with
-pleasure, and with a certain indefinable nervousness she did not begin
-to understand, while the two old people stared at her in surprise at
-her radiant beauty and costly dress.
-
-The solemn words were soon spoken, Leslie making the responses firmly,
-and Bonnibel in a hushed little voice that was scarcely audible. The
-young man slipped a ring over her finger that he had always worn on
-his own, the minister blessed them, the good wife kissed the girl with
-tears in her eyes, for women always weep at a wedding. Then Leslie
-slipped a generous fee into the old man's hand, and led his blushing
-bride away.
-
-"God bless you, my darling, and may you always look back to this hour
-as the happiest one of your life," he whispered, as he put her into
-the little skiff and kissed her beautiful lips with an outburst of
-passionate tenderness.
-
-"I wish you the same happiness, Leslie," whispered the happy little
-bride.
-
-"In a little while now we shall be parted," said he; "oh, my Bonnibel,
-how much easier the parting will be when I know that I am leaving my
-wife behind me--my wife whom no one can keep from me when I come for
-her."
-
-"It was a happy thought of yours to bind me thus," answered the young
-bride, softly. "Now that grim presentiment will haunt me no more, and
-Uncle Francis cannot hurt me with his threats or his coldness while I
-have this precious secret in my heart."
-
-"Bonnibel," he said, anxiously, "in some moments of defiance you may
-feel tempted to taunt him by the betrayal of our marriage; but I
-implore you do not yield to the temptation. More serious consequences
-may follow than you dream of. Let our secret be a dead secret until I
-give you leave to proclaim it."
-
-"I will never reveal it, Leslie, I give you my solemn word of honor,"
-replied Bonnibel, earnestly.
-
-"Thanks dearest. I only asked the promise because I knew it was for the
-best. Darling, I shall think of you always while I am absent, and I
-will write to you very often. Will you write to me sometimes, and let
-me know that you are well and happy?"
-
-"I will write to you often and let you know that I am well; but I can
-never be happy while I am separated from you, Leslie," she said, sadly.
-
-"Bonnibel, how beautiful you look in that white dress," he said,
-changing the conversation abruptly, seeing that it pained her. "You
-were the finest bride I ever saw."
-
-"It is a pretty dress," she said, looking down at the soft mass of
-muslin and lace; "but I little thought when I put it on for dinner this
-evening that it would be my bridal dress. I shall always love this
-dress, Leslie. I will keep it always in memory of to-night."
-
-Both were silent after a little while, till Leslie said, abruptly:
-
-"Bonnibel, I wish I knew of what you are thinking so intently."
-
-"I was hardly thinking at all," she said, quickly. "Some verses were
-running through my mind that I read this evening in Jean Ingelow's
-pretty poems. I hardly understood them then, but they seem to suit my
-feelings now."
-
-"Let me hear them," said Leslie.
-
-"I cannot recall them, except the last verse. The poem was called
-'Divided,' and the last verse, which is all that I clearly recollect,
-ran thus:
-
-    "'And yet I know, past all doubting truly--
-        A knowledge greater than grief can dim--
-      I know as he loved he will love me duly,
-        Yea, better, e'en better than I love him.
-      And as I walk by the vast, calm river,
-        The awful river so dread to see.
-      I say, thy breadth and thy depth forever
-        Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.'"
-
-"Beautiful," said Leslie, as the full voice, tremulous with newly
-awakened feeling died away. "You must always recall those lines when
-you think of me, my little one."
-
-The keel grated on the shore. Leslie looked at his watch in the
-moonlight.
-
-"It is later than I thought," he said, hurriedly, as he helped Bonnibel
-out upon the shore. "I have but fifteen minutes to reach the station.
-Darling, I must go to-night, though it nearly kills me to leave you."
-
-She turned quivering and weeping, to throw herself upon his breast.
-
-"Darling, you are not afraid to go to the house alone?" he whispered.
-"My time is so short!"
-
-"No, no," she said. "But, Leslie, how _can_ I let you go?"
-
-"'Tis but a little while," he answered, soothingly. "Be brave, my
-precious darling!"
-
-He drew her to his heart with a long, despairing embrace, and kissed
-her passionately.
-
-"My little love, my own sweet _wife_, good-bye!" he faltered, and was
-gone.
-
-Bonnibel threw out her yearning arms as if she would draw him back,
-then turned and staggered homeward.
-
-"I _will_ be brave," she murmured. "I will try to bear it, but, oh,
-this pain at my heart."
-
-She opened the gate and went softly up the walk. It was almost
-midnight, and she began to wonder if the doors would be locked.
-
-"If they are I shall have to get in through the window," she said to
-herself.
-
-But as she stepped on the piazza she saw the front door open and her
-uncle sitting motionless in his easy chair.
-
-"Poor dear," she thought, with a thrill of regretful tenderness, and
-forgetting herself entirely. "He has fallen asleep in his chair and
-they have all forgotten him. I will wake him with a kiss."
-
-He lay with his head thrown back, apparently fast asleep. Gliding
-softly along, she threw her arm about his neck and, bending over,
-pressed her sweet lips to his brow.
-
-She started back with a shiver and looked at him. The brow she had
-kissed was cold as ice. Her hand fell down upon his breast and came in
-contact with something wet and cold. She lifted her hand and saw upon
-it in the moonlight a dark stain.
-
-"Uncle!" she screamed, "oh, God, uncle, wake up!"
-
-That wild scream of agony roused the house. The servants came rushing
-out, but before they reached her Bonnibel had fallen fainting at her
-uncle's feet. The beautiful white dress she had promised to keep in
-memory of that night was all dabbled and stained in a pool of his
-life-blood that had dripped down upon the floor.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.
-
-
-Francis Arnold was dead. The soul of the proud millionaire, the
-disappointed husband, the loving uncle, had been hurried prematurely
-before the bar of Eternal Justice. In the stillness of the summer night
-while he rested in fancied security beneath his own roof-tree, the
-angel of sleep pressing down his weary eye-lids, the deadly destroyer
-had crept to his side, and red-handed murder had struck the cowardly
-blow that spilled his life blood.
-
-They came hurrying out--the servants first, the wife next, the
-step-daughter last--all roused by that piercing shriek of agony--and
-found him sitting there dead, with Bonnibel lying lifeless at his feet,
-her white robes dabbled and stained in the blood upon the floor.
-
-They brought lights and looked at him. Yes, he was cold and dead. There
-was a great scarlet stain on his white vest where the deadly weapon had
-entered his heart. The blood had dripped down in a great pool upon the
-floor and was fast stiffening on his garments.
-
-Mrs. Arnold shrieked aloud and went into horrible hysterics, laughing
-wildly and maniacally, and tearing her hair from its fastenings; but
-Felise Herbert stood still as a statue of horror, looking at the dismal
-scene. Her pale face was paler than ever, and her large, black eyes
-looked wildly about her. She made no effort to arrest her mother's
-frenzied cries, but stood still as if frozen into ice, while the maids
-lifted up the still form of poor Bonnibel and carried her through the
-drawing-room window, laying her down gently, and applying restoratives.
-
-Life came swiftly back to her under their influence. She lifted her
-head, and opened her eyes upon the faces around her just as a shrill
-and piercing whistle announced the departure of the train which was
-bearing her young husband away from her for years--perhaps forever.
-
-Bonnibel sprang up and went out on the piazza again. As she stepped to
-the side of that lifeless form, Felise Herbert, just waking from her
-apparent trance of horror, waved her hands in the air, and cried out
-solemnly and sepulchrally:
-
-"Oh, Heaven! It is Leslie Dane who has done this dreadful deed. That
-was what he meant by his dark threats this evening!"
-
-"Leslie Dane has killed him!" echoed her mother, wildly.
-
-"It is false, woman! How dare you accuse him of such a deed?" Bonnibel
-cried out fiercely, wild with grief and horror; then suddenly she
-looked at the half-dazed men-servants standing around their master
-helplessly.
-
-"Idiots!" she cried, "why do you stand here idle? Why does not some one
-bring a doctor? Perhaps he is not dead yet--he may be revived."
-
-They brought a physician at her bidding, but when he came his services
-were needed for her, not for the pale corpse down stairs that would
-nevermore want the physician's potent art. They had taken her by force
-to her room, where she was wildly walking the floor, wringing her hands
-and raving over her loss.
-
-"You are dead, Uncle Francis," she cried, passionately; "you will never
-speak to me again. And I had left you in anger. We never quarreled
-before--never! And without a good-bye kiss, without a forgiving word,
-you are gone from me into the darkness of death! They have killed you,
-my dear one!--who could have been so cruel?--and you will never know
-how I loved you, and that I forgave you for your cruelty so soon, or
-that I wished to be reconciled. Oh, God! Oh, God!"
-
-She told her story frankly to the good old doctor when he came and
-questioned her. She and her uncle had quarreled because he had denied
-her a darling wish. She had rushed out of the house in a fit of anger,
-and moped about the seashore until late into the night. Then she had
-returned, and seeing him sitting there on the piazza she had felt her
-anger melting into tenderness, and stolen up to give him the kiss of
-reconciliation, but found him cold and dead.
-
-She told the same story when the inquest was held next day, blushing
-crimson when they asked her what she and her uncle had quarreled over.
-
-"It was a purely personal matter," she answered, hesitatingly. "Is it
-necessary to reveal it?"
-
-They told her it was necessary.
-
-"He refused to sanction my engagement to my lover, and drove him away
-from the house with cruel, insulting words," she answered briefly
-through her tears and blushes.
-
-"And you were very angry with your uncle?"
-
-"Yes; for a little while," she answered frankly; "but when I came back
-to the house I was ready to forgive him and be friends with him again.
-He had never been unkind to me before, but indulged me in every wish,
-and petted me as my own father might have done had he lived. I was
-almost wild at first with surprise and anger at the first denial I had
-ever received from him; but I soon overcame my indignant feelings, and
-when I came back to the house I loved him as fondly as ever."
-
-She left the room immediately after giving in her evidence, overcome
-with grief and emotion, and going to her room, threw herself down upon
-the bed, from which she did not rise again for many weeks. Grief and
-excitement precipitated her into a brain fever, and for many days life
-and death fought persistently over their unhappy victim.
-
-Had she known what would take place after she left the room she would
-have remained until the inquest was over. Felise Herbert and her mother
-boldly declared their belief that Leslie Dane was the murderer of Mr.
-Arnold. From the drawing-room windows which opened out on the piazza
-they had overheard the conversation between the two men relative to
-Bonnibel, and they detailed every word, maliciously misrepresenting
-Leslie Dane's indignant words so as to place the worst construction
-upon them. One or two of the servants had heard also, and from all the
-testimony elicited the jury readily found a verdict of willful homicide
-against Leslie Dane, and a warrant was issued for the young man's
-arrest.
-
-But poor little Bonnibel, tossing up-stairs in her fevered delirium,
-knew nothing of all this. If she had known she might easily have
-cleared her lover from that foul charge by proving that he had been
-with her during those fatal hours in which Mr. Arnold had met his death.
-
-It remained for her to prove his innocence at a darker hour than this,
-and at the sacrifice of much that she held dear.
-
-Mr. Arnold's body was carried to his winter residence in New York, and
-buried from thence with all the pomp and splendor due to his wealth
-and station. Felise and her mother, of course, accompanied the remains.
-
-The housekeeper at the seaside home was left in charge of the hapless
-Bonnibel, who lay sick unto death in her luxurious chamber, tended
-carefully by hirelings and strangers, but with never one kiss of love
-to fall on her fevered brow in sympathy and tenderness.
-
-Love had gone out of her life. With the young husband adrift now on the
-wide sea, and the kindly uncle lying in his gory grave, love had gone
-away from her.
-
-She had no kindred now from whom to claim tenderness or care, so only
-hirelings were left to watch the spark of life flickering so feebly
-day by day, that it seemed as if it must surely go out in darkness.
-They were all who heard the wild, passionate appeals for Leslie and
-Uncle Francis that were always on the sufferer's lips as she babbled
-incoherently in her wild delirium.
-
-Mrs. Arnold and Felise remained in New York for several weeks,
-attending to business affairs and superintending the making up of very
-fashionable and cumbrous mourning.
-
-Mrs. Arnold did not provide any of this raiment for Bonnibel. She
-sincerely hoped that the girl would die of her fever and preclude the
-necessity of so doing.
-
-But youth is very tenacious of life. Bonnibel, in her illness and
-desolation, would willingly have died to please her aunt, but destiny
-had decreed otherwise.
-
-There came a cool, still night in September when the nurses hung
-carefully around the bed waiting for the crisis that the doctor had
-said would come at midnight. It came, and the reaper, Death, with his
-sickle keen, passed by on the other side.
-
-In the meanwhile outraged justice was on the _qui vive_ for the escaped
-homicide, Leslie Dane. It was rumored that he had sought refuge in
-a foreign land, but nothing definite could be learned regarding his
-mysterious whereabouts.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.
-
-
-October winds were blowing coolly over the sea before Bonnibel Vere
-arose from her sick-bed, the pale and wasted shadow of her former rosy
-and bewildering self.
-
-She had convalesced but slowly--too slowly, the physician said, for one
-of her former perfect health and fine constitution. But the weight of
-grief hung heavily upon her, paralyzing her energies so completely that
-the work of recuperation went on but slowly.
-
-Two months had elapsed since that dreadful night in which so much had
-taken place--her secret marriage and her uncle's murder.
-
-She should have had a letter from her young husband ere this, but it
-was in vain that she asked for the mail daily. No letter and no message
-came from the wanderer, and to the pangs of grief were added the
-horrors of suspense and anxiety.
-
-A look of weary, wistful waiting crept into the bonnie blue eyes that
-had of old been as cloudless and serene as the blue skies of summer.
-The rose forgot to come back to her cheek, the smile to her lips. The
-shadow of a sad heart was reflected on her beauty.
-
-    "Upon her face there was the tint of grace,
-     The settled shadow of an inward strife,
-     And an unquiet drooping of the eye,
-     As if its lid were charged with unshed tears."
-
-The first day she sat up Mrs. Arnold came in to see her. She had only
-returned from the city a few days before and was making preparations to
-go back for the winter season. She sent the nurse away, saying that she
-would sit with Miss Vere a little while herself.
-
-It was a lovely day, warm and sunny for the season, and Bonnibel sat in
-her easy-chair near the window where she could look out upon the wide
-expanse of the ocean with its restless blue waves rolling in upon the
-shore with a solemn murmur. She loved the sea, and was always sorry
-when the family left their beautiful home, Sea View, for their winter
-residence in the city.
-
-"You have grown very thin, Bonnibel," said her aunt, giving her a very
-scrutinizing glance, as she reclined in her chair, wrapped in a warm,
-white cashmere dressing gown, to which her maid had added a few bows of
-black velvet in token of her bereavement. "It is a pity the doctor had
-to shave your hair. You look a fright."
-
-Bonnibel put her hand up to her brow and touched the soft, babyish
-rings of gold that began to cluster thickly about her blue-veined
-temples.
-
-"It is growing out again very fast," she said; "and it does not matter
-any way. There is no one to care for my looks now," she added, thinking
-of the uncle and the lover who had doted so fondly on her perfect
-loveliness.
-
-"It matters more than you think, Bonnibel," said Mrs. Arnold, sharply,
-the lines of vexation deepening in her face. "It behooves you to be as
-beautiful as you can now, for your face is your fortune."
-
-"I do not understand you, aunt," said the young girl, gravely.
-
-"It is time you should, then," was the vexed rejoinder, "I suppose you
-think now, Bonnibel, that your poor uncle has left you a fortune?"
-
-Bonnibel looked at her in surprise, and the widow's eyes shifted
-uneasily beneath her gaze.
-
-"Of course I believe that Uncle Francis has provided for my future,"
-said the girl, quietly.
-
-"You are mistaken, then," snapped the widow; "Mr. Arnold died without a
-will and failed to provide for either you or Felise. Of course, in that
-case, I inherit everything; and, as I remarked just now, your face is
-your fortune."
-
-"My uncle died without a will!" repeated Bonnibel in surprise.
-
-"Yes," Mrs. Arnold answered, coolly.
-
-"Oh, but, aunt, you must be mistaken," said Bonnibel, quickly, while a
-slight flush of excitement tinted her pale cheeks. "Uncle Francis did
-leave a will. I am sure of it."
-
-"Then where is it?" inquired Mrs. Arnold.
-
-"In his desk in the library," said the girl confidently. "He told
-me but a few hours before his death that he had made his will, and
-provided liberally for me, and he said it was at that minute lying in
-his desk."
-
-"Are you sure you have quite recovered from the delirium of your
-fever?" inquired the widow, scornfully. "This must be one of the
-vagaries of illness."
-
-"I am as sane as you are, madam," said Bonnibel, indignantly.
-
-"Perhaps," sneered Mrs. Arnold, rustling uneasily in the folds of
-her heavy black crape. "However that may be, no will has been found,
-either in the desk or in the hands of his lawyer, where it should most
-probably be. The lawyer admits drawing one up for him years ago, but
-thinks he must have destroyed it later, as no trace of it can be found."
-
-"I have nothing to live upon, then," said Bonnibel, vaguely.
-
-She did not comprehend the extent of the calamity that had fallen
-upon her. Her sorrow was too fresh for her mind to dwell upon the
-possibilities of the future that lay darkly before her.
-
-"You have absolutely nothing," repeated Mrs. Arnold, grimly. "Your
-father left you nothing but _fame_; your uncle left you nothing but
-_love_. You will find it difficult to live upon either."
-
-Bonnibel stared at her blankly.
-
-"You are utterly penniless," Mrs. Arnold repeated, coarsely.
-
-"Then what am I to do?" asked the girl, gravely, twisting her little
-white hands uneasily together.
-
-"What do you suppose?" the lady inquired, with a significant glance.
-
-A scarlet banner fluttered into the white cheeks of the lovely invalid.
-The tone and glance of the coarse woman wounded her pride deeply.
-
-"You will want me to go away from here, I suppose," she answered,
-quietly.
-
-Mrs. Arnold straightened herself in her chair, and to Bonnibel's
-surprise assumed an air of wounded feeling.
-
-"There, now, Bonnibel," said she, in a tone of reproach, "that is just
-like you. I never expected that you, spoiled child as you are, would
-ever do me justice; but do you think I could be so unfeeling as to cast
-you, a poor orphan child, out upon the cold charity of the world?"
-
-Bonnibel's guileless little heart was deceived by this dramatic
-exhibition of fine feeling. She began to think she had done her uncle's
-wife injustice.
-
-"Forgive me, aunt," she answered, gently. "I did not know what your
-feelings would be upon the subject. I know my uncle intended to provide
-for me."
-
-"But since he signally failed to do so I will see that you do not
-suffer," said the widow, loftily; "of course, I am not legally
-compelled to do so, but I will keep you with me and care for you the
-same as I do for my own daughter, until you marry, which, I trust,
-will not be long after you lay aside your mourning. A girl as pretty
-as you, even without fortune, ought to make an early and advantageous
-settlement in life."
-
-The whiteness of the girl's fair, childish face was again suffused with
-deep crimson.
-
-"I shall never marry," she answered, sadly, thinking of the
-lover-husband who had left her months ago, and from whose silence she
-felt that he must be dead; "never, never!"
-
-"Pshaw!" said Mrs. Arnold, impatiently; "all the girls talk that way,
-but they marry all the same. I should be sorry to have to take care of
-you all your life. I expect you and Felise to marry when a suitable
-_parti_ presents himself. My daughter already has an admirer in New
-York whom she would do well to accept. He is very old, but then he is a
-millionaire."
-
-She arose, stately, handsome and dignified.
-
-"Felise and I return to New York Saturday," she said. "Will you be
-strong enough to accompany us?"
-
-"I am afraid not," said Bonnibel, faintly.
-
-"Very well. Your maid and the housekeeper will take care of you in our
-absence. I will send you a traveling suit of mourning, and when you
-feel strong enough you can come to us."
-
-"Yes, madam," Bonnibel answered, and the wealthy widow left the room.
-
-So in a few weeks after, while nature was putting off her gay livery
-and donning winter hues, Bonnibel laid aside the bright garments she
-had been wont to wear, as she had already laid aside the joy and
-gladness of her brief spring of youth, and donning the black robes of
-bereavement and bitterness,
-
-    "Took up the cross of her life again,
-     Saying only it might have been."
-
-The day before she left Sea View she went down to the shore to have a
-parting row in her pretty little namesake, the _Bonnibel_.
-
-She had delayed her return to the city as long as possible, but now she
-was growing stronger she felt that she had no further excuse to dally
-in the home she loved so well, and which was so inseparably connected
-with the two beloved ones so sadly lost--the uncle who had gone away
-from her through the gates of death, and the young husband who seemed
-separated from her just as fatally by time and distance.
-
-As she walked slowly down to the shore in the beautiful autumnal
-sunshine it seemed to her they both were dead. No message came to her
-from that far Italy, which was the beloved Mecca of Leslie's hopes and
-aspirations. He had never reached there, she told herself. Perhaps
-shipwreck and disaster had befallen him on the way.
-
-No thought of his forgetfulness or falsity crossed the mind of the
-loyal little bride. It seemed to her that death was the only thing that
-could have thrown that strange gulf of silence between their hearts.
-
-She sprang into the little skiff--one of her uncle's loving gifts to
-his niece--and suffered it to drift out into the blue waves. A fresh
-breeze was blowing and the water was rather rough. The breeze blew the
-soft, short rings of gold merrily about her white temples where the
-blue veins were seen wandering beneath the transparent skin.
-
-The last time she had been out rowing her hair had flouted like a
-banner of gold on the breeze, and her cheek had glowed crimson as the
-sunny side of a peach.
-
-Now the shorn locks and the marble pallor of her cheeks told a
-different story. Love and beauty had both left her, she thought,
-mournfully. Yet nature was as lovely as ever, the blue sky was mirrored
-as radiantly in the blue sea, the sunshine still shone brightly, the
-breeze still whispered as tenderly to its sweethearts, the flowers. She
-alone was sad.
-
-She stayed out a long while. It was so sunny and warm it seemed like a
-summer instead of an autumn day. The sea-gulls sported joyously above
-the surface of the water, now and then a silvery fish leaped up in the
-sunshine, its scales shining in beautiful rainbow hues, and shedding
-the crystal drops of spray from its body like a shower of diamonds, and
-the curlew's call echoed over the sea. How she had loved these things
-in the gay and careless girlhood that began to seem so far away in the
-past.
-
-"That was Bonnibel Vere," she said to herself, "the girl that never
-knew a sorrow. I am Bonnibel Dane, whose life must lie forever in the
-shadow!"
-
-She turned her course homeward, and as she stepped upon the shore she
-picked out a little blue sea-flower that grew in a crevice of the rock,
-and stood still a moment looking out over the blue expanse of ocean,
-and repeating some pretty lines she had always loved:
-
-    "'Tis sweet to sit midst a merry throng
-     In the woods, and hear the wild-bird's song;
-     But sweeter far is the ceaseless dirge,
-     The music low of the moaning surge;
-     It frets and foams on the shell-strewn shore,
-     Forever and ever, and evermore.
-     I crave no flower from the wood or field,
-     No rare exotic that hot-beds yield;
-     Give me the weeds that wildly cling,
-     On the barren rocks their shelter fling;
-     Those are the flowers beloved by me--
-     They grow in the depths of the deep blue sea!"
-
-A sudden voice and step broke on her fancied solitude. She turned
-quickly and found herself face to face with the wandering sibyl, Wild
-Madge.
-
-The half-crazed creature was, as usual, bare-headed, her white
-locks streaming in the air, her frayed and tattered finery waving
-fantastically about her lean, lithe figure. She looked at Bonnibel with
-a hideous leer of triumph.
-
-"Ah maiden!" she cried--"said I not truly that the bitter waters of
-sorrow were about to flow over you? You will not mock the old woman's
-predictions now."
-
-Bonnibel stood silent, gazing in terrified silence at the croaking old
-raven.
-
-"Where is the gay young lover now?" cried Wild Madge laughing wildly.
-"The summer lover who went away before the summer waned? Is he false,
-or is he dead, maiden, that he is not here to shelter that bonny head
-from the storms of sorrow?"
-
-"Peace, woman," said Bonnibel, sadly. "Why do you intrude on my grief
-with your unwelcome presence?"
-
-"Unwelcome, is it, my bonnie bird? Ah, well! 'tis but a thankless task
-to foretell the future to the young and thoughtless. But, Bonnibel
-Vere, you will remember me, even though it be but to hate me. I tell
-you your sorrows are but begun. New perils environ your future. Think
-not that mine is but a boasted art. Those things which are hidden from
-you lie open to the gaze of Wild Madge like a painted page. She can
-read your hands; she can read the stars; she can read the open face of
-nature!"
-
-"You rave, poor creature," said Bonnibel, turning away with a shiver of
-unreasoning terror, and pursuing her homeward way.
-
-Wild Madge stood still on the shore a few minutes, looking after the
-girl as her slim, black-robed figure walked away with the slow step of
-weakness and weariness.
-
-"It is a bonny maid," she said, aloud; "a bonny maid. Beautiful as an
-angel, gentle as a dove. But beauty is a gift of the gods, and seldom
-given for aught but sorrow."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.
-
-
-When Bonnibel arrived in New York the day after her rencontre with the
-sibyl, she found her uncle's fine carriage in waiting for her at the
-depot. Mrs. Arnold, though she would gladly have cast the girl off, was
-too much afraid of the world's dictum to carry her wishes into effect.
-She determined, therefore, that society should have no cause to accuse
-her of failing in kindness to her husband's orphan niece. She knew well
-what disapprobation and censure a contrary course would have created,
-for the beautiful daughter of the famous General Vere, though she had
-not yet been formally introduced to society, was widely celebrated for
-her grace and beauty, and her _debut_, while she had been considered
-her uncle's heiress, had been anticipated with much interest. Of course
-her penniless condition now would make a great difference in the eyes
-of the fickle world of fashion, but still Mrs. Arnold knew that nothing
-could deprive Bonnibel of the prestige of birth and rank. The young
-mother who had died in giving her birth, had been one of the proud and
-well-born Arnolds. Her father, a gay and gallant soldier, though he had
-quickly dissipated her mother's fortune, had yet left her a prouder
-heritage than wealth--a fame that would live forever in the annals of
-his country, perpetuating in history the name of the chivalrous soldier
-who had gallantly fallen at the head of his command while engaged in
-one of the most gallant actions on record.
-
-So Bonnibel found a welcome, albeit a chilling one, waiting for her in
-Mrs. Arnold's grand drawing-room when she arrived there cold and weary.
-The mother and daughter touched her fingers carelessly, and offered
-frigid congratulations upon her recovery. Mrs. Arnold then dismissed
-her to her own apartments to rest and refresh her toilet under the care
-of her maid.
-
-"You need not be jealous of her youth and beauty any more, Felise,"
-said Mrs. Arnold complacently to her daughter. "She has changed almost
-beyond recognition. Did you ever see such a fright?"
-
-Felise Herbert, hovering over the bright fire that burned on the marble
-hearth, looked up angrily.
-
-"Mother, you talk like a fool," she said, roughly. "How can you fail to
-see that she is more beautiful than ever? She only looked like a great
-wax doll before with her pink cheeks and long curls. Now with that
-new expression that has come into her face she looks like a haunting
-picture. One could not forget such a face. And mourning is perfectly
-becoming to her blonde complexion, while my olive skin is rendered
-perfectly hideous by it. I see no reason why I should spoil my looks
-by wearing black for a man that was no relation of mine, and whom I
-cordially hated!"
-
-Mrs. Arnold saw that Felise was in a passion, and she began to grow
-nervous accordingly. Felise, if that were possible, was a worse woman
-than her mother, and possessed an iron will. She was the power behind
-the throne before whom Mrs. Arnold trembled in fear and bowed in
-adoration.
-
-She hastened to console the angry girl.
-
-"I think you are mistaken, my dear," she said. "I cannot see a
-vestige of prettiness left. Her hair is gone, her color has faded,
-and she never smiles now to show the dimples that people used to call
-so distracting. There are few that would give her a second glance.
-Besides, what is beauty without wealth? You know in our world it simply
-counts for nothing. She can never rival you a second now that it is
-known that she has no money and that you will be my heiress."
-
-The sullen countenance of Felise began to grow brighter at the latter
-consolatory clause.
-
-"As to the black," pursued Mrs. Arnold, "of course you and I know that
-it is a mere sham; but then, Felise, it is necessary to make that much
-concession to the opinion of the world. How they would cavil if you
-failed in that mark of respect to the memory of your step-father."
-
-"There is one consolation," said Felise, brightening up, "I can lay it
-aside within a year."
-
-"And then, no doubt, you will don the bridal robe as the wife of the
-millionaire, Colonel Carlyle," Mrs. Arnold rejoined, with an air of
-great satisfaction.
-
-"Perhaps so," said her daughter, clouding over again; "but you need not
-be so sure. He has not proposed yet."
-
-"But he will soon," asserted the widow, confidently.
-
-"I expected he would do so, until now," said Felise, sharply. "The old
-dotard appeared to admire me very much; but since Bonnibel Vere has
-returned to flaunt her baby-beauty before him, his fickle fancy may
-turn to her. A pretty face can make a fool of an old man, you know."
-
-"We must keep her in the background, then," said Mrs. Arnold,
-reassuringly. "Not that I am the least apprehensive of danger, my dear,
-but since your fears take that direction he shall not see her until
-all is secure, and you must bring him to the point as soon as possible."
-
-"I have done my best," said Felise, "but he hovers on the brink
-apparently afraid to take the leap. I cannot understand such dawdling
-on the part of one who has already buried two wives. He cannot be
-afflicted with timidity."
-
-"We must give him a hint that I shall settle fifty thousand dollars on
-you the day you marry," said her mother. "I have heard that he is very
-avaricious. It is a common vice of age and infirmity. He fears you will
-spend his wealth too freely."
-
-"And so I will, if I get a chance," said Felise, coarsely. "I have been
-stinted all my life by the stepfather who hated me. Let me but become
-Mrs. Colonel Carlyle, and I assure you I will queen it right royally."
-
-"You would become the position very much," said the admiring mother,
-"and I should be very proud of my daughter's graceful ease in spending
-her husband's millions."
-
-Miss Herbert's proud lips curled in triumph. She arose and began to
-pace the floor restlessly, her eyes shining with pleased anticipation
-of the day which she hoped was not far distant when she would marry
-the rich man whose wealth she coveted, and become a queen in society.
-She looked around her at the splendor and elegance of her mother's
-drawing-room with dissatisfaction, and resolved that her own should be
-far more fine and costly, her attire more extravagant, and her diamonds
-more splendid. She was tired of reigning with her mother. She wanted to
-rule over a kingdom of her own.
-
-Felise had no more heart than a stone. Her only god was wealth, and her
-ambition was towering. She thought only of self, and felt not the first
-emotion of gratitude to the mother who had schemed and planned for her
-all her life. All she desired was unbounded wealth and the power to
-rule in her own right.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-"Miss Felise has caught a beau at last," said Bonnibel's maid to her
-as she brushed the soft locks of her mistress. She had been having a
-hasty chat with Miss Herbert's maid since her arrival that day, and had
-gathered a good deal of gossip in the servants' hall.
-
-"Indeed?" asked Bonnibel, languidly, "what is his name, Lucy?"
-
-"He is a Colonel Carlyle, miss; a very old man Janet do say, but worth
-his millions. He have buried his two wives already, I hear, and Miss
-Herbert is like to be a third one. I wish him joy of her; Janet knows
-what her temper is."
-
-"You need not speak so, Lucy," said Bonnibel, reprovingly, to the maid
-whose loquacity was far ahead of her grammar. "I daresay Janet gives
-her cause to indulge in temper sometimes."
-
-"Lor! Miss Bonnibel," said Lucy, "Janet is as mild as a dove; but Miss
-Felise, she have slapped Janet's mouth twice, and scolds her day in and
-day out. Janet says that Colonel Carlyle will catch a Tartar when he
-gets her."
-
-"Be quiet, Lucy; my head aches," said Bonnibel, thinking it very
-improper for the girl to discuss her superior's affairs so freely; she
-therefore dismissed the subject and thought no more about it, little
-dreaming that it was one portentous of evil to herself.
-
-Felise need not have troubled herself with the fear of Bonnibel's
-rivalry. The young girl was only too willing to be kept in the
-background. In the seclusion which Mrs. Arnold deemed it proper to
-observe after their dreadful and tragic bereavement they received
-but few visitors and Bonnibel was glad that her recent illness was
-considered a sufficient pretext for denying herself to even these
-few. Some there were--a few old friends and one or two loving
-schoolmates--who refused to be denied and whom Bonnibel reluctantly
-admitted, but these few found her so changed in appearance and broken
-in spirit that they went away marveling at her persistent grief for the
-uncle whom the world blamed very much because he had failed to provide
-for her as became her birth and position.
-
-But while the world censured Mr. Arnold's neglect of her, Bonnibel
-never blamed her uncle by word or thought. She believed what he had
-told her on the memorable evening of his death. He _had_ provided for
-her, she knew, and the will, perhaps, had been lost. What had become of
-it she could not conjecture, but she was far from imputing foul play
-to anyone. The thought never entered her mind. She was too pure and
-innocent herself to suspect evil in others, and the overwhelming horror
-of her uncle's tragic death still brooded over her spirit to the utter
-exclusion of all other cares save _one_, and that one a sore, sore
-trial that it needed all her energies to endure, the silence of Leslie
-Dane and her anxieties regarding his fate; for still the days waned and
-faded and no tidings came to the sick heart that waited in passionate
-suspense for a sign from the loved and lost one.
-
-Strange to say, she had never learned the fatal truth that Leslie Dane
-stood charged with her uncle's murder, and that justice was still on
-the alert to discover his whereabouts. During her severe and nearly
-fatal illness all approach to the subject of the murder had been
-prohibited by the careful physician, and on her convalescence the
-newspapers had been excluded from her sight and the subject tabooed in
-her presence. She had forgotten the solemn charge of Felise Herbert
-and her mother that fatal night which she had so indignantly refuted.
-Now she was spared the knowledge that the malignity of the two women
-had succeeded in fixing the crime on the innocent head of the man she
-loved. Had Bonnibel known that fact she would have left Mrs. Arnold's
-roof although starvation and death had been the inevitable consequence.
-But she did not know, and so moped and pined in her chamber, tearful
-and utterly despairing, oblivious to the fact that she was doing what
-Felise most desired in thus secluding herself.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX.
-
-
-A blind chance at last brought about the fatal meeting between
-Bonnibel Vere and Colonel Carlyle which Felise Herbert so greatly
-dreaded and deprecated.
-
-As the autumn months merged into winter Bonnibel had developed a
-new phase of her trouble. A great and exceeding restlessness took
-possession of her.
-
-She no longer moped in her chamber, thinking and thinking on the one
-subject that began to obscure even the memory of her Uncle Francis. She
-had brooded over Leslie's strange silence until her brain reeled with
-agony--now a strange longing for oblivion and forgetfulness took hold
-upon her.
-
-"Oh! for that fabled Lethean draught which men drink and straightway
-all the past is forgotten!" she would murmur wildly as she paced
-the floor, wringing her beautiful hands and weeping. "Either Leslie
-has deserted me or he is dead. In either case it is wretchedness to
-remember him! Oh! that I could forget!"
-
-Shrouded in her thick veil and long cloak she began to take long
-rambling walks every day, returning weary and fatigued, so that sleep,
-which for awhile had deserted her pillow, began to return, and in long
-and heavy slumbers she would lose for a little while the memory of the
-handsome artist so deeply loved in that brief and beautiful summer.
-Those days were gone forever. Her brief spring of happiness was over.
-It seemed to her that the only solace that remained to her weary heart
-was forgetfulness.
-
-Once, rendered desperate by her suspense, she had written a letter to
-Leslie--a long and loving letter, full of tender reproaches for his
-silence, and containing the whole story of her uncle's tragic death.
-She had begged him to send her just one little line to assure her that
-she was not forgotten, and this beautiful little letter, filled with
-the pure thoughts of her innocent heart, she had directed to Rome,
-Italy.
-
-No answer came to that yearning cry from the aching heart of the little
-wife. She waited until hope became a hideous mockery. She began to
-think how strange it was that she, little Bonnibel Vere, who looked so
-much like a child, with her short hair, and baby-blue eyes, was really
-a wife. But for the shining opal ring with its pretty inscription,
-"Mizpah," which Leslie had placed upon her finger that night, she would
-have begun to believe that it was all a fevered dream.
-
-She was thinking of that ring one day as she walked along the crowded
-street, filled with eager shoppers, for Christmas was drawing near, and
-people were busy providing holiday gifts for their dear ones.
-
-"_Mizpah!_" she repeated to herself, walking heedlessly along the wet
-and sleety pavement. "That means '_the Lord watch between thee and me
-while we are absent one from another_.' Oh, Leslie, Leslie!"
-
-Absorbed in painful thoughts she began to quicken her steps, quite
-forgetful of the thin sheet of ice that covered the pavement, and which
-required very careful walking. How it happened she could not think, but
-the next moment she felt one ankle twisting suddenly beneath her with a
-dreadful pain in it, and found herself falling to the ground. With an
-exclamation of terror she tried to recover her balance, but vainly. She
-lay extended on the ground, her hat and veil falling off and exposing
-her beautiful pale face with its clustering locks of sunny hair.
-
-People crowded around her immediately, but the first to reach her was a
-gentleman who was coming out of a jewelry store in front of which she
-had slipped and fallen.
-
-He lifted her up tenderly, and a woman restored her hat and veil.
-
-Bonnibel tried to stand upon her feet and thank them both for their
-timely aid.
-
-To her terror a sharp twinge of pain in her ankle warned her that she
-could not stand upon it. She uttered a cry of pain and her blue eyes
-filled with quick tears.
-
-"I--I fear my ankle is sprained," she said, "I cannot stand upon it."
-
-"Never mind," said the gentleman, melted by the tears and the beauty
-of the sufferer. "Here is my carriage at the curbstone. Give me your
-address and I will take you home immediately."
-
-Bonnibel was growing so faint from the pain of her sprained ankle that
-she could scarcely speak, but she murmured brokenly: "Fifth Avenue,
-number ----," and with a slight exclamation of surprise he lifted her
-into the carriage and gave the order to the driver.
-
-She leaned her head back against the satin cushions of the carriage and
-closed her eyes wearily!
-
-"I beg your pardon," said her companion's voice, arousing her suddenly
-from the deathly faintness that was stealing over her, "but I think you
-must be Miss Bonnibel Vere, Mrs. Arnold's niece. Perhaps you have heard
-her mention me. I am Colonel Carlyle."
-
-Bonnibel opened her eyes with a start, and looked at him, instantly
-recalling the gossip of her maid, Lucy. So this was Colonel Carlyle,
-Felise Herbert's elderly lover. She gave him a quick, curious glance.
-
-He was an old man, certainly, and apparently made no attempt to
-disguise the fact, for the curling locks that still clustered
-abundantly on his head were silvered by time, as well as the long beard
-that flowed down upon his breast.
-
-His features were aristocratic in contour, his mouth rather stern, his
-eyes still dark and piercing, though he could not have been less than
-seventy years old. He was dressed with taste and elegance, and his
-stately form was quite erect and stately.
-
-"Yes, I have heard of you, Colonel Carlyle," Bonnibel answered,
-quietly, "but I cannot imagine how you could know who I am. We have
-never met before."
-
-"No," he answered, with a gallant bow and smile, "we have not, I have
-never had the happiness of meeting you, though I have frequently
-visited at your home. But the fame of Miss Vere's beauty has gone forth
-into the land, and when you named your address I knew you could be no
-other."
-
-Bonnibel bowed silently. Something in the graceful flattery of his
-words or tone jarred upon her. Besides, she was in such pain from her
-ankle that she felt it an effort to speak.
-
-He observed the whiteness of her face, and said quickly:
-
-"Pardon me, but I fear you are suffering from your sprain."
-
-"Somewhat," she admitted, through her white lips.
-
-"Bear it as bravely as you can," he said. "In a few minutes you will
-be at home, and can have medical attention. Sprains are quite serious
-things sometimes, though I hope yours may not result that way."
-
-"I hope not," she echoed, growing paler and paler, and biting her lips
-to repress the moan of pain that trembled on them. She was really
-suffering acute pain from the twisted ankle.
-
-He was silent a minute, studying the beautiful, pale face with admiring
-eyes.
-
-She looked up and met a world of deep sympathy shining on her from his
-keen, dark eyes.
-
-"I was very fortunate in meeting you, Colonel Carlyle," she said,
-gently. "Believe me, I am much indebted for your timely aid."
-
-"I am glad to have been of service to your father's daughter," said
-the colonel, bowing. "I knew your father intimately in the army, Miss
-Vere. We were friends, though the general was my junior in age and my
-superior in rank. I have often wondered what poor Harry's daughter was
-like. He was so frank, so handsome, so chivalrous, so daring."
-
-The girl's blue eyes lit up with pleasure at his praise of the father
-who had died in her infancy, but whose memory she loved and revered.
-She put out her hand, saying proudly:
-
-"I thank you for your praise of him, Colonel Carlyle. Let my father's
-friend be mine also."
-
-And the wealthy colonel gave the little hand a fervent pressure,
-feeling that those timely words of his had gained him a great
-advantage--one of which he would not be slow to avail himself.
-
-He was about to express his pride and satisfaction at her words in
-glowing terms when, with a faint cry, she sank back against the
-cushions and closed her eyes. She had succumbed to her pain in spite of
-herself and fainted.
-
-Fortunately they were within a block of the house. The colonel seated
-himself beside her and supported her helpless head on his arm until
-the carriage stopped in front of Mrs. Arnold's splendid brown-stone
-mansion. Then he carefully lifted the fair burden in his arms and
-carried her across the pavement and up the steps, where he rang the
-bell.
-
-The obsequious servant who opened the door to him stared in surprise
-and alarm at his burden, but silently threw open the drawing-room door,
-where Felise and her mother sat in company with a few visitors.
-
-Both sprang up in bewilderment as Colonel Carlyle entered with a bow
-and laid the insensible Bonnibel down upon the sofa. She looked like
-one dead as she lay there with her closed eyes and deathly-white face,
-and limp hands hanging down helplessly.
-
-"What has happened, Colonel Carlyle?" demanded Felise, stepping
-forward, as he bent over Bonnibel, while her mother and the guests
-echoed her words: "What has happened?"
-
-"Miss Vere slipped and fell upon the ice," he answered, "and has
-sustained some serious injury. She has suffered much pain. Let her have
-medical attendance at once."
-
-"But you," said Felise, abruptly, and almost rudely. "How came you with
-her?"
-
-Colonel Carlyle looked at her in slight surprise.
-
-"I was about crossing the pavement to enter my carriage," he explained,
-rather coolly, "when the accident occurred, and I had the happiness to
-be of service in bringing her home."
-
-And Felise, as she watched him bending anxiously over the girl she
-hated, wished in her heart that Bonnibel Vere might never recover from
-the swoon that looked so much like death.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X.
-
-
-"A merry Christmas, Bonnibel, and many happy returns of the day."
-
-Bonnibel Vere, lying helplessly on the sofa in her dressing-room,
-looked up with a start of surprise.
-
-Felise Herbert was entering with her cat-like steps and a deceitful
-smile wreathing her thin lips.
-
-"Thank you, Felise," she answered wearily, "though your wishes can
-scarcely bear fruit to-day."
-
-"Are you suffering so much pain to-day?" asked Felise, dropping into an
-easy-chair and resting her head with its crown of dark braids against
-its violet velvet lining.
-
-"My ankle is rather painful."
-
-"We are going to have a few friends to dine with us to-day--Colonel
-Carlyle is among them--and we thought--mother and I--that you might
-be well enough to come down into the drawing-room," said the visitor,
-watching the invalid keenly under her drooping lashes.
-
-But the feverish flush on the girl's cheek did not deepen under the
-jealous scrutiny of the watcher. She watched with a sigh of positive
-relief.
-
-"Many thanks, but it is not possible for me to do so, Felise; Doctor
-Graham said that I must remain closely confined to my sofa at least
-two weeks. And indeed I could not leave it if I tried. My foot is much
-swollen and I cannot stand at all."
-
-She pushed out the little member from under the skirt of her warm white
-wrapper, and Felise saw that she spoke truly.
-
-She rose and came nearer under pretense of examining it.
-
-"Why, what a pretty little ring you wear--is it a new one?" said
-she suddenly, and in an instant she had dexterously slipped it off
-Bonnibel's finger, and, holding it up, read the inscription within,
-"Mizpah!" "Why, how romantic! Is it a love token, Bonnibel?"
-
-Bonnibel's lips were quivering like a grieved child's, and quick tears
-sprang into her eyes.
-
-"Felise," she said, reproachfully, "you should not have taken it off.
-I never meant for that ring to leave my finger while I lived, never!"
-
-Felise laughed--a low, sneering laugh--and tossed her jetty braids.
-
-"Here, take your ring," she said scornfully; "I did not know you were
-going to be such a baby over it. It must have been the gift of a lover
-to be so highly prized--perhaps it was given you by Leslie Dane."
-
-Bonnibel slipped the ring back on her tapering third finger, while a
-hot flush mounted to her brow.
-
-"You seem very curious over my ring, Felise," she said, angrily. "I do
-not suppose it can matter to you at all who the giver may be."
-
-"Oh! not in the least," said Felise, airily. "I beg your pardon for
-teasing you about it. But if someone should give me a prettier ring
-than that soon I should not mind telling you the donor. And by the
-way," said she, walking to the window and peering out through the lace
-curtains, "you must tell me, Bonnibel, how you liked Colonel Carlyle
-the other day."
-
-"I should be very ungrateful if I did not like him very well," said the
-girl, simply. "He was very good to me."
-
-"That is an evasive answer," said Felise, laughing. "Should you have
-liked him if you had not been prompted thereto by gratitude?"
-
-"I am sure I do not know. I was suffering such acute pain I hardly
-thought of him until he told me he had been an intimate friend of my
-papa while in the army. And he praised papa so highly I could not
-choose but like him for his words."
-
-"The cunning old fox," said Felise to herself, while she drew her black
-brows angrily together. "Already he has been trying to find the way to
-her heart."
-
-"He is rather fine-looking for one who is certainly no longer
-young--don't you think so, Bonnibel?" pursued the wily girl.
-
-"Certainly," said Bonnibel, willing to praise Colonel Carlyle because
-she thought it would please Felise; "he does not seem so very old, and
-he is quite handsome and stately-looking."
-
-Whatever Felise might have replied to this was interrupted by the
-entrance of Lucy, Bonnibel's maid. A broad smile lighted her comely,
-good-natured features at the sight of the visitor.
-
-"For you, miss," said she, going up to Bonnibel and putting in her hand
-a small volume of splendidly-bound poems and a rare hot-house bouquet,
-whose fragrance filled the room, and turning to Miss Herbert she added:
-"Colonel Carlyle is waiting in the drawing-room, Miss Herbert."
-
-Felise made no answer to the maid. She swept forward and looked at the
-flowers in Bonnibel's hand.
-
-It was a lovely bouquet, composed almost entirely of white flowers. A
-lily filled the center, surrounded by exquisite rose-buds and waxen
-tube-roses and azalias. The border of the lovely floral tribute was a
-delicate fringe of blue forget-me-nots. On a small white card depending
-from the bouquet was written these words:
-
-"MISS VERE, with the compliments of the day from her father's friend."
-
-"Her father's friend," said Felise, reading it aloud. "That must mean
-Colonel Carlyle."
-
-"I suppose so," said Bonnibel, simply. "He is very kind to remember me
-to-day. You will thank him for me, Felise."
-
-"Certainly," Felise answered.
-
-She took up the book--a handsome copy of one of the modern poets--and
-glanced rapidly through it, but found no writing or underscoring within
-it, as her jealous fancy had expected.
-
-"I must go," she said, putting it down and trailing her silken skirts
-hurriedly from the room.
-
-Lucy looked after her with a slight smile. She, in common with all
-the domestics, hated the overbearing Felise and it pleased her to see
-what her innocent young mistress never dreamed of--that Mrs. Arnold's
-daughter was furiously jealous and angry because of her suitor's
-tribute to Bonnibel.
-
-The colonel's tribute to Miss Herbert was a much more pretentious one
-than that which had been the cause of arousing her jealousy up-stairs.
-He brought her a bracelet of gold, set with glowing rubies, and a
-bouquet that was a perfect triumph of the floral art. Its central
-flower was a white japonica, and sprigs of scarlet salvia blazed around
-it; but Felise remembered the modest white lily up-stairs, with its
-suggestive circle of forget-me-nots, and her eyes blazed with scarcely
-concealed anger as she thanked the colonel for his gifts.
-
-Colonel Carlyle was in brilliant spirits to-day. Always a fine talker,
-he surpassed himself on this occasion, and the guests exchanged
-significant glances, thinking that surely he had proposed to Miss
-Herbert and been accepted, for she, too, appeared more fascinating
-than usual, and exerted herself to please her elderly suitor. She had
-laid aside the more cumbrous appendages of mourning, such as crape and
-bombazine, and appeared in a handsome black silk, with filmy white
-laces at throat and wrists. A single spray of the scarlet salvia,
-carelessly broken and fastened in her dark hair, brightened her whole
-appearance, and made her creamy, olive complexion beautiful by the
-contrast. She was looking her best, as she wanted to do, for she felt
-that she was about to lose her slight hold upon the millionaire's heart
-and she meant to do her best to win back her lost ground.
-
-Alas for Felise's prospects! A pair of tearful, violet eyes, a little,
-white face, a quivering baby mouth, drawn with pain, had totally
-obscured the image of her bright, dark beauty in the colonel's heart.
-He was as foolishly in love with Bonnibel's dainty loveliness as any
-boy of twenty, and through all his brilliant talk to-day his heart
-was bounding with the thought of her, and he was revolving plans in
-his mind to free himself from what had almost become an entanglement
-with Miss Herbert, that he might spread his net to catch the beautiful
-little white dove that had fluttered across his path.
-
-"Miss Vere is better, I trust," he found courage to ask of Mrs. Arnold
-before he left that evening. His guilty conscience made him shrink from
-asking Felise even that simple question. He knew that he had paid her
-sufficient attention to warrant her in expecting a proposal, and now he
-began to feel just a little afraid of the flash of her great dark eyes.
-
-"She is better," Mrs. Arnold answered, coldly; "but not able to leave
-her sofa. Doctor Graham thinks it will be several weeks before she is
-well."
-
-"So," the enamored colonel thought to himself, "it will be several
-weeks before I can see her again. That seems like an eternity."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI.
-
-    "'Italia, oh, Italia, thou who hast
-      The fatal gift of beauty: which became
-      A funeral dower of present woes and past,'"
-
-repeated the voice of a young man leaning from an upper window, and
-looking down upon the antique streets of famous Rome.
-
-"I think you have more taste for poetry than painting, Carl," said a
-second voice.
-
-The scene is an artist's studio, up four flights of stairs, and very
-near the sky. A large skylight gives admission to the clear and radiant
-light, and the windows are open for the soft breeze to enter the room,
-though it is the month of December in that fair Italian clime, where it
-is always summer. Pictures and palettes, statuettes and bronzes adorn
-the walls, and somewhat litter the room, and its only two occupants
-wear artists' blouses, though one of the wearers sits idly at the
-window gazing down into the street. He is blonde and stout, with gay
-blue eyes, and is unmistakably German, while his darker companion, who
-is busily painting away at a picture, is just as certainly an American.
-They both bear their nationalities plainly in their faces.
-
-"Poetry and painting are sister arts, I think," said Carl Muller,
-laughing. "The poets paint with words as we do with colors. They have
-the advantage of us poor devils, for their word-paintings remain
-beautiful forever, while our ochres crack and our crimsons fade."
-
-"You should turn poet, then, Carl."
-
-"I had some thought of it once," said the mercurial Carl, laughing,
-"but upon making trial of my powers, I found that I lacked the divine
-afflatus."
-
-"Say rather that you lacked the more prosaic attribute that you lack in
-painting--_industry_," said the American.
-
-"Whatever failing I may have in this respect is fully atoned for by
-you, Leslie. Never saw I a poor dauber so deeply wedded to his art.
-Your perseverance is simply marvelous."
-
-"It is the only way to conquer fame, Carl. There is no royal road to
-success," said the artist, painting busily away as he talked.
-
-Carl yawned lazily and repeated Beattie's well-known lines:
-
-    "'Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
-      The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar;
-      Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime,
-      Has felt the influence of malignant star,
-      And waged with fortune an eternal war!'"
-
-"The 'malignant star' in your case means _idleness_, Carl. You have
-talent enough if you would but apply yourself. Up, up, man, and get to
-your work."
-
-"It is impossible to conquer my constitutional inertia this evening,
-Leslie. To-morrow I will vie with you in perseverance and labor like a
-galley-slave," laughed the German, stretching his lazy length out of
-the window.
-
-There was silence a few moments. Carl was absorbed in something going
-on in the street below--perhaps a street fight between two fiery
-Italians, or perhaps the more interesting sight of some pretty woman
-going to mass or confession--while Leslie Dane's brush moved on
-unweariedly over his task. Evidently it was a labor of love.
-
-"I should like to know where you get your models, Leslie," said Carl
-Muller, looking back into the room. "You do not have the Italian type
-of women in your faces. What do you copy from?"
-
-"Memory," said the artist, laconically.
-
-"Do you mean to say that you know a woman anywhere half as beautiful as
-the women you put on your canvas?"
-
-"I know one so transcendently lovely that the half of her beauty can
-never be transferred to canvas," said Leslie Dane, while a flush of
-pride rose over his features.
-
-"In America?" asked Carl.
-
-"In America," answered Leslie.
-
-"Whew!" said the German, comprehensively. "I thought you did not care
-for women, Mr. Dane."
-
-"I never said so, Carl," said Leslie Dane, smiling.
-
-"I know--but actions speak louder than words. You avoid them, you
-decline invitations where you are likely to meet them, and the handsome
-models vote you a perfect bear."
-
-"Because there is but one woman in the whole world to me," answered
-Leslie Dane, and he paused a moment in his painting, and looked away
-with a world of tenderness in his large, dark eyes.
-
-Carl Muller began to look interested.
-
-"Ah! now I see why you work so hard," he said. "There is a woman at the
-bottom of it. There is always a woman at the bottom of everything that
-goes on in this world whether it be good or evil."
-
-"Yes, I suppose so," said Leslie, resuming his work with a sigh to the
-memory of the absent girl he loved.
-
-    "Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
-     For love is heaven, and heaven is love,"
-
-hummed Carl in his rich tenor voice.
-
-"Leslie, you will accompany me to the _fete_ to-night?" said he,
-presently.
-
-"Thank you. I do not care to go," said Leslie.
-
-"Heavens, what a selfish fellow!" said Carl, turning back to the
-window.
-
-Silence fell between them again. The soft breeze came sighing in at the
-window ruffling Carl's sunny curls and caressing Leslie Dane's cheek
-with viewless fingers.
-
-A pot of violets on the window ledge filled the air with delicate
-perfume. After that evening the scent of violets always came to Leslie
-Dane wedded to a painful memory.
-
-There was a heavy step at the door. Their portly landlady pushed her
-head into the room.
-
-"Letters, gentlemen," she said.
-
-Carl Muller sprang up with alacrity.
-
-"All for me, of course," he said. "Nobody ever writes to Dane."
-
-He took the packet and went back to his seat, while his companion, with
-a smothered sigh, went on with his work. It was quite true that no one
-ever wrote to him, yet he still kept waiting and hoping for one dear
-letter that never--never came.
-
-"Ah, by Jove! but I was mistaken," Carl broke out suddenly. "Hurrah,
-Leslie, here's a love letter from the girl you left behind you."
-
-He held up a little creamy-hued envelope, smooth and thick as satin,
-addressed in a lady's elegant hand, and Leslie Dane caught it almost
-rudely from him. Carl gave a significant whistle and returned to his
-own correspondence.
-
-Leslie Dane tore open the letter so long waited and hoped for, and
-devoured its contents with passionate impatience. It was very brief.
-Let us glance over his shoulder and read what was written there:
-
-  "LESLIE," she wrote, "your letters have kept coming and coming, and
-  every one has been like a stab to my heart. I pray you never to write
-  to me again, for I have repented in bitterness of spirit the blind
-  folly into which you led me that night. Oh, how could you do it? I
-  was but a child. I did not know what love meant, and I was bewildered
-  and carried away by your handsome face, and the romance of that
-  moonlight flitting. It was wicked, it was cruel, Leslie, to bind me
-  so, for, oh, God, I _love_ another now, and I never can be his! But
-  at least I will _never_ be yours. I have burned your letters, and I
-  shall hate your memory as long I live for the cruel wrong you did me.
-  God forgive you, for I never can!
-
-                                                       "BONNIBEL."
-
-Leslie Dane threw that dreadful letter down and ground it beneath his
-heel as though it had been a deadly serpent. It was, for it had stung
-him to the heart.
-
-Carl Muller looked up at the strange sound of that grinding boot-heel,
-and saw his friend standing fixedly staring, into vacancy, his dark
-eyes blazing like coals of fire, his handsome face pallid as death, and
-set in a tense look of awful despair and bitterness terrible to behold.
-
-Carl Muller sprang up and shook him violently by the arm.
-
-"My God! Leslie," he cried, "what is it? What has happened to move you
-so? Is there anyone dead?"
-
-The handsome artist did not seem to hear him. He stood immovable save
-for the horrid crunching of his boot-heel as it ground that fatal
-letter into fragments.
-
-"Leslie," exclaimed Carl, "speak, for mercy's sake! You cannot imagine
-how horrible you look!"
-
-Thus adjured Leslie Dane shook off his friend's clasp roughly, and
-strode across the room to a recess where a veiled picture hung against
-the wall.
-
-He had always refused to show it to his brother artist, but now he
-pushed the covering aside, disclosing a female head surrounded by
-silvery clouds like that of an angel. The face, framed in waving masses
-of golden hair, was lighted by eyes of tender violet, and radiantly
-beautiful.
-
-"Look Carl," said the artist in a changed and hollow voice, "is not
-that the face of an angel?"
-
-Carl Muller looked at the lovely face in wonder and delight.
-
-"Beautiful, beautiful!" he exclaimed, "it is the face of a seraph!"
-
-"Yes, it is the face of a seraph," repeated Leslie Dane. "The face of a
-seraph, but oh, God, she is _fickle_, _faithless_, _false_!"
-
-He stood still a moment looking at the fair young face smiling on him
-in its radiant beauty, then caught up his brush and swept it across the
-canvas.
-
-One touch, the tender blue eyes were obliterated, another, and the
-curved red lips were gone with their loving smile, another and another,
-and the whole angelic vision was blotted from the canvas forever.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XII.
-
-
-"No, don't attempt to excuse yourself, mother! If you had taken my
-advice, and turned your wax doll out upon the world to look out for
-herself, this would never have happened! But no, you must saddle
-yourself with the charge of her, and pamper her as foolishly as her
-uncle did! And now you see the result of your blind folly. It needed
-but one sight of her baby-face by that old dotard to ruin my prospects
-for life. I hope you are satisfied with your work!"
-
-It was ten o'clock at night, and Felise Herbert had come into her
-mother's room in her dressing-gown, with her dark hair hanging over her
-shoulders, and her eyes flashing angrily, to upbraid her mother for her
-weakness in the matter of Bonnibel Vere.
-
-"You should have turned her adrift upon the world," she repeated,
-stamping her slippered foot angrily. "She might have starved to death
-for all I cared! _After all I did for you_, I think you could have done
-that much to please _me_!"
-
-"But, Felise, you know it was quite impossible to take such extreme
-measures without incurring the censure of the world, and perhaps its
-suspicion!" said Mrs. Arnold, deprecatingly.
-
-"Who cares for suspicion--they could not prove anything!" said Felise,
-snapping her fingers.
-
-"No, perhaps not," Mrs. Arnold answered, "but all the same, I should
-not like to run the risk. You are blinded by anger, Felise; or you
-would reason more clearly. You know I did not want to keep the girl
-here. I hate her as much as you do. I have hated her ever since she was
-born, but you know I dare not turn her off. Society would taboo us if
-we dared hint such a thing. Turn a girl of her aristocratic antecedents
-out upon the world to earn her living, while I am rolling in wealth!
-A girl who knows no more of the world than a baby! The daughter of
-General Vere, the niece of my dead husband! Felise, you must see that
-it would never do!"
-
-"It would if I had been suffered to have my way," answered the girl,
-marching angrily up and down the floor. "To be thwarted this way in my
-prospect of making the most brilliant match of the season is too bad!
-It is shameful! For her to step into my place this way makes me hate
-her worse than ever!"
-
-"But, Felise, she _cannot_ step into your place, my dear. Did you not
-tell me you had learned from Leslie Dane's intercepted letters that
-the girl was secretly married to him? Why did you meddle with their
-correspondence, anyway? Why not have let him come back in time to claim
-her? She would then have been out of your way!"
-
-"Mother, you talk like a fool!" exclaimed the daughter, angrily. "You
-know I dare not let Leslie Dane return here! I am compelled to keep
-him out of the country for the sake of my own safety. I am compelled
-to separate the two because he must not hear of the charge of murder
-that we made against him. If she should hear it, as she is likely to
-do at any time, and should communicate it to him, what would be the
-consequence? He would return here and disprove the charge at once.
-Bonnibel was with him that night. They went to Brandon and were married
-while your husband was being mur---- put out of the way. He could prove
-an _alibi_ at once. You talk of suspicion--where would suspicion fall
-then?"
-
-"Surely not on us, Felise!" said Mrs. Arnold, fearfully.
-
-"And why not?" sneered the girl. "If the now quiescent subject were
-agitated again what absurd theories might not be propounded by the
-suspicious world? Who can tell whether Wild Madge could keep the
-secret? I tell you I have only consulted our vital interests in
-separating Leslie Dane and Bonnibel Vere, though to do so I have had
-to destroy my every prospect of becoming the millionaire's wife. I am
-compelled to keep that beggarly artist out of the country at any cost."
-
-"But, my dear, there is no chance of Bonnibel marrying Colonel Carlyle
-even though she should be separated forever from her artist-husband,
-for she is a married woman anyhow. One hint of this to Colonel Carlyle
-would make your affair all right with him again!"
-
-"It would not," answered Felise, passionately. "He is madly in love
-with her. Have I not seen it in these few weeks since she has been
-well enough to come down-stairs? Has not the old fool hung over her as
-dotingly as any boy-lover could do? Suppose I told him the truth? Do
-you think he would return to me? No, he would only hate me because I
-had shattered his brilliant air castle!"
-
-"I am surprised that Bonnibel tolerates his attentions as she does,"
-said Mrs. Arnold, stirring up the fire that was beginning to burn low
-in the grate.
-
-"She does not suspect what the old fox is after; I will do her that
-much justice," said Felise, bitterly. "He is very cautious. He has
-a thousand tales of her father's prowess with which to pave his way
-and awaken her interest. She makes an idol of her wretched father who
-squandered every penny of her mother's fortune, and only redeemed
-himself by dying recklessly in some foolish charge on the battle-field!"
-
-She resumed her walk up and down the floor which she had temporarily
-ceased during the last outburst. She was furiously angry.
-
-Her eyes blazed luridly, her lips were curled back from her glittering
-teeth, her step seemed to spurn the floor. Her mother watched her
-uneasily.
-
-"Felise, do you not fret yourself, my dear. I am persuaded that
-everything will come right soon. Suppose Colonel Carlyle is in love
-with Bonnibel. If he proposes to her she is compelled to refuse his
-offer. What more natural than that he should return to you then, and
-make you his wife. Hearts are often caught on the rebound, you know."
-
-"Mother, hush! You talk like a simpleton as you are!" was the fierce
-retort.
-
-Mrs. Arnold was stung to anger by the unprovoked insolence of her
-daughter. She rose and looked at her in dignified displeasure.
-
-"Felise," she said, threateningly, "you are my daughter, but you must
-not suppose that I will tamely bear the continued disrespect and
-contumely I have lately been forced to receive at your hands. In your
-rage at losing Colonel Carlyle you seem to forget that it is in my
-power to make you almost as wealthy as he could do. Remember, I am a
-very rich woman, and I can leave my wealth to whom I please."
-
-"And who placed you in that position?" sneered Felise. "How much would
-you have been worth but for my constant care of your interests? A third
-of your husband's property, which was all you could legally claim! That
-was what he said to his big wax-doll. The balance of his money was
-for her, to make her a queen and win the homage of the world for her.
-Perhaps you will leave her the money I have risked so much to gain for
-you?"
-
-"Felise, this is but idle recrimination. You know I would not leave
-Bonnibel Vere a penny to save her soul from perdition, and you know
-I have been scheming all my life to get that money for you, and that
-I will certainly give it to you. But I do not understand your mood
-to-night. What is it that you wish me to do?"
-
-"Nothing, nothing! Months ago I begged you to send the girl away and
-you refused me. You knew I hated her, and you knew I spared nothing
-that came in my way. She has come between me and my dearest ambition.
-Now let her look to herself. I tell you, mother, I will take a
-_terrible revenge_ on Bonnibel Vere for what I have lost. _I have sworn
-it, and I will surely keep my vow!_"
-
-She stood still a moment with upraised hands, looking fixedly at her
-mother, then she turned and went swiftly from the room.
-
-Mrs. Arnold stared after her blankly. She was a cruel and wicked woman,
-but she would not have dared to go such lengths as her daughter. She
-was afraid of her daughter, and frightened at the terrible intent
-expressed in her tone and manner.
-
-"My God!" she murmured, with a shiver, "what rash act is she about to
-commit?"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIII.
-
-
-Colonel Carlyle was as deeply infatuated with Bonnibel Vere as
-the jealous Felise had declared him to be; but, as she had always
-asserted, he was very wily and cautious in his advances. He was afraid
-of frightening the pretty bird he wished to ensnare. He, therefore,
-adopted a deportment of almost fatherly tenderness toward her that was
-very pleasant to the lonely girl, who missed her uncle's protecting
-care so much, and who also began to perceive in Mrs. Arnold and her
-daughter a changed manner, which, while it could scarcely be colder
-than usual, was tinged with an indefinable shade of insolence.
-
-Poor, pretty Bonnibel! she had fallen upon dark days. She had been
-deceived by Mrs. Arnold's protestations at first, but by degrees a new
-light began to break upon her. Mrs. Arnold began to practice a degree
-of parsimony toward her that was bewildering to the girl. She withdrew
-Bonnibel's allowance of money, and at last the girl found her dainty
-little purse quite empty, and likely to remain so--a thing that had
-never happened to her before in the course of her life, for her uncle
-had been lavishly generous to her in respect to pin-money. Her supply
-of mourning was extremely limited, and but for her quiet mode of life
-would have been quite inadequate to her needs.
-
-But if Mrs. Arnold had wished to diminish Bonnibel's beauty by giving
-it so meager a setting she failed in the endeavor. The jewel was too
-bright to miss extraneous adornment.
-
-The somber black dresses could not dim the gleam of her golden hair,
-the sparkle of her sea-blue eyes. Her white brow and throat were like
-the petals of a lily, and with returning health a lovely rose-tint
-began to flush her cheeks.
-
-Her beauty was a royal dower of which no spite or malignity could
-deprive her. Clothed upon with sackcloth she would still have remained,
-
-    "A daughter of the gods, divinely tall,
-     And most divinely fair."
-
-Bonnibel knew that she was beautiful. She had heard it remarked so
-often that she could not be ignorant of the fact.
-
-In those past happy days that now seemed so far away she had taken a
-childish, innocent pride in the knowledge. But now in her trouble and
-loneliness she had forgotten it, or cared for it no more. So it never
-occurred to her to ascribe the painful change in her aunt and Felise to
-the fact that was quite obvious to others--the very plain fact that she
-had unconsciously rivaled Felise with Colonel Carlyle and that he only
-waited a proper season to declare himself.
-
-There was none of the dawdling and hesitation now that had marked
-his courtship of Felise and prevented him from making the important
-declaration she had schemed and toiled for. He had virtually jilted
-Felise, for he had done everything but speak the important words, but
-the proud girl bore his desertion in ominous silence that boded no good
-to the man who had thus wronged her.
-
-Lucy and Janet, the respective maids of the two young ladies, held many
-a whispered colloquy over Colonel Carlyle's defection. Janet indeed
-was an object of sympathy in those days, for she had to bear the brunt
-of Felise's anger, which was no slight thing to endure. Indeed, it is
-probable that the much-enduring maid would have given warning on the
-spot had it not been for an _affaire du cœur_ which she was carrying
-out with the footman.
-
-Rather than be separated from this object of her fond affections Janet
-remained in Felise's service and endured her caprices and ill-treatment
-with that heroic fortitude with which women from time immemorial have
-borne slight and wrong for love's sake.
-
-"Will Miss Bonnibel marry him, do you think, Lucy?" asked Janet at one
-of their solemn conclaves.
-
-"I don't know," Lucy answered. "Seems to me the child don't have the
-least idea of what is going on right afore her eyes. I don't believe
-she knows that the colonel is a courtin' her! She thinks he is a
-friend, like, and because he knew her father in the army and talks a
-good deal about his bravery, she listens to him and never dreams that
-she has cut Miss Felise out right afore her face."
-
-"And serves her right, too," said Janet, heartily, taking a malicious
-pleasure in the defeat of her over-bearing mistress; "I, for one, am
-downright glad that she has cut my lady out of her rich beau! It would
-be a fine match for Miss Bonnibel since her uncle has left her without
-a cent."
-
-"I hope she will marry him," said Lucy. "Things isn't going at all to
-my notion in this house, Janet. Sour looks and impident words is flung
-around altogether too free in my young lady's hearing. And she getting
-that shabby that she have got but one decent mourning gown to her back,
-and I hear nothing said of a new one! As for money I don't believe Mrs.
-Arnold has given her a single penny since her uncle died; I've seen her
-little purse and it's quite empty. I'd have put a few of my own savings
-into it, only I was afraid she might be angry."
-
-"I hope she'll marry Carlyle and queen it over them both," said Janet.
-"I tell you, Lucy, it was very strange that Mr. Arnold's _will_ wasn't
-found. I am quite sure he made one--he wouldn't have slighted your
-young lady intentionally. He loved that pretty little blue-eyed girl
-as the apple of his eye, and there was small love lost between him and
-t'other one. 'Twas mysterious the way things turned out at his death,
-Lucy."
-
-"Aye, it were," assented Lucy; "I heard Miss Bonnibel, myself, tell
-Mrs. Arnold down at Sea View when she were sick, that her uncle told
-her he had made a will and provided liberally for her. And Mrs. Arnold
-laughed at her and pretended that the fever hadn't got out of her
-head yet. _She_ didn't want to believe there was a will, Janet, _she_
-didn't! Now I ask you, Janet, what has become of that there will?"
-
-Janet laughed scornfully and significantly.
-
-"Ah! it's gone where Miss Bonnibel's blue eyes will never shine on it,"
-said she. "It'll never see the light of day again. All that she can do
-is to marry Colonel Carlyle and get even with them all."
-
-"I wish she would," sighed Lucy; "but I don't believe she will. They
-said she was in love with a young artist last summer, and that her
-uncle drove him away--the same young man they laid the murder on, you
-know."
-
-"Do you believe he did it, Lucy?"
-
-"Not I," said Lucy, with a scornful sniff. "I'd sooner believe _they_
-did it between themselves! I've seen the young man when he used to come
-visiting the master at Sea View. A handsome young man he was, and that
-soft-spoken he would not hurt a fly, I know. But he was poor and made
-his living by drawing pictures, and since Miss Bonnibel is poor, too,
-now, I'd rather she'd marry that rich old man, for, poor dear, what
-good could _she_ do as a poor man's wife!"
-
-"Has she forgotten the young feller, do you think?" inquired Janet,
-thinking of her own "young feller" below stairs with a thrill of
-romantic sympathy for Miss Vere's love affair.
-
-"Oh, dear, _no_, and never _will_," said Lucy, confidently. "She never
-names him; but I know she's been grieved and unhappy over and above
-what natural grief for Mr. Arnold could amount to. But I doubt it's
-all over between them. He's been in hiding, of course, somewhere, ever
-since they accused him of the murder, and I doubt if Miss Bonnibel ever
-sets her sweet blue eyes on his handsome face again."
-
-"If he's not guilty why don't he come out and prove his innocence?"
-exclaimed the romantic Janet. "What a fine scene there would be--Miss
-Bonnibel all in smiles and tears of joy, and t'other ones scowling and
-angry at them two lovers."
-
-"Ah! I can't tell you _why_ he doesn't do so," answered Lucy, sighing;
-"but there must be some good reason for't. No one could get me to
-believe that Mr. Dane did that wicked and cruel murder! My young
-mistress, so innocent as she is herself, could never have loved a man
-that was mean enough to do that deed!"
-
-The loud peal of Miss Herbert's dressing-room bell resounding through
-the house broke up the conference between the maids, and Janet went
-away to answer it, muttering, angrily:
-
-"Lucy, I do wish we could change mistresses for awhile. I'm that tired
-with tramping up and down to wait on that ill-natered upstart that all
-my bones are sore."
-
-So Bonnibel's circumstances and prospects were discussed in high life
-up-stairs, and by servantdom down-stairs, while she herself, the most
-interested party, was ignorant of it all.
-
-How could she, whose torn heart was filled with one single aching
-memory, take note of all that went on about her?
-
-She was still living in the past, and took small heed of the present.
-She thought Colonel Carlyle was still fond of Felise, and that his
-little kindnesses and attention to her were offered to her for her
-father's sake. She felt grateful to him, but that was all. She was not
-pleased when he came, nor sorry when he went. So, when the long, cold
-days of winter wore away and nature began to smile with the coming of a
-genial spring, and Colonel Carlyle could restrain his impatient ardor
-no longer, his proposal of marriage, worded with all the passion of a
-younger lover, came upon her with the suddenness of a thunderbolt from
-a clear sky.
-
-"Surely, Mr. Carlyle, I have misunderstood your meaning," she said,
-looking up at him when he ceased to speak, with terror and fright in
-her large eyes. "You asked me to--to----"
-
-"To _marry_ me," said the colonel. "You have not misunderstood me,
-Bonnibel. I love you, my darling, as passionately as any young man
-could do. I ask you to give yourself to me for my cherished wife. It
-would be the sole aim of my life to make you happy. Will you be my
-wife, little darling?"
-
-"Why, you--you are engaged to Miss Herbert," said Bonnibel, in surprise
-and reproach.
-
-"I beg your pardon, my dear. I am not. I admire and esteem Miss Herbert
-very much, but I have never addressed a word of love to her. It is
-_you_ whom I love--_you_ whom I wish to make my wife," exclaimed the
-ardent colonel.
-
-"I certainly understood that you would marry Felise," answered
-Bonnibel, gravely.
-
-"It was a very serious error on your part, my dear little girl, for I
-have been trying all the winter to make you see that I loved no one but
-_you_."
-
-"I never dreamed of such a thing," exclaimed the girl, in a tone of
-genuine distress.
-
-"Then you are the only one who did not suspect it," said he, in a
-mortified tone. "The fact was very patent to all others."
-
-Bonnibel looked down at the shimmering opal on her finger, and a blush
-of shame rose over her delicate features. She thought to herself,
-impulsively:
-
-"This is dreadful for me--a wedded wife--to sit here and listen to such
-words without the power of protesting against them."
-
-"Perhaps you think I am too old for you, my angel," said the colonel,
-breaking the silence; "but my heart and my feelings are much younger
-than my years. I could not have loved you more ardently thirty years
-ago. But if age is a fault in your eyes, my darling, I will atone for
-it by every indulgence on earth, and by a deathless devotion."
-
-"Oh, pray, do not say another word, Colonel Carlyle. It can never be,
-sir. I can never be your wife!" exclaimed the girl, in deep agitation.
-
-"But why not, my dearest girl?"
-
-"I do not love you, sir," said the girl, cresting her graceful head
-half-haughtily upon her slender throat.
-
-"I will teach you to love me, darling. Come, say that you will let me
-take you away from this house, where I can see that they hate you,
-and make your life more happy. I will do anything to further your
-happiness, Bonnibel," urged the colonel.
-
-"What you wish is quite impossible, sir. I beg that you will dismiss
-the subject, my dear, kind friend, and forget it," repeated Bonnibel,
-earnestly.
-
-"I will not take _no_ for an answer," replied the colonel, obdurately.
-"I have taken you by surprise, and you do not know your own mind, my
-dear little girl. I will give you a week to decide in. Think of all the
-advantages I can offer you, Bonnibel, and of my devoted love, and say
-_yes_ when I come back for your answer."
-
-So saying he abruptly took his leave.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIV.
-
-
-"Mother, Bonnibel has refused Colonel Carlyle."
-
-Mrs. Arnold looked up from the sofa where she lay reading a novel by
-the gas-light with a start of surprise. Felise had come into the room
-as quietly as a spirit in her white dressing-gown.
-
-"Mercy, Felise, how you startled me!" she exclaimed. "I had just got to
-such an exciting part where the heroine was just about to be murdered
-by her jealous rival when in you came with your long hair and trailing
-white wrapper, like Lady Macbeth walking in her sleep. I almost
-expected to hear you exclaim:
-
-"'Here's the smell of the blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will
-not sweeten this little hand!'"
-
-"You are quite dramatic to-night, mother--your novel must be an
-exciting one," said Felise, with a slight sneer. She came forward and
-sat down in a large easy-chair opposite her mother. She looked pale,
-and her eyes burned with repressed excitement.
-
-"It is," said Mrs. Arnold, "the most thrilling book I have read lately.
-But what were you saying when you came in and frightened me so?"
-
-"I said that Bonnibel had _refused_ Colonel Carlyle," repeated Felise,
-distinctly.
-
-Mrs. Arnold sat up with her fingers between the pages of her book,
-whose interesting perusal she felt loth to stop. She said, half
-stupidly:
-
-"Oh, she has, has she? Well, it had to come to that, sooner or later,
-you know, my love."
-
-"Indeed?" answered Felise, shortly.
-
-"Well, you know we have been expecting it some time, Felise, ever since
-Colonel Carlyle lost his heart about her. I must say his conduct to you
-has not been that of a gentleman, my dear."
-
-"I quite agree with you," said Felise dryly.
-
-She was very quiet, but her small hands were tightly clenched. She
-seemed "to hold passion in a leash" by a strong effort of will.
-
-"But how did you find it out?" inquired her mother, thinking that
-Felise was taking it quite calmly, after all.
-
-"As I find out most things--by keeping my eyes and ears open!" retorted
-her daughter, tartly.
-
-"When did it happen?"
-
-"This afternoon, while you were out calling on the Trevertons."
-
-"Was the old fool much cut up about it?" inquired Mrs. Arnold,
-inelegantly.
-
-"He would not take _no_ for an answer," said Felise. "He wanted her
-to take time to think of all the advantages he offered her, and he is
-coming in a week to hear her decision."
-
-"The silly old dotard!" ejaculated her mother. "Well, all he can get by
-his persistence is a second refusal."
-
-Felise Herbert straightened herself in her chair, and looked at her
-mother with a strange smile on her face.
-
-"I do not intend that he shall get a _second refusal_!" she said, in a
-low voice that was very firm and incisive.
-
-Mrs. Arnold stared at her daughter in blank surprise and incredulity.
-
-"Why, Felise, what can you mean?" she inquired.
-
-"I mean that Bonnibel Vere shall marry Colonel Carlyle!" her daughter
-answered, in the same low, determined voice.
-
-"Why, my dear, you know it cannot be when she already has a _husband_!
-Besides, I did not know that you wanted them to marry. I thought--I
-thought--" said Mrs. Arnold, stopping short because surprise had
-overpowered her.
-
-She looked at the white figure sitting so quietly there in the
-arm-chair, with some apprehension. Had Felise's disappointment impaired
-her reason?
-
-"You need not look at me so strangely, mother," said Felise. "I assure
-you I am not mad, as your eyes imply. I am as sane as you are; but I
-have said that Bonnibel Vere shall marry my recreant lover, and I mean
-to keep my word. She has stolen him from me, and now she shall marry
-him and get out of my way! Or perhaps you would prefer to keep her here
-to spoil the next eligible chance I get," said Felise, looking at her
-mother with burning eyes.
-
-"I don't see how you can bring her to consent to such a thing, even if
-you are in earnest, my dear."
-
-"You have got to help me, mother. You shall tell her that you will
-not allow her to refuse Colonel Carlyle--that she shall become his
-wife, and that if she does not revoke her rejection, you will turn her
-instantly into the street!"
-
-"Felise, will you tell me why you are so determined upon their
-marriage? I supposed you were unwilling to it--it would be only natural
-for you to oppose it--but you seem as anxious for it as Colonel Carlyle
-himself. Again, I ask you why?
-
-"Mother, I told you I would take revenge upon my rival. This is a part
-of my revenge. Their marriage will be the first act in the drama. Do
-not ask me how I am going to proceed. Let me work out my revenge in my
-own way. I owe them both a score. Never fear but I will pay it off with
-interest!"
-
-"But, Felise, you must know that Bonnibel would sooner declare her
-secret marriage than be forced into another one. I can turn her into
-the street if you are determined upon it; but I know I cannot make a
-girl as truthful and pure as Bonnibel Vere knowingly become the wife of
-two husbands."
-
-"I fully admit your inability to do that, mother. I do not intend to
-insist on your performance of impossibilities. As for Leslie Dane, look
-here!"'
-
-She straightened out a folded paper she had carried in her bosom, and
-leaning forward pointed out a small paragraph to her mother.
-
-Mrs. Arnold read the brief paragraph with starting eyes, then turned
-and looked at her daughter. She no longer kept her finger between the
-pages of her novel. It had slipped down upon the floor. She was getting
-absorbed in this tragedy in real life.
-
-"Is it possible?" she exclaimed. "Felise, can it be true?"
-
-"Why not?" was the cool interrogatory. "Such things happen often--don't
-they?
-
-    "'Every minute dies a man,
-      Every minute one is born.'"
-
-"Let me see the date," Mrs. Arnold said, bending forward. "Ah! it is
-very recent. Well, I _am_ surprised. But yet it is a very fortunate
-occurrence, is it not? Of course it is genuine."
-
-"Why, of course it is," said Felise, with a short, dry laugh. "How else
-could it be in the paper? They don't put such things in for sport, I
-suppose."
-
-"Of course not; but it came upon me so suddenly I felt quite
-incredulous at first. Well, this puts a new face upon the matter, does
-it not, my dear?"
-
-"Certainly, mother. I will show her this paper, and she cannot have
-any pretext for repeating her refusal in the face of the alternative
-with which you shall threaten her. I suppose any girl in her senses
-would marry Colonel Carlyle and his millions rather than be turned out
-homeless into the street."
-
-She sat still a moment staring before her into futurity with lurid eyes
-that saw her revenge already, and curling lips that began to taste its
-sweetness in anticipation.
-
-"When must I tell her, Felise?" inquired Mrs. Arnold.
-
-"To-morrow, mother. There is no use in delaying matters. Let us bring
-the marriage about as speedily as possible. You will tell her to-morrow
-what she has to do, and I will be on hand with the paper."
-
-She rose slowly.
-
-"Well, I will go, and leave you to finish your novel," she said; "but
-if you take my advice you will retire instead. It is growing late.
-Good-night."
-
-"Good-night, my love, and pleasant dreams," her mother answered.
-
-She went out as quietly as she had entered, her dark hair flying wildly
-over her shoulders and her white robes trailing noiselessly after her.
-She was twisting her hands together, and again Mrs. Arnold thought of
-Lady Macbeth washing her hands and crying in her sleep, "Out, damned
-spot!"
-
-Ah, Felise Herbert! There was a stain on your soul as red as that on
-Lady Macbeth's hand!
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XV.
-
-
-The morning after the rejection of Colonel Carlyle, Bonnibel Vere sat
-alone in a pleasant little morning-room that was thrown out from the
-main residence as a wing. It was daintily furnished in blue plush and
-walnut, and had double glass doors that looked out upon a lovely little
-garden that in this pleasant May season was glowing with bloom and
-fragrance.
-
-Bonnibel had been trying to read, but in the perturbed state of her
-mind she could not fix her attention upon the book. It had fallen from
-her lap upon the floor, and as she sat in the luxurious arm-chair she
-leaned forward with her little chin buried in one pink palm and her
-blue eyes gazing into vacancy, as if lost in thought.
-
-She looked very fair and sweet sitting there in a cool, white
-morning-dress, trimmed in lace and dotted about with several bows of
-black ribbon. Her beautiful hair, which was growing long and thick
-again, fell upon her shoulders in loose curls, like glints of sunshine.
-
-She had broken a spray of white hyacinth and pinned it on her bosom,
-and she looked as pure and sweet as the flower itself.
-
-"I am very sorry," she was thinking to herself, "that I was so
-unfortunate as to win Colonel Carlyle's affection. I certainly never
-dreamed of such a thing, and a year ago I should have laughed in the
-face of any old man who dared propose to me, and have told him I did
-not wish to marry my grandfather. Heigh-ho! I have grown graver now,
-and do not turn everything into a jest as I did then. Still, I wish
-it had not happened. I liked him simply as my father's friend, and I
-thought he liked me just as papa's daughter."
-
-She sighed heavily.
-
-"I think I understand some things now that have puzzled me all the
-winter," she mused. "He was Felise's lover when I first came, and I
-have unconsciously rivaled her. She hates me for it, and Aunt Arnold
-hates me, too. Ah! if they knew all that I knew they need not be
-afraid. Felise is welcome to him, and I will try to induce him to
-return to her. I never thought that Colonel Carlyle could have acted so
-basely toward her, as it seems he has----"
-
-Mrs. Arnold's sudden entrance into the room interrupted her
-meditations. She looked so angry and overbearing that Bonnibel rose and
-was about leaving the room when she was recalled abruptly.
-
-"Stay, Bonnibel; I wish to speak with you. Resume your seat, if you
-please."
-
-Flushing with resentment at the insolent authority of the tone,
-Bonnibel turned and faced the lady with a gleam of pride shining in her
-blue eyes.
-
-"Pardon me," she answered, coldly. "I will hear what you have to say
-standing."
-
-"As you please," said Mrs. Arnold, with a sneer. "Perhaps your strength
-may not stand the ordeal, however."
-
-Bonnibel stared at her in silent surprise.
-
-"You have refused an offer of marriage from Colonel Carlyle," said Mrs.
-Arnold in a tone of deep displeasure.
-
-Bonnibel's fair cheeks deepened their color ever so slightly.
-
-"Yes, madam, I have," she answered after a moment's thought. "But I am
-ignorant of the means by which you became cognizant of the fact."
-
-"It does not matter," Mrs. Arnold replied, flushing to a dark red under
-the clear pure eyes bent upon her. "Perhaps he told me himself. One
-would think that even so elderly a lover would consult a young lady's
-guardian and protector before addressing her! But no matter how I came
-by my information, you admit its truth."
-
-"Certainly, madam," Bonnibel answered quietly, but wondering within
-herself what all this fencing meant. She was growing slightly nervous.
-The fair hands trembled slightly as they hung lightly clasped before
-her, and the white and red rose triumphed alternately in her cheek.
-
-Mrs. Arnold stood resting her folded arms on the back of a chair,
-regarding the lovely young creature as if she had been a culprit before
-the bar of justice.
-
-"May I ask what were your reasons for declining the honor Colonel
-Carlyle offered you?" she inquired in measured tones.
-
-Bonnibel was half-tempted to deny Mrs. Arnold's right to ask such
-a question. With an effort she fought down the quick impulse,
-and answered in a voice as gentle as the other's was rude and
-self-assertive:
-
-"I did not love him, Aunt Arnold!"
-
-"Love! Love!" sneered the widow contemptuously. "What had _love_ to do
-with the matter? You, a poor, penniless, dependent creature, to prate
-of love when such a man as Colonel Carlyle lays his millions at your
-feet! You should have jumped at the chance and thanked him for his
-condescension!"
-
-The listener regarded her with horror and amazement. Her delicate lips
-quivered with feeling, and her eyes were misty with unshed tears.
-
-"Surely, Aunt Arnold," she said, questioningly, "you would not have had
-me accept Colonel Carlyle simply for his gold?"
-
-"Yes, I would, though," answered Mrs. Arnold roughly, "and what is
-more, I intend that you _shall_ accept him, Bonnibel Vere! Girl, you
-must have been mad to dream of refusing such a splendid offer. When
-Colonel Carlyle returns for his final answer you will tell him that
-your first refusal was only a girlish freak of coquetry, to try his
-love, and that you accept his offer gratefully."
-
-Bonnibel's cheeks turned as white as her dress, a mist rose before her
-eyes, shutting out the sight of her aunt's angry face.
-
-She staggered and put out her hand to steady herself by a chair. Mrs.
-Arnold regarded her with an air of cold insolence.
-
-"I thought you would find it rather beyond your strength to stand
-before our conversation was over," she remarked, with slight sarcasm.
-
-Bonnibel did not seem to hear the last shaft of malice. She answered
-the preceding words in a voice that she strove to render steady and
-controlled.
-
-"I cannot recognize your right to dictate to me in a matter that
-concerns myself alone, madam."
-
-Mrs. Arnold listened to the proud, calm tones in furious wrath.
-
-"You defy my authority? You refuse to obey me?" she broke out angrily.
-
-"Your violence leaves me no other alternative, Aunt Arnold," said the
-young girl, trying hard to speak calmly. "I do not wish to marry yet,
-and the man whom you wish me to accept as a husband, could never be the
-choice of my heart. I cannot understand why you should wish to force me
-into a marriage so unsuitable."
-
-The graceful, womanly dignity of the young girl's words and manner made
-no impression on the coarse woman's nature. She only saw before her the
-girl she had hated ever since her innocent babyhood, the girl whose
-peerless beauty had come between Felise and her brilliant prospects.
-She broke out in a passionate resentment:
-
-"Because I want to be rid of you, girl! You have been a tumbling-block
-in my path your whole life, and I hate the very sight of your
-baby-face! But I took pity on you and cared for you when poverty came
-upon you. In return for my kindness you stole my daughter's lover! Now
-you shall marry him and get out of her way. It is the only reparation
-you can make her. Do you think I will allow you to refuse Colonel
-Carlyle, and remain here to cheat her out of the next eligible chance
-that offers? Never!"
-
-It was hard work for the listener to be so fiercely assailed by
-this woman and not break out into the angry remonstrances that were
-swelling in her heart. But Bonnibel had learned the difficult art
-of self-control lately. She reflected to herself that it was but
-natural that Mrs. Arnold should feel sore over the disappointment and
-humiliation of her clever, handsome daughter.
-
-"I am very sorry to hear that you hate me so much," she said, a little
-sadly. "I have had no one to love me since Uncle Francis died, and I
-hoped I might win a little place in his wife's heart. But you wrong me,
-indeed, in charging me with stealing Felise's lover. I never dreamed
-of winning him away from her; I was deceived by his interest in me,
-thinking it was simply because he had been a friend and comrade of my
-dear papa. I might have known better, you say. Perhaps I might, but I
-was blinded by private troubles of my own, and scarcely heeded what
-went on around me. I am very sorry I have been the innocent cause of
-pain to Felise."
-
-"Spare her the additional mortification of your sympathy," was the
-ironical answer. "I think she can bear the old dotard's desertion.
-She does not desire your regrets, and I believe I have named the only
-reparation possible for you."
-
-"And that?" said the girl, slowly.
-
-"Is to marry Colonel Carlyle and get out of her way," was the harsh
-reply.
-
-"I cannot do that," said Bonnibel, hurriedly. "It is impossible for me
-to marry Colonel Carlyle--there are many reasons why I should not. As
-to the other, I will----"
-
-She was about to add, "I will go away from here," but a sickening
-thought flashed across her. _Where_ could she go?
-
-She had no relative to fly to in her trouble. She did not know how to
-work and take care of herself. She had never learned anything useful,
-and her education had been mostly limited to those showy, superficial
-accomplishments in vogue in the fashionable world. She had five hundred
-fashionable friends, but not one to whom she could turn for comfort in
-this her dark hour.
-
-"You say you cannot marry Colonel Carlyle," said Mrs. Arnold, breaking
-in on her troubled silence. "Listen to the only alternative that is
-left you. I give you until he returns for his answer to decide in. If
-you do not then accept him you shall no longer have the shelter of my
-roof. Yes, in the very hour that you refuse Carlyle's millions, I will
-turn you out homeless into the streets!"
-
-Into the streets! How the words grated on the girl's horrified hearing.
-She had seen them take up a dead girl from the street once, a girl as
-young and fair almost as herself.
-
-They said she had poisoned herself because she had no home. They took
-her away to the Morgue, but Bonnibel had never forgotten that fair,
-still face as it lay cold in death.
-
-She recalled it now with a shiver. Some one had turned the poor girl
-into the streets to die. Would that be her fate?
-
-A deadly weakness stole over her. She dropped into a chair like one
-shot, and Mrs. Arnold as she stood near her could hear the loud, wild
-beating of her heart. Her little white hands trembled, and her cheeks
-and lips turned white as marble.
-
-"Aunt Arnold," she said, looking up at the cruel, relentless woman,
-"you would not do that, surely? I should have nowhere to go, and I
-am so terribly afraid of the night and the darkness in the dreadful
-streets of the city!"
-
-"No matter," sneered the listener. "You can go to one of the finest
-houses in the city if you like, and have every luxury that wealth can
-command--but if you refuse that, out you go from under the shelter of
-this roof!"
-
-There was the sound of some one singing in the flower-garden outside.
-
-It was Felise. She came in with one handful of roses, while the other
-held a newspaper which she was studying with a thoughtful brow.
-
-"Bonnibel," she said, abruptly, "do you recollect that young artist,
-Leslie Dane, who used to visit at Sea View last summer?"
-
-A wave of color drifted into the girl's white cheek. She looked up
-quickly into the thoughtful face of Felise.
-
-"Yes," she answered, "what of him, Felise?"
-
-"Did he not go to Rome to study painting?" inquired the artful girl.
-
-"That was his intention, I believe," said Bonnibel, wondering what was
-coming now.
-
-"I thought so. There can be no mistake, then--poor fellow! Look here,
-Bonnibel."
-
-She put the paper she carried into the young girl's hand, and touched
-her taper finger to a marked paragraph.
-
-Bonnibel's eyes followed the jeweled finger and read the few lines with
-staring gaze, mutely conscious of the overpowering scent of the roses
-that Felise carried in her hand.
-
-Ever afterward Bonnibel associated roses with the thought of death.
-
-"Died on the 10th of April, at Rome, Italy, of malarial fever, Leslie
-Dane, in the 24th year of his age. Mr. Dane was an artist and a native
-of the United States of America. _Requiescat in pace._"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVI.
-
-
-Felise was prepared to see her rival fall fainting at her feet.
-
-She expected nothing less from the shock to the girl's already
-overwrought feelings, and in anticipation she already gloated over the
-sight of her sufferings.
-
-But she was mistaken. Bonnibel neither screamed nor fainted. She sat
-like one dazed for a moment, her blue eyes riveted to the paper, and
-her face growing white as death, while the two women who hated her
-watched her with looks of triumph.
-
-The next instant, with a bound like that of a wounded fawn seeking some
-leafy covert in which to die, she sprang from her seat and rushed from
-the room, clenching the fatal paper in her hand.
-
-They could hear her light feet flying along the hall and up the stairs
-to her own especial apartments.
-
-The two wicked women looked at each other blankly.
-
-"I did not expect her to take it that way," said Mrs. Arnold.
-
-"Nor I," returned Felise. "I looked for a fainting spell, or some kind
-of a tragic scene at least."
-
-"Perhaps she does not care much after all," suggested Mrs. Arnold. "She
-is young, and the young are proverbially fickle. She may have ceased to
-love him."
-
-"No, she has not. I am confident of that, mother. Her face looked
-dreadful when she went out. She is too proud to let us see how she is
-wounded--that is all. She turned as white as a dead woman while she was
-reading, and there was a hunted, desperate look in her eyes. Depend
-upon it she is terribly stricken."
-
-"Do you think she will consent to marry Colonel Carlyle now, Felise?"
-
-"I rather think she will after the awful alternative you placed before
-her."
-
-"Did you hear our conversation, my dear?"
-
-"Every word of it, mother. I must say you sustained your part
-splendidly. I feared you would not display sufficient firmness, but you
-came off with flying colors."
-
-Mrs. Arnold smiled. She was well-pleased at her daughter's praise, for
-though her life was devoted to the service of Felise, this scheming
-girl seldom gave her a word or smile of commendation. She answered
-quickly:
-
-"I am glad you were pleased, my love. I tried to be as positive as you
-wished me to be. I fancied I heard you under the window once."
-
-"I was there," said Felise, with a laugh.
-
-"She was very much shocked when I threatened to turn her out of doors,"
-said Mrs. Arnold. "She looked at me quite wildly."
-
-"She will be more shocked when she finds you meant every word, for,
-mother, if she does not accept Colonel Carlyle, you shall certainly
-drive her away!" exclaimed Felise, and a wild and lurid gleam of hatred
-fired her eyes as she spoke, that boded evil to the fair and innocent
-girl upon whom she had sworn to take a terrible revenge.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Bonnibel flew up the stairs to her own room, still clenching the fatal
-paper tightly in her hand, and locking her door, threw herself downward
-upon the carpet and lay there like one dead.
-
-She had not fainted. Every nerve was keenly alive and quivering with
-pain. Her heart was beating in great, suffocating throbs, her throat
-felt stiff and choked as if compressed by an iron hand, and her head
-ached terribly as if someone had hurled a heavy stone upon it.
-
-Her whole being seemed to be but one great pulse of intense agony,
-yet she lay still and moveless, save that now and then a convulsive
-clutch of the small hand pressed to her throat showed that life still
-inhabited that beautiful frame.
-
-Life! The thought came to her suddenly and painfully. She raised
-herself slowly and heavily, as if the weight of her sorrow crushed
-her down to earth, and the full realization of the terrible change
-broke over her. Leslie Dane was _dead_. That graceful form, that
-handsome face was hidden beneath the damp earth mould. The dark eyes
-of her artist husband would never shine down upon her again with the
-love-light beaming in them, those lips whose smiles she had loved so
-well would never press hers again as they had done that night when he
-had blessed her and called her his wife. But _she_--she was a living,
-agonized creature, the plaything of fate--oh, God! she thought,
-clasping her hands together wildly, oh, God! that she were dead and
-lying in the grave with the loved one she would never see again. She
-felt in all its passionate intensity the force of another's heart-wrung
-utterance.
-
-    "Dead, dead!" she moaned.
-    "Oh, God! since _he_ could die,
-    The world's a grave, and hope lies buried there."
-
-Ah! Bonnibel, sweet Bonnibel! It is a dark world indeed on which your
-tearful gaze looks forth! It has been the grave of hope to many, yet
-destiny pushes us forward blindly, and we cannot stay her juggernaut
-wheels as they roll over our hearts.
-
-"I am eighteen years old, and I am a _widow_," she moans at last, and
-staggers blindly to her feet, pushing back the fair locks from her brow
-with shaking hands. "_I am a widow!_"
-
-Oh! the pathos of the words! As she speaks them she draws the blinds,
-drops the curtains, and the room is shrouded in darkness. She has shut
-out the world from the sight of suffering. You and I, my reader, will
-turn aside, too, from the contemplation of that cruelly tried young
-heart as it fights the battle in the gloom and silence.
-
-    "Who breathes must suffer; and who thinks must mourn;
-     And he alone is blessed who ne'er was born."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Six days later Colonel Carlyle was ushered into Mrs. Arnold's
-drawing-room and sent up his card to Miss Vere.
-
-After a slight delay she came gliding in, pale and pure as a snow-drop,
-and demure as a little nun. Colonel Carlyle both felt and saw that some
-subtle and indefinable change had come over her as he bowed over the
-cold, white hand she placed in his.
-
-It was a very warm day, even for May; but she was clothed from head to
-foot in heavy mourning draped with crape. Her golden hair was brushed
-straight back from her temples and gathered into a simple coil fastened
-with a comb of jet. From that somber setting her fair face and bright
-hair shone like a star.
-
-"You are pale, Bonnibel; I trust you have not been ill," exclaimed the
-ancient suitor anxiously.
-
-"I am as well as usual," she answered, with a slight, cold smile.
-
-They sat down, and the ardent lover at once plunged into the subject
-nearest his heart.
-
-"Bonnibel, I have come for my answer, you know," he said. "I hope and
-trust it may be a favorable one."
-
-The girl's sweeping lashes lifted a moment from her pale cheeks, and
-her blue eyes regarded him sadly; but she did not speak. He bent down
-and lifted her white, listless hand in his and held it fondly.
-
-"My dear, shall it be yes?" he inquired. "Will you give me this
-precious little treasure?"
-
-Bonnibel looked down at the hand that lay in the colonel's--it was the
-one which wore the opal ring--that beautiful, changeful gem. Its colors
-were dim and pale to-day. She shivered slightly, as if with cold.
-
-"Colonel Carlyle, I told you when we spoke of this before that I did
-not love you," she said, faintly.
-
-The colonel did not appear to be disheartened by this plaintive plea.
-
-"At least you do not hate me, Bonnibel," he said, half questioningly.
-
-"Oh, no," she answered quickly; "I like you very much, Colonel Carlyle.
-You have been so very kind to me, you know--but it is only the liking
-one has for a friend--it is in no way akin to love."
-
-"I will try to be contented with just your friendly liking, my dear
-one, if you will give yourself to me," he answered, eagerly.
-
-"I believe I could give you a daughter's affection, but never that of a
-wife," she murmured.
-
-He did not in the least understand the swift, appealing look of the
-eyes that were raised a moment to his own. A swift thought had rushed
-over her and she had given it words:
-
-"Oh, that he would adopt me for his daughter and save me from either
-of those two alternatives that lie before me," she thought, wildly.
-"He might do so for papa's sake, and I would make him a very devoted
-daughter!"
-
-But the sighing lover did not want a daughter--he was after a wife.
-
-"I will take you even on those terms," he replied. "Let me give you the
-shelter of my name, and we will see if I cannot soon win a warmer place
-in your heart."
-
-She shook her head and a heavy sigh drifted across her lips.
-
-"Do not deceive yourself, Colonel Carlyle," she said. "My heart is
-dead. I shall never love any one."
-
-"I will risk all that," he answered. "Only say yes, most peerless of
-women, and so that I call you mine I will risk all else!"
-
-"Do you mean it?" she asked, earnestly. "The hand without the
-heart--would that content you?"
-
-"Yes," he answered, bent on attaining his end, and foolishly believing
-that he could teach her to love him. "Yes; am I to have it, Bonnibel?"
-
-"It shall be as you wish," she answered, quietly, and leaning slightly
-forward she laid in his the hand she had withdrawn a while ago.
-
-Colonel Carlyle was beside himself with rapture.
-
-"A thousand thanks, my beautiful darling," he exclaimed, pressing
-passionate kisses on the small hand. "Nay, do not take it away so soon,
-my love. Let me first place on it the pledge of our betrothal."
-
-Still and white as marble sat Bonnibel while the enraptured colonel
-slipped over her taper forefinger a magnificent diamond ring, costly
-enough for a queen to wear. Its brilliant stone flashed fire, and the
-opal on her third finger seemed to grow dull and cold.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-So Bonnibel had made her choice.
-
-Her nature was tender, refined, luxurious. She was afraid of poverty
-and cold, and darkness; yet if Leslie Dane had lived she would have
-faced them all rather than have chosen Mrs. Arnold's alternative.
-
-But Leslie Dane was dead. Life was over and done for her. There was
-nothing to do but to die or forget. Death would have come soon enough
-in the streets, perhaps, but she was _so_ afraid of such a death. So
-she took "the goods the gods provided," and blindly threw herself
-forward into the whirling vortex of fate.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-It was not to be expected that Colonel Carlyle would be willing to
-defer his happiness. He was well-stricken in years, and had no time to
-spare in idle waiting. He therefore pressed Bonnibel to name an early
-day for the wedding.
-
-She had no choice in the matter, and allowed him to name the day
-himself.
-
-Armed with her permission, he consulted Mrs. Arnold in regard to the
-earliest possible date for his happiness.
-
-Mrs. Arnold, tutored by Felise, was all smiling graciousness, and
-fully appreciated his eagerness. She thought it quite possible that a
-suitable and elegant _trousseau_ might be provided for a wedding on the
-twenty-fifth of June.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVII.
-
-
-Bonnibel's wedding-day dawned cloudless, fair and beautiful. The sun
-shone, the flowers bloomed, the birds sang. Nothing was wanting to
-complete the charm of the day.
-
-Nothing? Ah! yes. The most important thing of all--the light and happy
-heart that should beat in the breast of a bride was lacking there.
-
-She was beautiful "in gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls," but she
-looked like a statue carved in marble. No warmth or color tinged the
-strange pallor of her face and lips, no light of love shone in the
-violet eyes that drooped beneath the sweeping lashes. She spoke and
-moved like a soundless automaton.
-
-Bonnibel had pleaded for a private marriage, but Colonel Carlyle had
-set his heart on a marriage at church, with all the paraphernalia of a
-fashionable wedding. He wanted to show the whole world what a peerless
-prize he was winning. He had urged the point with the persistency
-and almost obstinacy that is characteristic of age, and Bonnibel had
-yielded recklessly. She told herself that it did not matter what they
-did with her. Her heart was broken and her life was ruined.
-
-She was not in a position to dictate terms. Wretched, dejected,
-friendless; what mattered this crowning humiliation of being decked in
-satin and pearls and orange flowers, and paraded before all eyes as a
-beautiful slave that an old man had bought with his gold.
-
-Well, it was over. She had gone to the church with him, the wide
-portals had opened to receive her, the wedding march had pealed over
-her head, the beautiful bridesmaids had gone with her to the altar in
-their gala dresses, and carrying little baskets of flowers on their
-arms, and she had spoken the words that made her the bride of Colonel
-Carlyle. The fashionable world had flocked to witness the pageant, and
-nodded approval and congratulated both. And _now_?
-
-Now the wedding breakfast was over, the "dear five hundred friends" had
-departed, and Mrs. Carlyle stood arrayed in her traveling dress.
-
-Long Branch was to be the first destination of the wedded pair--they
-had made no further arrangements yet. Mrs. Arnold and Felise had
-promised to join them there in a few days by the groom's express
-invitation.
-
-Felise had behaved so decorously after being thrown overboard by
-her fickle suitor that the colonel felt that it behooved him to show
-his appreciation of her conduct by every delicate attention that was
-possible under the circumstances.
-
-He had, therefore, insisted on their company at Long Branch while he
-and the bride remained there, and the two ladies had promised to join
-them there in a day or two at farthest.
-
-Nothing but the coldest civilities had passed between the outraged
-Bonnibel and the mother and daughter since the day when Mrs. Arnold had
-cruelly insulted and threatened the helpless girl.
-
-Bonnibel had kept her room almost entirely after that day, acquainting
-her uncle's wife with her acceptance of Colonel Carlyle by a brief note
-sent by Lucy, though she might have spared herself the trouble, for
-Mrs. Arnold and her daughter had both been witnesses of the colonel's
-happiness.
-
-The bride-elect had been threatened by an avalanche of milliners and
-dressmakers at first, but she had resolutely declined to have anything
-to do with the details of her bridal outfit.
-
-She had suffered a fashionable _modiste_ to take her measure once, and
-after that Mrs. Arnold was forced to give her _carte blanche_ in the
-whole matter of taste, expense and arrangement. Bonnibel would dictate
-nothing in the preparation of those hated garments in which she was to
-be sacrificed.
-
-It was all over now. She stood in the hallway of the splendid home
-that had sheltered her childhood, waiting for the carriage that would
-bear her away on her honey-moon trip. She was leaving that dear home
-forever; a quick tear sprang to her eyes as the servants crowded around
-her with their humble, sorrowful adieux.
-
-Lucy was to go with her, but the others, many of whom had been valued
-domestics in the house for years, she might never see again.
-
-They all loved her, and their farewells and good wishes were the most
-fervent and heart-felt she had ever received.
-
-Colonel Carlyle, though a little impatient, was pleased at these humble
-manifestations and distributed gratuities among them with a liberal
-hand. He wondered a little at the tears that crowded into the blue eyes
-of his girl-wife. He did not know that she was thinking of the dear
-uncle with whom she had spent so many hours beneath this roof. Ah,
-those happy days! How far they lay behind her now in the green land of
-memory!
-
-"Come, dearest," he said, drawing her small hand through his arm and
-leading her away, "you must not dim those bright eyes with tears."
-
-He led her down the steps, placed her in the carriage that was gay with
-wedding favors, and Mrs. Arnold and Felise airily kissed the tips of
-their fingers to them. Janet threw an old slipper after the carriage
-for good luck, and then Bonnibel was whirled away to the new life that
-lay before her.
-
-"I came very near being the bride in that carriage myself," said
-Felise, turning away from the drawing-room window. "But 'there's many a
-slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.'"
-
-The tone was light, almost laughing; but Mrs. Arnold, turning to look
-at her, read a different story in her eyes.
-
-The slighted beauty looked very fair and handsome to-day. She had been
-the first bridesmaid, and her dress rivaled that of the bride itself
-for richness and elegance.
-
-It was a creamy satin, heavily embroidered with pearl beads and draped
-with rich lace, caught up here and there with deep-hearted yellow
-roses. Her glossy black hair was adorned with the same flowers, and a
-necklace of sparkling topaz made a circlet of pale flame around her
-white throat. A dainty little basket of yellow roses had hung upon her
-arm, but she had thrown it down now and stood trampling the senseless
-flowers with fury in her eyes.
-
-"My dear!" exclaimed the mother, in some trepidation.
-
-"Don't 'my dear' me," Felise answered, furiously. "I am not in a mood
-to be cajoled."
-
-She began to pace the floor impatiently, her rich dress rustling over
-the floor, her white hands busy tearing the roses from about her and
-throwing them down as if she hated the beautiful things whose crushed
-petals sent out a rich perfume as if in faint protest against her
-cruelty. There was a wild glare akin to that of madness in her dark
-eyes.
-
-"'Hell has no fury like a woman scorned!'" she said, repeating the
-words of the great poet. "Oh, mother, how I hate Colonel Carlyle and
-his wife! I seem to live but for revenge."
-
-"Felise, you frighten me with your looks and words," Mrs. Arnold said,
-a little anxiously. "You seem like one on the verge of madness."
-
-"I am," she said, stopping in her hurried walk a moment, and laughing a
-low, blood-curdling laugh, "but never fear, mother, 'there is method in
-my madness!'"
-
-"I wish you would give up this scheme of revenge," pursued the mother,
-anxiously. "I hate them as much as you do, I know, but then we have
-got rid of the girl, and the misery she feels as the wife of a man she
-cannot love is a very fair revenge upon her. Remember we have despoiled
-her of everything, Felise, and given her over to a life that will make
-her wretched. Is not that enough?"
-
-"No, it is not!" exclaimed her daughter, in low, concentrated tones,
-full of deep passion. "But, mother, what has changed you so? You used
-to be as vindictive as a tigress--now you plead with me to forego my
-revenge."
-
-"Because I am afraid for you, my dear," Mrs. Arnold answered in
-troubled tones. "I fear that your mind will give way under this
-dreadful strain. I have never told you, Felise, but I will do so now
-that you may guard yourself against yourself. _There was a taint of
-madness_ in your father's family, and when I see you brooding, brooding
-over your revenge, I am afraid, afraid!"
-
-The excited creature only laughed more wildly as she continued her walk.
-
-"Felise," the mother continued, "we have wealth, power, position, and
-you are beautiful. We can make life a long summer day of pleasure. Let
-us do so, and throw every vexing care to the winds."
-
-"Mother, I cannot do it," Felise exclaimed. "I have been cruelly
-humiliated in the eyes of world--everyone expected Colonel Carlyle to
-marry me--do you think I will tamely bear their sneers and contempt?
-No; the man who has brought such odium upon me shall bitterly rue the
-day he first looked upon the siren face of Bonnibel Vere!"
-
-"My love, do you remember the prediction of Wild Madge the sibyl? She
-said 'you would have everything and lose everything, because the gods
-had made you mad.'"
-
-"Who cares for the predictions of that crazy old witch? What can she
-know of the future? I wish she were dead and out of the way!" exclaimed
-the angry girl, clenching her small white hands impotently together.
-"Mother, have done with your warnings and pleadings. I will not have
-them! You seem to be undergoing a softening process of the heart and
-brain--perhaps both," and with a mocking laugh she swept from the
-apartment.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVIII.
-
-
-Among all the radiant beauties that promenaded the beach and danced
-in the ball rooms at Long Branch, the young bride of Colonel Carlyle
-became immediately distinguished for her pre-eminent loveliness.
-
-Wherever she went she created a great sensation.
-
-People went to the places where they heard she would be, just to look
-at that "faultily faultless" face "star-sweet on a gloom profound."
-
-Artists raved over her form and features. They said she was the fairest
-woman in the world, and that her beauty had but one fault--it was too
-cold and pale. One touch of glow and color in that "passionless, pale,
-cold face," they said, would have made her so lovely that men would
-have gone mad for her--gone mad or died.
-
-And then she was so young, they said. She had never been presented in
-society. Colonel Carlyle, the cunning old fox, had married her out of
-the schoolroom before anyone had a chance to see her. The fops and
-dandies swore at him behind their waxed mustaches, while better and
-nobler men said it was a shame that such a fair, charming girl should
-be wedded to such an old man.
-
-There were some who said that the girl, young as she was, had a hidden
-heart-history. These were the poets and dreamers. They said that the
-language of those pale cheeks and drooping eyes was that she had been
-torn from her handsome lover's side and bartered for an old man's gold.
-
-But these were mere conjectures. No one knew anything about her
-certainly, until Mrs. Arnold and Felise came down after a week's delay.
-Then they knew that she was the daughter of General Vere, and the niece
-of Francis Arnold, the murdered millionaire.
-
-Felise told them of the artist lover who had murdered the millionaire
-because he would not give him his niece. The excitement only ran higher
-than before, and people looked at the young creature with even more
-curiosity and interest than ever.
-
-Bonnibel could not help seeing that she was an object of interest and
-admiration to everyone about her. She saw that the men sought her
-side eagerly and often, and that the women were jealous of her. At
-first she was vexed and angry about it. She could not get a moment to
-herself. They were always seeking her out, always hovering about her
-like butterflies round a flower. She wondered why they came round her
-so, but at length she remembered what she had almost forgotten. Uncle
-Francis had often told her so; Leslie Dane had told her so; she had
-heard it from others, too, and even Wild Madge had admitted it.
-
-Ah! Wild Madge! Over her memory rushed the words of the fearful old
-hag, freighted with a deeper meaning than they had held at first.
-
-"You are beautiful, but your beauty will be your bane." "Years of
-sorrow lie before you!" "You will be a young man's bride, but an old
-man's darling!"
-
-"It has all come true," she thought, turning from the circle around
-her, and looking wistfully out over the waves that came swelling
-against the shore, like some wild heart beating against the bars of
-life. "It has all come true--yet how little I dreamed that she could
-read the future that lies folded, like the leaves of a book, from first
-sight. How little I thought that a shadow could ever fall between me
-and happiness! Yet in a few short months her wild prediction has been
-fulfilled. I have drank deeply of sorrow's cup. I have been a young
-man's bride; now they say I am an old man's darling. All--all has been
-fulfilled save the shame and disgrace with which she threatened me. But
-that can never come, never, _never_!" and a look of pride came over the
-fair face, and the round throat was curved defiantly.
-
-Colonel Carlyle was quite happy and proud at first over the sensation
-created by his beautiful girl-wife. He liked to see how much people
-admired her. It pleased him to note the admiring glances that followed
-her slightest movement.
-
-She belonged to him, and all the admiration she excited was a tribute
-to his taste and his pride.
-
-For a whole week he was as pleased and happy as a man could be, but
-a shadow fell upon him with the coming of Felise. He grew morbidly
-jealous.
-
-Jealous, and without a shadow of reason, for Bonnibel was like the
-chaste and lovely moon--she shone coldly and alike upon all.
-
-But the colonel became a changed man--everyone noticed it, and many
-said that the old man was growing jealous of his beautiful darling.
-
-But no one could tell how it came about, not even Felise Herbert, who,
-when questioned by her mother, refused to admit that the faintest, most
-insidious hint from her lips had been dropped like poison into the
-cup of perfect happiness from which the doting old husband was fondly
-drinking.
-
-One morning a note lay on his dressing-table--a little note scrawled
-in a disguised hand--he took it up and read it, then put it down again
-and stood gazing blankly at it as if it were the death-warrant of his
-happiness. It was very short, but every word was stamped indelibly on
-his memory.
-
-"Your wife," it ran, "wears a little opal ring on the third finger of
-her right hand. She prizes it more than all the costly jewels you have
-lavished upon her. It was the gift of a former lover whom she still
-adores. Ask her to cease wearing the ring, or even to show you the
-inscription inside, and you will see who has the warmest place in her
-heart."
-
-Could this be true? Was this a friend who warned him, he thought. He
-remembered the pretty little ring perfectly.
-
-The jealous pang that had been tearing at his heart for days grew
-sharper than ever.
-
-He knew his wife did not love him yet, but he had fondly hoped to win
-her heart in time.
-
-If what the writer of that anonymous letter said was true, then it was
-vain to hope any longer.
-
-"A former lover whom she still adored." Oh! God, could that be true?
-
-"I will test her," he said to himself. "No one shall poison my mind
-against my beautiful wife without a cause. 'I will put it to the test
-and win or lose it all.'"
-
-He went to a jeweler's that morning and came back with a little box in
-his vest-pocket.
-
-Then he asked Bonnibel if she would walk down to the seashore with him.
-
-She complied with a gentle smile, and he found her a shady seat a
-little off from the crowd, where they could talk uninterrupted.
-
-She laid down her parasol, and removing her delicate gloves folded her
-white hands listlessly together.
-
-Colonel Carlyle took up the hand that wore the opal ring and looked at
-it fondly.
-
-"My dear," he said, "that is a very pretty ring you wear, but it is
-not beautiful enough for your perfect hand. I have brought you a much
-handsomer one with which to replace it."
-
-He took it from his pocket and showed it to her--a lovely, shimmering
-opal set round with gleaming pearls.
-
-"I have heard that opals are unlucky stones," he said, "but if you are
-not superstitious, and like to wear them, will you lay aside the simple
-one you now have and put this on instead?" and he made a movement as if
-he would withdraw the tabooed one from her finger.
-
-Bonnibel withdrew her hand quickly, and looked up into Colonel
-Carlyle's face.
-
-He saw her delicate lips quiver, and a dimness creep over her eyes,
-while her cheeks grew, if anything, paler than ever. Her voice trembled
-slightly as she answered:
-
-"I thank you for your beautiful gift; but I cannot consent to wear it
-in the place of the plainer one I now have."
-
-"And why not, my dear little wife? It would look much handsomer than
-the one you now wear on your finger."
-
-A faint flush tinged her snow-white cheek at the half-sarcastic
-emphasis of his words. Her glance wandered off to the sunlit sea and a
-tear rolled down her check as she said, very gently:
-
-"I am quite aware of that, Colonel Carlyle. Your ring is a marvel of
-beauty and taste, and I will wear it on another finger if you like;
-but I prize the other more for its associations than for its beauty or
-value. It was a keepsake from a friend. You remember the pretty words
-of the old song:
-
-    "'Who has not kept some trifling thing,
-        More prized than jewels rare,
-      A faded flower, a broken ring,
-        A tress of golden hair?'"
-
-There was a tone of unconscious pleading in her pathetic voice, and the
-heart of the jealous old husband gave a throb of pain as he listened.
-
-"It is true, then," he thought to himself. "It was a gift of a former
-lover."
-
-Aloud he said rather coldly:
-
-"Since you prize it so much as a keepsake, Bonnibel, put it away
-in some secret place, and preserve it as romantic people do such
-treasures--it will be safer thus."
-
-"I prefer to wear it, sir," she answered, with a glance of surprise at
-the persistency.
-
-"But I do not wish you to wear it. I particularly desire that you
-should lay it aside and wear the one I have brought you instead," he
-insisted, rather sharply goaded on by jealousy and dread.
-
-Bonnibel turned her eyes away from the blue waves of the ocean and
-looked curiously at her husband. She saw that he was in desperate
-earnest. His dark eyes flashed with almost the fire of youth, and his
-features worked with some inward emotion she did not in the least
-understand.
-
-"I am sorry to refuse your request, sir," she answered, a little
-gravely; "though I am surprised that you should insist upon it when I
-have plainly expressed a contrary wish. I can only repeat what I have
-said before, that I prefer to wear it."
-
-"Against my wishes, Bonnibel?"'
-
-"I hope that you will not further oppose it, sir, on the ground of a
-mere caprice," she answered, flushing warmly. "It was the gift of a
-dear friend, who is dead, and I shall always wear it in remembrance."
-
-"The gift of a former lover, perhaps," sneered Colonel Carlyle, half
-beside himself with jealousy.
-
-"I suppose it cannot matter to you, Colonel Carlyle, who the giver may
-have been," exclaimed Bonnibel, offended at his overbearing tone, and
-flushing indignantly.
-
-"Pardon me, but it does matter, Bonnibel. I dislike exceedingly to see
-my wife wearing the ring of one whom she loves better than her husband!
-Common regard for my feelings should induce you to lay it aside without
-forcing me to issue a command to that effect!"
-
-His jealous pain or innate tyranny was fast getting the better of
-his prudence, or he would scarcely have taken such a tone with the
-young wife whose heart he so ardently longed to win. She sprang
-up impetuously and looked down at him with the fires of awakened
-resentment burning hotly upon her cheeks, looking beautiful with the
-glow and warmth of passion in the face that had been too cold and pale
-before. The same proud spirit that had forced her to defy her Uncle
-Francis that memorable night animated her now.
-
-"I think you will hardly dare issue such a command to me, Colonel
-Carlyle. Remember that though I am your wife I am not your slave!"
-
-How fair she looked in his eyes even as she indignantly defied his
-authority! But passion had made him blind to reason and justice. With
-a swift glance around to assure himself that no one was in sight, he
-caught her small hand and tried to wrench the ring from her finger by
-force.
-
-"At least I will see whose hated name is written within the precious
-jewel!" he exclaimed.
-
-"Release me, this moment, Colonel Carlyle! If you dare to persevere in
-such a cowardly and brutal course, I swear to you that I will never
-live with you another day! Yes, I would leave you within the hour
-were I twice your wife!" cried the girl, in such passionate wrath and
-scorn that the colonel let go of her hand in sheer surprise at the
-transformation of his dove.
-
-"You would not dare do such a thing!" he exclaimed, vehemently.
-
-"Would I not?" she answered, with flashing eyes. "I dare do anything!
-Beware how you put me to the test!"
-
-He stood glaring at her with rage and malignity distorting his
-aristocratic features. How dared that feeble, puny girl defy him thus?
-
-For a moment he almost hated her. A sleeping devil was aroused within
-his heart.
-
-"Bonnibel," he exclaimed, angrily, "you shall repent this hour in dust
-and ashes!"
-
-All the latent fire and scorn of the girl's passionate nature were
-fanned into flame by his threatening words.
-
-"I care nothing for your threat," she answered, haughtily. "I defy you
-to do your worst! Such threats do honor to your manhood when addressed
-to a weak and helpless girl! See how little I prize the gift of one who
-could act in so unmanly a way."
-
-She stooped and caught up his ring where it had fallen on the sands
-in all its shining beauty. She made a step forward towards the water,
-her white hand flashed in the air a moment, and the costly jewel fell
-shimmering into the sea.
-
-They stood a moment looking at each other in silence--the girl
-reckless, defiant, like a young lioness at bay; the man astonished,
-indignant, yet still thrilled with a sort of inexpressible admiration
-of her beauty and her daring. He saw in her that moment some of the
-dauntless courage of her hero-father. The same proud, untamed spirit
-flashed from her glorious eyes. It flashed across him suddenly and
-humiliatingly that he had been a fool to try such high-handed measures
-with General Vere's daughter--he might have known that the same
-unconquerable fire burned in her veins. He had seen Harry Vere go into
-the battle with the same look on his face--the same flashing eye, the
-same dilated nostril and disdainful lip.
-
-He went up to her, thrilled with momentary compunction for his fault,
-and took her hand in his.
-
-"You were right, Bonnibel," he said, humbly. "I acted like a coward and
-a brute. I was driven mad by jealousy. Can you forgive me, darling?"
-
-"I accept your apology, sir," she answered, coldly; but there was
-little graciousness and much pride in her manner. Her pride had been
-outraged almost past forgiveness.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIX.
-
-
-Colonel Carlyle keeps the peace for several days. He finds that he has
-overstepped the mark and that it will take careful management to regain
-his lost ground in his wife's regard. Bonnibel, though she married him
-without a spark of love, has yet given him a very frank and tender
-regard and esteem until now. She has always thought him a perfect
-gentleman, a model of courtesy and propriety, and as such she has given
-him all that was left in her heart to give--the reverence and affection
-of a dutiful daughter. Now, without a moment's warning, her ideal has
-fallen from the proud pedestal where she had placed it--its shattered
-fragments bestrewed the ground, and _she_ knows, if he does not, that
-the broken image can never be restored.
-
-He has deceived her, she tells herself bitterly, but now that he has
-won her, the mask of courtliness is laid aside, and he shows the iron
-hand that was hidden beneath the velvet glove.
-
-But a few short weeks had fled, and he begins to play the tyrant
-already.
-
-Her passionate, undisciplined nature rises up in hot rebellion against
-his injustice. The foolish jealousy of his old age appears very
-contemptible to her youthful eyes. She does not try to excuse it to
-herself. A great revulsion of feeling comes over her, chilling the
-gentle growth of tenderness and gratitude in her heart. Her manner
-grows cold, reserved, almost offensively haughty.
-
-Ere this first cloud on the matrimonial horizon clears away the grand
-ball of the season comes off. The gay visitors at Long Branch dance
-every night, but this is to be the most brilliant affair of any--a
-"full dress affair" is what the ladies call it--meaning to say that
-they wear their finest dresses and costliest jewels--the gentlemen
-likewise.
-
-The night is cloudless, balmy, beautiful--such nights as we have in
-the last of July when the moon is full and Heaven martials its hosts
-of stars in the illimitable canopy above. The spacious ball-room is
-thronged with revelers. The dreamy, passionate strains of waltz-music
-float out upon the air, filling it with melody.
-
-Standing beside a window is Colonel Carlyle, in elegant evening dress,
-looking very stately and distinguished despite his seventy years.
-Leaning on his arm is Felise Herbert, looking radiant in rose-colored
-satin and gauze, with a diamond fillet clasping her dark hair, and
-diamonds shining like dew on her bare throat and rounded arms. Smiles
-dimple her red lips as she watches the animated scene about her, and
-her dark eyes shine like stars. Her companion thinks that he never saw
-her half so handsome before as she hangs on his arm and chatters airy
-nothings in his ears.
-
-"Look at our little Bonnibel," she says, in a tone of innocent
-amusement; "is she not a demure little coquette? She looks like a
-veritable snow-maiden, as cold and as pure, yet she has young Penn
-inextricably prisoned in her toils, and everyone knows it--no one
-better than herself."
-
-His glance follows hers across the room to where his young wife stands
-a little outside the giddy circle of waltzers, leaning on the arm of
-a handsome, dreamy-looking youth, and despite the jealous pang that
-thrills him at Felise's artful speech, his heart throbs with a great
-love and pride at her exceeding beauty.
-
-She looks like a snow-maiden, indeed, as her enemy says. She wears
-costly white lace over her white silk, and her cheeks and brow, her
-arms and shoulders are white as her dress. Colonel Carlyle's wedding
-gift, a magnificent set of diamonds, adorns her royally. There is not
-a flower about her, nothing but silk and laces and costly gems, yet
-withal, she makes you think of a lily, she looks so white, and cold,
-and pure in the whirl of rainbow hues around her.
-
-Her companion bends toward her, speaking earnestly, yet she listens
-with such apparent indifference and almost ennui that if that be
-coquetry at all it can surely be characterized by no other term than
-that of Felise--"demure."
-
-"I thought that Penn's loves were all ideal ones," the colonel says,
-trying to speak carelessly as he watches his wife's companion closely.
-"To judge from his latest volumes of poems, the divinities of his
-worship are all too ethereal to tread this lower earth."
-
-Felise laughs significantly as her companion ceases to speak.
-
-"Byron Penn, despite the ethereal creatures of his brain, is not proof
-against mortal beauty," she says. "Remember, Colonel Carlyle, that
-angels once looked down from Heaven and loved the women of earth."
-
-"He is a graceful waltzer," her companion returns, as the young poet
-circles the waist of the snow-maiden with one arm and whirls her into
-the mazes of the giddy, breathless waltz.
-
-"Very," says Felise, watching the graceful couple as they float around
-the room, embodying the very poetry of motion.
-
-She is silent a moment, then looks up into her companion's face with a
-slightly curious expression.
-
-"Pardon my question," she says, thoughtfully; "but do you quite approve
-of _married_ women waltzing with other men than their husbands?"
-
-He starts and looks at her sharply. The innocent deference and
-unconsciousness of her voice and face are perfect.
-
-"Since you ask me," he says, slowly, "I may say that upon mature
-consideration I might think it was not exactly _comme il faut_. Yet
-I have really never before given a second thought to the subject. It
-is quite customary, you know, and it seems even more excusable in my
-wife than other women, since I never waltz myself, and she would be
-compelled to forego that pleasure entirely unless she shared it with
-others."
-
-"Oh, pray do not think that I have any reference to Bonnibel,"
-exclaimed Felise, hurried and earnestly, "I was speaking altogether in
-the abstract. Yet I fully agree with you that your wife would be more
-excusable for many little errors of head and heart than most women. She
-is scarcely more than a child, and has never had the proper training
-to fit her for her present sphere. Her uncle was culpably indulgent
-to her, and hated to force her inclination, which was very adverse to
-study or application of any kind. Consequently our little Bonnibel,
-though beautiful as a dream, is little more than an unformed child. She
-should be in the school-room this minute."
-
-Every word is spoken with such a pretty air of excusing and defending
-the young wife's errors, and condemning her dead uncle as their cause,
-that Colonel Carlyle is entirely deceived. He did not know that
-Bonnibel was so neglected and unformed before, but he takes it on trust
-since Felise is so confident of it, and the thought rankles bitterly in
-his proud heart. But he passes over the subject in silence and returns
-to the primal one.
-
-"So you would not, as a rule, Miss Herbert, commend the practice of
-married women waltzing with other men than their husbands?"
-
-She drops her eyes with a pretty air of mingled confusion and
-earnestness.
-
-"Perhaps you will call me prudish," she says, "or perhaps I may be
-actuated by the more ignoble passion of jealousy; but I have always
-felt that were I a man it would be insupportable shame and agony for
-me to see my wife, whom I loved and revered as a being little lower
-than an angel, whirled about a common ball-room in the arms of another,
-while the gaping public nodded and winked."
-
-She saw a look of shame and pain cross his face as his eyes followed
-the white figure floating round the room in the clasp of Byron Penn's
-arms.
-
-"I suppose there are not many women who feel as strongly on that
-subject as you do," he says, slowly.
-
-"Oh, dear, no, nor men either, or they would not permit their wives
-such license," is the quick reply.
-
-The waltz-music ceases with a bewildering crash of melody, and some
-one comes up and claims Felise for the next german. She floats away
-airily as a rose-colored cloud on her partner's arm, and leaves her
-victim alone. He stands there quite silently a little, seeming lost in
-troubled thought, then goes to seek his wife.
-
-He finds her the center of an admiring circle, the young poet, Byron
-Penn, conspicuous among them.
-
-With a slight apology to his friends he offers his arm and leads her
-away from the throng out to the long moonlighted piazzas.
-
-"Shall I find you a seat or will you promenade?" he inquires politely.
-
-"Oh! promenade, by all means," she answers a little constrainedly.
-
-They take a few turns up and down the long piazza, Mrs. Carlyle's long
-robe trailing after her with a silken "swish, swish;" she makes no
-observation, does not even look at him.
-
-Her large eyes wander away and linger upon the sea that is glorious
-beyond description with the radiance of the full moon mirrored in its
-deeps, and making a pathway of light across its restless waves.
-
-She thinks vaguely that the golden streets of the celestial city must
-look like that.
-
-"I hope you are enjoying the ball?" her liege lord observes
-interrogatively.
-
-"As much as I ever enjoy anything," she returns listlessly.
-
-"Which means----" he says, quickly, then checks himself abruptly.
-
-She finishes his sentence with a dreary little sigh:
-
-"That I do not enjoy anything very much!"
-
-He looks down at her, wondering at the unusual pathos of her tone, and
-sees a face to match the voice.
-
-Moonlight they say brings out the true expression of the soul upon the
-features.
-
-If that be true then Bonnibel Carlyle bears a sad and weary soul within
-her breast.
-
-The white face looks very _spirituelle_ in the soft, mystical light,
-and the delicate lips are set in a line of pain.
-
-No man likes to see his wife unhappy. It is a reflection upon himself.
-It is his first duty to secure her happiness. Colonel Carlyle is
-nettled, and says, half querulously:
-
-"I am sorry to see you _ennuyed_ where everything seems conspiring to
-promote your happiness. Can I do nothing to further that end?"
-
-Her large eyes look up at him a moment in grave surprise at his fretful
-tone. Then she says to herself in apology for him:
-
-"He is old, and I have heard that old people become irritated very
-easily."
-
-"Pray do not trouble yourself over my thoughtless words, sir," she
-says, aloud. "I am tired--that is all. Perhaps I have danced too much."
-
-"It was of that subject I wished to speak with you when I brought you
-out here," he answers, abruptly. "Are you very fond of the waltz,
-Bonnibel?"
-
-"I like it quite well;" this after a moment's study. "There is
-something dreamy, intoxicating, almost delightful in the music and the
-motion."
-
-A spasm of jealousy contracts his heart. He speaks quickly and with a
-labored breath.
-
-"I have never waltzed in my life, and cannot, of course, enter into the
-feelings of those who have, but I can see what I am about to ask may be
-a great sacrifice to you."
-
-She glances up inquiringly into his face, but he will not meet her eyes.
-
-"Bonnibel, I want you to give up waltzing altogether--will you do it?"
-he asks, bruskly.
-
-"Give up waltzing?" she echoes, in surprise. "Is not that a very sudden
-notion, Colonel Carlyle? I did not know you harbored any objections to
-the Terpsichorean art."
-
-"I do not in the abstract," he answers, evasively. "But you will pardon
-me for saying that I consider it exceedingly indelicate and improper
-for a married woman to dance with any man but her husband. That is why
-I have asked you to give it up for my sake."
-
-"Do other people think the same way, sir?" she inquires timidly.
-
-"All right-minded people do," he answers firmly, quite ignoring the
-fact that he is a perfectly new proselyte to his boldly announced
-conviction of the heinousness of the waltz.
-
-Silence falls between them for a little time. They have stopped walking
-and stand leaning against the piazza rails. Quite unconsciously she
-has pulled a flower from his elegant _boutonniere_, and is tearing it
-to pieces between her white-gloved fingers. She looks up as the last
-rose-leaf is shredded away between her restless fingers and asks,
-quietly:
-
-"Would it please you very much to have me give up waltzing, sir?"
-
-"More than words can express, my darling; are you going to make me
-happy by the promise?"
-
-"I am quite willing to please you, sir, when it is possible for me to
-do so," she answers quite gently; "you have my promise."
-
-"Bonnibel, you are an angel!" exclaims the enraptured colonel. He draws
-his arm around her an instant and bends to kiss her lips. "A thousand
-thanks for your generous self-sacrifice!"
-
-"You need not thank me, sir--it is not much of a sacrifice," she
-answers, dryly.
-
-She has drawn out her programme of the dances for the evening and is
-hurriedly consulting it.
-
-"I find that I am engaged for one more waltz," she says, carelessly. "I
-suppose you do not object to my dancing that? It would be embarrassing
-to excuse myself."
-
-"Your partner is--whom?" he inquires, with a slight frown.
-
-Again she consults her programme.
-
-"It is Mr. Penn."
-
-"Cannot you excuse yourself? Say you are tired? Your head aches? Women
-know how to invent suitable excuses always--do they not?"
-
-"I will do as you wish, sir," she answers, in so low a voice that he
-does not catch its faint inflection of scorn.
-
-Other promenaders come out on the piazza, and one or two laughing
-jests are thrown at him for keeping the "belle of the ball away from
-her proper sphere."
-
-"Perhaps I _am_ selfish," he says. "Let us return to the ball-room, my
-love."
-
-"As you please," she answers.
-
-He leads her back and lingers by her side awhile, then it strikes him
-that _les proprietes_ do not sanction a man's monopolizing his wife's
-company in society. With a sigh he leaves her, and tries to make
-himself agreeable to other fair women.
-
-He has hardly left her before the band strikes up "The Beautiful Blue
-Danube," and Byron Penn starts up from some remote corner, from which
-he has witnessed her return to the ball-room.
-
-"This is our waltz, is it not?" he says, with a tremor of pleasure in
-his voice.
-
-A slight flush rises over Bonnibel's cheek.
-
-"I believe it is," she answers; "but if you will not think me very
-rude, Mr. Penn, I am going to ask you to excuse me from it. I am tired
-and shall dance no more this evening."
-
-"You are very cruel," says the poet, plaintively; "but if you wish to
-atone for your injustice you will walk down to the shore with me and
-look at the moonlight on the sea, and hear how delicious the music
-sounds down there. You can form no conception of its sweetness when
-mellowed by a little distance and blent with the solemn diapason of the
-waves."
-
-"If you will go and tell my maid to bring me a shawl," she answers,
-indifferently, "I will go with you for a minute."
-
-He returns with a fleecy white wrap, and they stroll away from the
-"dancers dancing in tune."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XX.
-
-
-Colonel Carlyle soon misses his heart's fair queen from the ball-room,
-and immediately the whole enchanting scene becomes a desert in
-his love-lorn eyes. He glances hither and thither; he wanders
-disconsolately around, yet no flitting glimpse of his snow-maiden
-rewards his eager eyes. She has vanished as completely from his sight
-as if a sunbeam had shone down upon and dissolved her into a mist.
-
-"Have you seen Bonnibel anywhere?" he inquires of Felise, meeting her
-on her partner's arm as he wandered around.
-
-Felise looks up with a low, malicious laugh.
-
-"Bonnibel?" she says. "Oh, yes; she and Byron Penn have been down on
-the beach this half hour in the moonlight, composing sonnets."
-
-Her partner laughs and hurries her on, leaving the anxious old husband
-standing in the floor like one dazed. A dozen people standing around
-have heard the question and its answer. They nod and wink at each
-other, for Colonel Carlyle's patent jealousy has begun to make him a
-laughing stock. After a moment he recollects himself and turns away.
-People wonder if he will go out and confront the sentimental pair, and
-a few couples, on curiosity bent, stroll out to watch his proceedings.
-They are rewarded directly, for he comes out and takes his way down the
-shore.
-
-Felise's assertion of a half an hour is merely a pleasant fiction. It
-has not been ten minutes since she left the house on the arm of the
-young poet. They are standing on the beach looking out at the glorious
-sea, and the young man whose soul is so deeply imbued with poetry that
-he can think and speak of nothing else, has been telling her what a
-sweet poem is "Lucille," Owen Meredith's latest. He repeats a few
-lines, and the girl inclines her head and tries to be attentive.
-
-    "O, being of beauty and bliss! seen and known
-     In the depths of my heart, and possessed there alone,
-     My days know thee not, and my lips name thee never,
-     Thy place in my poor life is vacant forever,
-     We have met, we have parted, no more is recorded
-     In my annals on earth."
-
-The pretty lines have a more attentive listener than Bonnibel. Her
-husband has come up softly and unnoticed. He sees the graceful head
-graciously inclined, hears the lines that Byron Penn has, unconsciously
-to himself, made the vehicle for expressing his own sentiments, and his
-heart quakes with fury. He strides before them, white and stern.
-
-"Mrs. Carlyle," he says, in low, stern accents, "will you come with me?"
-
-The young wife lifts her drooping head with a start and sees him
-standing before her, wan, white and haggard, quite a different man from
-the enraptured lover who had kissed and praised her but a little while
-ago.
-
-"I--oh, dear me--has anything happened, Colonel Carlyle? Are you ill?"
-she falters, in her innocent unconsciousness.
-
-"Will you come with me?" he repeats, grinding his teeth in a fury.
-
-"Certainly," she says, thinking that something dreadful must have
-happened surely, and simply saying, "You will excuse me, Mr. Penn," she
-bows and turns away on her husband's arm.
-
-The handsome young fellow looks after them blankly.
-
-"Upon my word," he exclaims, "what a furious, uncalled-for outbreak of
-jealousy! So that's what it is to be an old man's darling, is it? Truly
-an enviable position for such a peerless angel."
-
-He throws himself down on the beach, to the detriment of his immaculate
-evening costume, and resigns himself to some rather melancholy musings.
-
-Meanwhile Bonnibel, as she walks away, again asks, with sweet
-unconsciousness:
-
-"_Has_ anything happened, Colonel Carlyle?"
-
-"Let us go to your private parlor; I will tell you there," he answers,
-coldly.
-
-Inside that safe retreat they confront each other in momentary silence,
-Bonnibel anxious, troubled, and totally unconscious, Colonel Carlyle
-pale with anger and wild, unreasoning jealousy, his brain on fire with
-contending passions that have been seething there ever since Felise's
-consummate art had been employed to torture him this evening.
-
-"Now you will tell me?" she inquires, standing before him with
-loosely-clasped hands, the fleecy drapery falling from her shoulders,
-the fairest vision his eyes ever rested upon.
-
-"Bonnibel, you surely do not pretend to be ignorant that you have given
-me cause for offense?" he exclaims, hoarsely.
-
-Her blue eyes dilate; she retreats a step with genuine surprise
-depicted on her face. Then she remembered her promise about waltzing.
-
-"Surely, there is some misunderstanding," she answers, slowly. "I
-assure you, sir, that I have not waltzed any more since you asked me
-not to do so."
-
-"You have done worse, much worse!" he exclaims, passionately, "and your
-affectation of innocence must certainly be feigned. No woman in her
-senses could be oblivious to the fact that your open flirtation with
-that silly rhymester, Byron Penn, is simply scandalous."
-
-In his excitement he characterizes her offense in terms more forcible
-than true. She is dumb with astonishment for a moment, then she walks
-straight up to him, a blaze of color rushing over her face and neck,
-while her eyes flash lightning scorn upon him.
-
-"This to me!" she exclaims, her girlish voice ringing with passion
-and resentment. "Such an accusation to Harry Vere's daughter! Oh! for
-shame! How dare you!"
-
-"You provoked it yourself," he answers, retreating before her, for her
-little hands were clenched wildly as if she would strike him down to
-earth; "I gave you my honored name to wear--a name as proud as your
-father's--and you have dragged it through the mire of a moonlight
-flirtation with a dandy, an idiot."
-
-"It is false," she answers, proudly, "I never flirted in my life, I
-should not know how to do it. And there was no harm in my short walk
-down to the shore with Mr. Penn. No one could make harm of it except a
-man blinded by jealousy!"
-
-A glimmer of the truth had begun to dawn upon her. It angered him
-bitterly to know that she had detected his weakness.
-
-"I have been blinded by many things," he answers, furiously. "I was
-blinded by your beautiful face before I married you, and could not
-see that you had never received the proper training and education to
-fit you for the position to which I elevated you. My eyes have been
-opened by your recent conduct, and I find you simply an unformed child,
-utterly ignorant how to maintain your dignity as my wife!"
-
-Word for word he is going over the specious sophistries of Felise, but
-he is utterly unconscious of the fact. He has been merely a pliant tool
-in her artful hands, but he believes that he has found out all these
-facts for himself, and he asserts them with a perfect conviction of
-truth.
-
-For Bonnibel stands listening in stunned silence to his vehement
-rhodomontade. She has walked away from him a little way, and stands
-clinging to the back of a chair, as if to save herself from falling.
-The angry flush has died out of her face, and she looks marble-cold,
-and white even to her lips. As he pauses, she speaks in low, resentful
-accents:
-
-"Colonel Carlyle, you are the first man who has ever offered me an
-insult!"
-
-"An insult!" he exclaims. "Do you call the truth an insult? You talk
-like a child and act like a child, Bonnibel. I see no other resource
-before me than to put you at school and keep you there until you
-learn the necessary amenities of social life which your uncle's blind
-indulgence aided and abetted you in ignoring."
-
-"Send _me_--a married woman--to school--like a child!" she says,
-staring at him blankly.
-
-"Why not? You are quite young enough yet," he answers, moodily. "Two
-years at a convent school in Paris would give you the training and
-finish you lack at present."
-
-"I assure you, sir, that my education has not been so totally neglected
-as your words imply," she answers from the depths of the arm-chair into
-which she has wearily fallen. "My Uncle Francis, though he loved me
-too well to send me away from him to school, always provided me with
-competent governesses, and if my training does not do them credit it is
-my own fault, not his; so I beg that you will not needlessly reflect on
-his memory."
-
-He was silent a moment, pacing restlessly up and down the floor. An
-unconscious pathos in her words had stung him into reflection. "My
-Uncle Francis loved me too well to send me away from him," has touched
-a responsive chord in his own heart. Her uncle had loved her like that,
-yet he, her husband, bound to her by the dearest tie on earth, could
-talk of sending her away from him like a naughty child that, having
-disobeyed, must be punished for its fault.
-
-"_Could_ I do it?" he asked himself, suddenly. "I love her as my own
-life, though her childish follies drive me mad with jealousy. I am
-growing old--could I lose her out of my life two precious years when my
-span of existence may be so short? No, no, fool that I was to threaten
-her so; I will retract it if I can without compromising my dignity."
-
-He paused before her and said abruptly:
-
-"I understand from your words then, Bonnibel, that you refuse your
-consent to my proposed plan?"
-
-To his surprise and confusion she lifted her head with a proud,
-stag-like motion, and said icily:
-
-"_Au contraire_, sir, I think well of it, and fully agree with you that
-I need more training and polish to fit me for the exalted position I
-occupy as your wife!"
-
-The fine, delicate irony of her tone could not fail to strike him
-keenly.
-
-He tried to ignore it as he said in a voice that betrayed nothing of
-his conflicting emotions:
-
-"My proposed course meets with your full approval, then, madam?"
-
-She inclines her head with stately grace.
-
-"I cannot think of anything at present, Colonel Carlyle, that would
-please me so well as a few years at a Parisian school such as you
-mentioned."
-
-"She is only too glad to have an opportunity of separating herself from
-me," he thinks, bitterly; but aloud he answers coldly, "So be it; I
-shall be happy to meet your wishes."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXI.
-
-
-It is barely midnight and the mirth and merriment are at their hight
-down-stairs. Bonnibel hears the sound of
-
-    "The violin, flute and bassoon,
-     And the dancers dancing in tune."
-
-through all her interview with Colonel Carlyle, but when it is ended
-she does not return to the ball-room. She leaves him with a cold
-good-night, and retires to her own room.
-
-Lucy, her maid, starts up drowsily from her easy-chair as she enters.
-
-"You here, Lucy?" she says. "I told you not to stay up for me. You
-should not break your rest staying up night after night like this."
-
-"Lor', Miss Bonnibel, I have had as comfortable a snooze in your
-arm-chair as if I had been tucked into my bed," Lucy answers
-good-naturedly. "Don't you go for to worry over me staying up. I kin
-stand it if you kin."
-
-Her mistress stands in the center of the room, her eyes shining, her
-white hands tearing at the diamond necklace about her throat.
-
-"Take it off, Lucy," she cries out impatiently. "It hurts me, it chokes
-me!"
-
-Lucy hastens to obey, but starts back as she sees the wild, white face
-of the hapless girl.
-
-"Oh, me!" she exclaims, "you look like a ghost, you are that white. Are
-you sick, Miss Bonnibel? Let me get you something to take--some wine,
-or something?"
-
-"No, no, I wish nothing," she answers, impatiently. "Only undress me,
-Lucy, and help me to bed. I am very tired--that is all."
-
-She sits quite still while Lucy removes the jewels that shine about
-her, the white satin slippers, the elegant dress, and brings the snowy
-night-dress instead. Then as the maid kneels down and buttons the
-delicate robe, Bonnibel, glancing down, sees her eyes full of tears and
-her full lip quivering.
-
-"Lucy," she says, in surprise, "what is it? What has grieved you?"
-
-Lucy starts as if frightened at being detected.
-
-"Forgive me, ma'am," she says; "it's for you I grieve. You are that
-changed that I can't bear it! Here I have been your maid since you was
-a little girl of twelve, and how happy you used to be before the master
-died--now for goin' on a year I've never seen a real smile on your
-face. Something troubles you all the time. Can't I help you? Can't I do
-something for you?"
-
-The humble, patient fidelity of the girl touches Bonnibel to the heart,
-it is so seldom that an honest, heartfelt word of kindness falls on
-her ears. Impulsively she bends and puts her lily white hand into the
-strong clasp of the girl sitting humbly at her feet, looking up at her
-with tear-filled eyes.
-
-"Lucy, my poor girl," she says, plaintively, "I believe you are the
-only true friend I have on earth!"
-
-"Then can't I help you, Miss Bonnibel?" cried Lucy, feeling that the
-words of her young mistress are too true for her to dispute them.
-"Something troubles you--can't I help you to be happier?"
-
-A sigh--hopeless, passionate, profound--drifts across the lips of the
-listener.
-
-"No no, my poor, kind girl," she answers; "no one can help me--I must
-bear my own cross--no one can carry it for me! Only stay with me, Lucy,
-and love me always--I have so few to love me--and I shall feel better
-when I can see that your kind heart sympathizes with me."
-
-"I'll never leave you, my dear mistress," sobs the girl; "I'll never
-forget to love every hair of your innocent head."
-
-She kisses the little hand Bonnibel has given her reverently and
-tenderly, as if it were some precious thing.
-
-"Lucy, I am going to test your fidelity," says the girl, drearily. "I
-am going away to Europe next week. Will you go with me?"
-
-Lucy stares open-mouthed.
-
-"To Yurrup, Miss Bonnibel! Away off to them furrin parts?"
-
-"Yes, Lucy, away off there. Does your courage fail you?" her mistress
-inquires, with a slight, sad smile.
-
-"No, no, ma'am. I don't like furrin people much; but I'll go to the
-ends of the earth with you!" is the resolute reply.
-
-"Your devotion shall not be taxed that far, Lucy. We will go to France."
-
-"That heathen land," exclaims Lucy, "where the monseers eats frogs and
-snakes?"
-
-Bonnibel cannot repress a smile at the girl's quick gesture of disgust.
-
-"You will like the French people better, I hope, when you stay among
-them two years, for I shall probably stay in Paris that long. I am
-going to school there, Lucy. You know that I have never been to
-school in my life, and my governesses were not strict enough with me.
-There are many things I do not know yet, that one moving in society I
-frequent should know. So I am going to learn something yet. It is never
-too late to mend, you know."
-
-Lucy looks up, her eyes growing round with surprise.
-
-"Lor', Miss Bonnibel, I never heard of a married woman going to school
-in my life."
-
-"Perhaps you never heard of a married woman so untutored as I am," her
-young mistress returns, somewhat bitterly; "anyway, I am determined to
-go to school and learn something. But I cannot do without a maid, and I
-will take you, if you will go."
-
-"That I certainly will, Miss Bonnibel," said Lucy, emphatically.
-
-"Very well, Colonel Carlyle and I will start to New York to-morrow to
-make preparations for our trip. See that the trunks are all packed,
-Lucy."
-
-"I will, ma'am. They shall be ready, never fear."
-
-She rises and looks wistfully at the little white figure in the chair,
-resting its dimpled chin in the curve of one pink palm, the golden head
-bent wearily.
-
-"Sha'n't I get you something? Indeed, you look ill," she implores.
-
-"Nothing, Lucy. Good-night."
-
-"Good-night, ma'am," Lucy responds, going away rather reluctantly.
-
-Bonnibel makes no move to retire when Lucy has gone. The little white
-bed awaits her, tempting to repose by its daintiness and coolness, but
-she does not look toward it; only sits still as Lucy left her, with her
-face bowed on her hand.
-
-Colonel Carlyle has gone back to the ball-room again, trying to steel
-his heart against the upbraidings of his conscience. He moves among the
-revelers pale and _distrait_, yet still trying to bear his part in the
-gaieties lest people should whisper that he is unhappy, and fearful
-that some one may read the secret of his jealousy and cruelty to his
-beautiful darling.
-
-Curious glances follow him, whispers breathe the story that he fain
-would conceal, every eye notes Bonnibel's absence.
-
-They shrug their shoulders and tell each other in confidence that
-Colonel Carlyle is a perfect Bluebeard, and has banished his wife from
-the festal scene because he is jealous of Byron Penn.
-
-And the music and the dancing go on until daylight warns the gay ones
-to flee from that too true light that reveals their weariness and
-haggardness so plainly.
-
-But the ball is long since over for Bonnibel. Lucy finds her as she
-left her, curled up in the great arm-chair, sleeping like a grieved
-child, with the trace of tears on her cheek.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXII.
-
-
-Long Branch is electrified next day by the sudden departure of the
-Carlyles for New York.
-
-Surprise and wonder run high, and the curious ones seek Felise,
-thinking that she, if any one, must be acquainted with the whys and
-wherefores.
-
-But Felise is rather reticent on the subject.
-
-"I will tell you all I know," she says, with a pretty affectation of
-frankness. "That is not much. The Carlyles are going abroad next week
-and the colonel is going to put his wife at a convent school in Paris
-to finish her education and perfect herself in music. He told me that
-much this morning, and I did not ask him why he proposed taking such a
-singular step."
-
-"You thought him so crazed by jealousy that he could hardly account for
-his whims in a rational manner, eh?" inquired one.
-
-"It is monstrous!" says another. "Why, the girl was as finished and
-elegant in her manners as mortal could be. It were impossible to add
-another charm to her."
-
-While Byron Penn quoted with enthusiasm:
-
-    "To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
-     To smooth the ice; or add another hue
-     Unto the rainbow; or with taper light
-     To seek the beauteous eye of Heaven to garnish,
-     Were wasteful and ridiculous excess."
-
-It was a nine days' wonder, and then it was over. People voted Colonel
-Carlyle a bear and a Bluebeard, and his lovely young bride a victim and
-martyr. They said that he was secluding her from the world because he
-was too jealous for the light of Heaven to shine upon her.
-
-The young poet indited some charming verses for his favorite magazine:
-"To Those Blue Eyes Across the Sea," and then the gossip began to die
-out, and new subjects engrossed society's mind.
-
-Months rolled on, and the Carlyle _eclaircissement_ was almost
-forgotten, or at least but seldom named, even by those who had been the
-most interested at first.
-
-But Felise was jubilant.
-
-"Mother, you see what I can do," she said, with a wicked laugh. "The
-honeymoon is barely over, yet I have thrown sand in the old man's eyes
-and parted him from his darling for two whole years."
-
-"Felise, how did you accomplish it?" Mrs. Arnold inquired curiously.
-
-"That is my secret," she answered, triumphantly.
-
-"You might share it with me," her mother said, reproachfully. "I never
-have secrets from you, my dear."
-
-"I only used a little tact and humbug, mother--just a word dropped
-in season here and there--yet the seed I sowed has brought forth an
-abundant harvest. I have driven him nearly mad with jealousy and doubt
-and suspicion; I put that scheme of sending Bonnibel to school into his
-mind. And yet so blinded is he by his jealousy that he does not dream
-of my complicity in the matter, and he will always blame himself for
-the everlasting alienation that will exist between them."
-
-"You had your revenge sooner than I thought you would. You are a clever
-girl, Felise," Mrs. Arnold said, admiringly.
-
-"It is but begun," Felise answered, moodily. "If time spares the old
-man until Bonnibel comes out of her school I will wring his heart even
-more deeply than I have already done. I bide my time."
-
-Her mother, cruel and vindictive as she was herself, looked at her in
-wonder.
-
-"Why, it seems to me that you have already deeply avenged yourself,"
-she said.
-
-"Hell has no fury like a woman scorned!" Felise exclaimed, repeating
-her favorite text. "Be patient, mother, and you shall yet see what a
-woman scorned can do."
-
-"What does Colonel Carlyle propose to do with himself while his wife is
-immured in her convent?" asked Mrs. Arnold.
-
-"He talks of a trip around the world. He affects to be very fond of
-travel now. But I could see while he talked to me that the old fool
-repented his intention and would retract it if he could."
-
-"Perhaps he may do so yet."
-
-"No, he will not. He is too proud and stubborn to do so voluntarily,
-and I think that Bonnibel has acquiesced so readily in the plan that
-he can find no loop-hole of escape from it. She is as proud as he is;
-besides, she does not love him, and his unreasoning harshness has
-rendered her perfectly reckless. She will go to the school, if only to
-break his heart."
-
-"Perhaps he will die of grief, Felise, or disappointment, and then she
-will be left a wealthy young widow," cautions Mrs. Arnold.
-
-"No danger," sneers Felise, cynically. "Men have died and worms have
-eaten them, but not for _love_, as the immortal Shakespeare says,
-mother. I do not anticipate such a contingency. The old dotard has
-buried two partners and not succumbed to the pangs of bereavement yet.
-It is possible he may live to plant the weeping willow over his little
-white-faced dove."
-
-"Perhaps so. She has never seemed over strong since her illness last
-summer."
-
-"She has been grieving over the loss of Leslie Dane," Felise answered,
-carelessly.
-
-She goes to the piano, strikes a few chords, and gets up again,
-wandering about the room restlessly. There is a marked fitfulness and
-unrest in her every movement, and her eyes flash and roll about in
-their sockets in a way that troubles her mother.
-
-"Felise, do you sleep well at night?" she inquires, abruptly.
-
-"Why should I not?" the girl asks, turning her head away.
-
-"I do not know; but there is a haggardness and restlessness about
-you as if you didn't sleep much. I fancy you are getting nervous and
-wakeful brooding over this revenge of yours. Your face has grown wan
-and your eyes quite wild. Take care of yourself or you will lose your
-beauty."
-
-"Never mind, mother; when we go to Paris next year I will go to one of
-those wonderful women there and have myself made beautiful forever."
-
-"To Paris? Do you really mean it, Felise? I thought you said the last
-time we went abroad that you were tired of it and never meant to go
-again."
-
-"I have changed my mind, mother. That is the privilege of the fair sex,
-you know."
-
-"I suppose you have some motive in this change of mind, Felise."
-
-"Yes. I have. I want to be on hand when Mrs. Carlyle comes forth from
-her finishing school. I have a fancy to see her after the polishing
-process is completed."
-
-She laughs softly to herself as if something pleasant has occurred to
-her.
-
-"Well, well, have your own way about it, my dear--you always do. But
-I wish you could forget the Carlyles and enjoy life better. We have
-everything to make it enjoyable, and if you wanted to marry, why you
-could buy almost anyone you wanted with our wealth."
-
-"I could not buy Colonel Carlyle, mother, though I wanted him very
-much. He is the wealthiest man I know of anywhere."
-
-"You do not need to marry for wealth, my daughter; we have enough of
-our own."
-
-Felise did not answer. She was absorbed in thought. Nothing Mrs. Arnold
-could say made the least impression on her mind.
-
-She was wedded to one idea, and as the weeks and months rolled by it
-only took a firmer hold on her feelings.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIII.
-
-
-"Madam Carlyle, monsieur, your husband, awaits you in the _salon_."
-
-The tall, beautiful blonde, practicing a difficult sonata at the piano,
-pauses a moment and suffers her white hands to rest idly on the keys.
-
-"Colonel Carlyle, did you say, madam?" she inquires calmly.
-
-The dignified head of the Parisian school bows in assent, and stands
-awaiting her pupil's pleasure. The latter rises slowly, folds her
-music together, restores it to the proper place and turns to leave the
-music-room.
-
-"You will wish to make some changes in your dress, of course," the lady
-superior blandly asserts.
-
-Madam Carlyle gives a glance downward at her dress of dark blue
-cashmere. It is made with almost nun-like simplicity, and fits her
-rounded, graceful form to perfection. The neck and sleeves are finished
-with frills and fine lace, and there is not an ornament about her
-except the rings on her tapering fingers. She does not need ornament.
-She is rarely, peerlessly beautiful with her fair flower-face and
-luxuriant crown of golden hair.
-
-"It is not necessary," she answers. "Colonel Carlyle is perhaps
-impatient."
-
-There is a delicate-veiled sarcasm in the words barely perceptible to
-the trained hearing of the listener. With that simple speech she turns
-and glides from the room, leaving the lady superior gazing after her in
-some surprise.
-
-"They say that we in France make _mariages de convenance_," she murmurs
-in French (which we will spare our readers); "but surely the Americans
-must do likewise. That old man and that fair young girl--surely it is
-the union of winter and summer. After two years' absence she goes to
-him as coolly as an iceberg."
-
-Meanwhile Mrs. Carlyle has glided down the long hall, opened the door
-of the reception-room with a steady hand, and stepped across the
-threshold.
-
-"Bonnibel!" exclaims a voice, trembling with rapture and emotion--"my
-darling wife!"
-
-His arms are about her, his lips touch hers.
-
-After a moment she gently disengages herself and looks up in his face.
-
-"Colonel Carlyle," she exclaims, involuntarily, "how changed you are!"
-
-Ten years instead of two seem to have gone over his head.
-
-A look of age and weakness has grown into his face, his erect form has
-acquired a perceptible stoop; yet a look of disappointment flashes into
-his eyes at her words.
-
-"It is only the fatigue of travel," he answers, quickly. "I have been a
-great wanderer since we parted, my dear, and the weariness of travel is
-still upon me. But as soon as I get rested and recuperated I shall look
-quite like myself again."
-
-"I hope so," she answers, politely. "Pray resume your seat sir."
-
-He looks at her a little wistfully as she seats herself some distance
-from him.
-
-"Bonnibel, are you glad to see me again?" he asks, gently.
-
-She looks up, startled, and hesitating what to say to this point-blank
-question.
-
-He sees the struggle in a moment, and adds, quickly and a little sadly:
-
-"Never mind, my dear, you need not answer. I see you have not forgotten
-my harshness in the past, and you are not prepared with an answer that
-would make me happy. But, my darling, you must learn forgetfulness of
-those things that alienated you from me, for I shall bend every effort
-now to the one object of making you happy. I have come to take you away
-with me, Bonnibel."
-
-A slight, almost impalpable, shiver runs through her at the words, and
-she smothers a faint sigh.
-
-She will be very sorry to leave this haven of peace in which she has
-rested securely the last two years. She has grown fond of her quiet
-life among the "passionless, pale-cold" nuns of the convent, and is
-loth to break its repose by going back to the jar and fret of life with
-her jealous husband. She wishes that she might stay in the convent all
-her life.
-
-"Do you intend to return at once to the United States, sir?" she
-inquires, being at a loss for something to say.
-
-"Not yet, unless you particularly desire it. I want you to see
-something of life in the gay French Capital--'dear, delightful Paris,'
-as we Americans call it. I have rented an elegant _chateau_ and
-furnished it in handsome style, according to what I fancied your taste
-would prefer; have engaged a retinue of servants; and there is a lovely
-garden of roses; in short, the home is ready, and only awaits its
-mistress. I have tried to arrange everything as you would like it."
-
-"Thank you; you are very kind," she murmurs, almost inaudibly.
-
-"The next thing," he goes on, "is to take you to Worth, where you
-may order an outfit as handsome as a queen's, if you choose. And
-jewels--well, you shall have as many and as costly ones as you like."
-
-"I have enough jewels, I think," she answers. "There are the pearls
-Uncle Francis gave me; then my wedding-gift--the diamonds."
-
-"Tut, tut; you will need many more when you are fairly launched on
-the tide of gay society here. You will see women fairly loaded
-with jewels--you must not have less than they. Not but that you are
-beautiful enough to dispense with extraneous ornament, but I wish you
-to outshine all others in adornment as well as in beauty."
-
-The long lashes droop over her cheeks a little sadly as he talks. So
-these are the things with which she is to fill her life--society,
-dress, jewels, fashion. A long life, too, perhaps, for she is barely
-twenty-one now. For other women there may be love and happiness--for
-her nothing but the gilded pleasures that wealth can purchase. Ah,
-well, and with a start she remembers Mrs. Arnold's threat and her weak
-subjugation by it--these are the things for which she sold herself to
-the old man sitting yonder. She made the bargain herself, and now she
-must abide by it. She is a fettered slave, but at least her bonds are
-golden ones.
-
-"You are very kind," she answers, trying hard to be cordial and
-grateful for his generosity. "I do not know how to thank you for your
-munificence, sir."
-
-"I will tell you," he answers, quickly. "Try to like me a little,
-Bonnibel. Once I dreamed of winning your love; but things went wrong
-and I--I--perhaps I was too harsh with the bonny bird I had caught--so
-I came near earning your hatred instead. But that was so long ago. You
-will try to forgive me and like me just a little now, my wife."
-
-The pathos of his words, his aged, weary looks touch a tender chord in
-her young heart, and thaw out a little of the icy crust of reserve that
-has been freezing around it these two years.
-
-She rises impulsively and walks over to him, putting her delicate hand,
-warm with youth and health, into his cold, white, trembling one.
-
-"Indeed, I will try," she says, earnestly. "Only be kind to me, and do
-not frighten me with your jealous fancies, and I will like you very
-much indeed!"
-
-He kisses the little hand with the ardor of a boyish lover, feeling his
-heart beat warm and youthful still at her gently-spoken words.
-
-"A thousand thanks, my angel!" he exclaims. "Your words have made me
-very happy. I will try to curb my jealous temper and merit your sweet
-regard. And now, my dearest, how soon can you accompany me? I do not
-want to go away without you."
-
-"You wish me to go at once--to-day?" she stammers, drawing back ever so
-slightly.
-
-"To-day--at once," he answers. "I have wearied for a sight of you so
-long, my wife, that I cannot let you go again. I want you to put on
-a carriage costume at once, and I will take you to Worth's, and from
-thence to the _chateau_."
-
-"But my maid--and my trunks," she urges, in dismay.
-
-"Tell your maid to pack your trunks and we will send for them this
-evening, and her also. By the way, who is your maid? Have you a
-competent one?" he inquires.
-
-"You remember Lucy--the girl who came over with me from New York?" she
-says.
-
-He frowns slightly.
-
-"Ah, yes; but she will not suit you now, dear. You must let her go, and
-secure a skillful French maid."
-
-"Let Lucy go--the faithful creature!" For the first time her lip
-quivers. "Oh, no, I cannot part with Lucy. She has been my attendant
-ever since I was a child, and is the only link that is left to me out
-of my old life."
-
-"Keep her with you still, then, but secure a French maid also, and let
-Lucy hold a sinecure."
-
-"It would break her heart, Colonel Carlyle, to depose her from her post
-as my chief helper. Besides, though she is rather illiterate, the girl
-has real talent and taste in her vocation. Pray do not ask me to give
-her up."
-
-"As you please, my dear. But now go and make your adieux to the lady
-superior and your friends here, and prepare to accompany me to your
-new home," said the colonel, with slight impatience, for he already
-felt his dominant passion, jealousy, rising within him at Bonnibel's
-openly-expressed preference for her maid. Old or young, male or female,
-he could not feel contented that anyone but himself should hold a place
-in his young wife's heart.
-
-She went away and remained what seemed a long time to the impatient
-old man. She came back with slightly-flushed cheeks and a mist in her
-sea-blue eyes, attended by the superior of the convent.
-
-With a brief and gentle farewell to her, Bonnibel entered the carriage
-with her husband.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIV.
-
-
-"Hurrah, Leslie!"
-
-"Well, Carl!"
-
-"Our pictures are sold!"
-
-"What pictures?"
-
-"What pictures?" mimicking the indifferent tone. "Oh! how indifferent
-we are! yet a year ago how blessed were the feet of the messenger who
-brought such tidings! Success falls upon you, my boy. Now with me a
-ready sale is quite an event. Of course I meant the pictures we sent to
-Paris!"
-
-The same old studio at Rome into which we looked three years ago, and
-the same two artists we saw then. Carl Muller had just entered, waving
-an open letter over his head.
-
-The gay, mercurial German looked as boyishly handsome as ever, as
-though time had forgotten him. Not so with Leslie Dane, who stood
-beside a half-finished picture, critically regarding it. He was
-handsomer than ever, as though the subtle hand of a sculptor had been
-at work upon his features chiseling the fine Greek outlines into rarer
-perfection and delicacy. A few lines of thought and care added rather
-than detracted from the interest with which one turned a second time to
-look at his face. The full lips half shaded by the dark mustache had
-lost a little of the almost womanly sweetness of the past and acquired
-a sterner curve. Into the dark eyes there had crept a gleam of brooding
-sadness, and a few silver threads shone in the clustering locks about
-his white brow. His last three years had made their mark upon him in
-many subtle changes.
-
-"I could have told you that yesterday, Carl," he said, smiling, "but
-you were out when my letter came, and I was so busy over my picture
-here that I forgot it when you returned."
-
-"The agent wrote to you first then," said Carl. "He might have had the
-courtesy to drop me a line at the same time."
-
-"Do not blame him too much, Carl," said Leslie Dane. "He was in a
-hurry about writing to me because he had a letter to inclose from the
-purchaser of the pictures."
-
-"Another commission, you lucky dog!" exclaimed Carl Muller.
-
-"It amounts to that, I suppose. He wants me to go to Paris and paint
-his wife's portrait. If I will not go to Paris he will come to Rome."
-
-"If the mountain will not go to Mahomet, then Mahomet must go to the
-mountain," said Carl.
-
-"Something that way," said Leslie, carelessly.
-
-"You will accept, of course. The old fellow paid such an extravagant
-price for the pictures that another commission might be a temptation
-even to you who have lately been surfeited with success."
-
-"The money certainly might be an object, but I think I shall refuse,"
-was the abrupt reply.
-
-"Refuse!" exclaimed Carl, in surprise, "and why, if I may ask?"
-
-"The man is an American."
-
-"So are you," cried the German, surprised at the dark frown that
-darkened on Leslie's brow. "Is that a disgrace?"
-
-"I suppose not. Yet I will have nothing to do with my countrymen," said
-the artist, sternly.
-
-Carl gave vent to a low whistle.
-
-"Ye gods! An American--born under the shadow of the eagle's wing of
-liberty, a citizen of a land the most patriotic upon earth--coolly
-repudiating his country! I never expected to see such a novel sight
-under the sun!"
-
-"You mistake me, Carl," said Leslie Dane, a little vexed. "I do not
-repudiate my native land. I revere her as the noblest country upon
-earth, but I am from henceforth an exile, self-expatriated from her
-shores, and I do not wish to meet anyone who can recall memories I
-would fain forget."
-
-"You are a strange fellow, Leslie, I cannot understand your moods."
-
-"You do not? Shall I explain, Carl? Listen, then."
-
-Carl looked up into the dark face with its look of proud grief mingled
-with bitterness.
-
-"No, no; forgive my levity," he said; "I would not intrude upon your
-secret, dear friend. Let it rest."
-
-"It does not matter," said Leslie, his deep voice full of pain. "I will
-tell you, Carl. It is only this: One woman in that fair land where I
-was born has played me false and ruined my life. I hate and shun all
-Americans for her sake!"
-
-He took up his brush and went to work at his picture without another
-word. Carl was silent also; he was recalling that episode of three
-years ago when Leslie in his wild outbreak had painted out the portrait
-of his fair, false-hearted love.
-
-"So he has not forgotten her," he thought; "and yet he has never
-breathed another word of her until to-day. Ah! she will never know what
-a true and noble heart she cast away."
-
-He sat still awhile thinking profoundly, and referring to his letter
-now and then with ever-increasing pride in the lucrative sale of his
-picture, for Carl was a lazy fellow, and though he commenced numbers
-of things seldom had patience to finish them. Consequently a completed
-work and its ready sale had all the charm of novelty to him.
-
-"I say," he said, breaking the silence that had brooded as long as
-he could bear it, and returning to the charge upon his friend, "old
-fellow, it's a shame you should refuse such a profitable commission for
-a scruple I must say is not worthy of you. Do accept it, Leslie. This
-old fellow--let me see"--referring again to his letter--"Carlyle his
-name is--Colonel Carlyle--need not trouble you much with the sight of
-his obnoxious face, and the old lady--Favart says he is an old man, so
-of course she is an old lady--need only give you a few sittings. They
-would not trouble you long, and you need not think of them as Americans
-at all. Simply regard the sitter as your model, and think no more about
-it."
-
-Leslie Dane did not answer, but the slight smile that played around his
-lips showed that he had been an attentive listener to Carl's admonition.
-
-"You know," resumed Carl, seeing that Leslie would not answer, "we
-have been promising ourselves a trip to Paris for ever so long. I
-see no chance so suitable as the present when I have this pot of
-money to spend, and when you might so agreeably combine business with
-pleasure in the execution of this portrait and the enjoyment of all the
-pleasures of Paris. Recollect, you would be fairly lionized there."
-
-"I do not fancy being lionized," said Leslie Dane, grimly.
-
-"Do you not! Now, I should enjoy it above all things. But since I am
-not apt to have that honor I should enjoy following in your wake and
-taking all the glories second-hand. I should be sure to get a little
-of the honor reflected on me, for though I am not the rose, you know I
-have lived near it."
-
-Leslie Dane looked up with a quizzical smile.
-
-"Confess now, Carl," he said, "that nothing will content you but to
-get away and spend the gold you have earned. All your flattery and
-sophistry leads to this--that you are wild for a companion to aid and
-abet you in spending the money that is burning a hole in your pocket
-this minute."
-
-"Somehow the gold does seem to burn through my pockets," said Carl,
-reflectively. "But, tra, la, what is it good for but to buy pleasure?"
-
-He began to hum a few bars of a German song with a gay refrain.
-
-"Come, come, get to your work," exclaimed the other. "Your signal
-success with your last work should stimulate you to renewed efforts."
-
-"So it will," affirmed Carl; "but not to-day. I feel so giddy over my
-good news that I could not work to-day. I should hardly know how to mix
-my colors. I feel as lazy, shiftless and good-natured as the Italian
-lazzaroni out in the sunshine."
-
-Leslie Dane gave a little sigh as he looked at his happy companion.
-Nothing ever seemed to ruffle the gay current of his good nature. His
-temperament was an enviable one.
-
-"Carl, did you ever have a sweetheart?" Leslie asked curiously.
-
-"Sweethearts--yes, a score of them," laughed Carl. "More Gretchens,
-Madchens, and Anitas than you could count on your fingers. Why do you
-ask?"
-
-"Only for curiosity. I thought you could not be so care-free and joyous
-if love had ever come into your life."
-
-"That is according to how we look at love," said the German; "with you
-it is all a solemn epic or tragedy. With me it would be a pretty little
-poem or a happy song."
-
-Leslie sighed but did not answer.
-
-"Come, now," said the German, "we have wandered from our subject. Give
-up your selfishness this once, Leslie, and take a holiday. Come with me
-to Paris next week."
-
-Leslie stood silently meditating, and Carl saw that the battle was
-almost won.
-
-"Don't hesitate," said he, pushing his advantage. "Indeed you work too
-hard, my boy. There is no need of it since you have forsworn marriage.
-Take a breathing spell and come with me to Paris and paint old Mrs.
-Carlyle's portrait."
-
-Leslie frowned slightly at the words.
-
-"Pray do not mention those people again," he said, in an irritated
-tone. "Perhaps I will accompany you to Paris; but I have no fancy to
-paint the portrait of a wrinkled old woman."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXV.
-
-
-"Confound the impudence of such fellows!" said Colonel Carlyle,
-fretfully, as he entered his wife's morning-room.
-
-It was a charming apartment with hangings of pale blue satin that made
-a perfect foil to the pearl-fair beauty of Bonnibel.
-
-The chairs and sofas were upholstered in the same rich material; the
-carpet was white velvet, sprinkled over with blue forget-me-nots; the
-costly white lace curtains were draped over blue satin, and the bright
-fire burning in the silver grate shone upon expensive gilding and
-delicate bric-a-brac scattered profusely about the room.
-
-A marble Flora, half buried in flowers, stood in a niche, and vases of
-delicate white lilies were on the marble mantel.
-
-The young mistress of all this beauty and wealth so tastefully
-combined, as she sat near the fire with an open book, looked like a gem
-set in an appropriate shrine, so fair, and pure, and dainty, was her
-person and her apparel.
-
-She looked up with a slight smile as her liege lord's fretful
-ejaculation fell upon her ears.
-
-"What person has been so unfortunate as to incur your displeasure?" she
-inquired.
-
-"The artist of whom I purchased that splendid picture for the
-drawing-room--the last one, you know."
-
-"Yes," she said, languidly; "and what has he done now?"
-
-"I wanted him to paint your portrait, you know."
-
-"Excuse me, I did not know," she returned.
-
-"Oh no; I believe you did not. I think I failed to mention the matter
-to you. Well, he is the greatest artist in Rome--people are raving over
-his pictures. They say he has the most brilliant genius of his time."
-
-"Is that why you are angry with him?" she asked, with a slight smile.
-
-"No; oh, no. But I wrote to him and asked him to paint your portrait. I
-even offered to take you to Rome if he would not come to Paris."
-
-"Well?"
-
-"He had the impertinence to send me a cool refusal," said the colonel,
-irately.
-
-"He did--and why?" asked Bonnibel, just a little piqued at the unknown
-artist.
-
-"He did not like to paint portraits, he said--he preferred the ideal
-world of art. Did you ever hear of such a cool excuse?"
-
-"We have no right to feel angry with him. He is, of course, the master
-of his own actions, and has undoubted right to his preferences," said
-Bonnibel, calmly.
-
-But though she spoke so quietly, her womanly vanity was piqued by the
-unknown artist's cold refusal "to hand her sweetness down to fame."
-
-"Who is he? What is his name?" she asked.
-
-The colonel considered a moment.
-
-"I have a wonderful faculty for forgetting names," he said. "Favart has
-told me his name several times--let me see--I think--yes, I am sure--it
-is _Deane_!"
-
-"I should like to see him," she said, "I have always taken a great deal
-of interest in artists."
-
-"You will be very apt to see him," said the colonel; "he is in Paris
-now--taking a holiday, Favart says. People are making quite a fuss
-over him and his friend--the artist from whom I bought the other fine
-picture, you know. You will be sure to meet them in society."
-
-"Do you think so?" she asked, twirling the leaves of her book
-nervously. The mention of artists and pictures always agitated her
-strangely. She could not forget the young artist who had gone to
-Rome to earn fame and fortune and died so soon. Her cheek paled with
-emotion, and her eyes darkened with sadness under their drooping lashes
-of golden-brown.
-
-"Yes, there is not a doubt of it," he said. "In fact, I suppose we
-shall have to invite them, too, though I do not relish it after the
-fellow's incivility. But it is the privilege of greatness to be crusty,
-I believe. Anyway, the fashionables are all _feting_ and lionizing him,
-so we cannot well slight him. I shall have Monsieur Favart bring him
-and his friend to our ball next week. What do you say, my dear?"
-
-"Send him a card by all means," she answered, "I am quite curious to
-see him."
-
-"Perhaps he may repent his refusal when he sees how beautiful you are,
-my darling," said the colonel, with a fond, proud glance into her face.
-"His ideal world of art, as he calls it, cannot contain anything more
-lovely than yourself."
-
-"You flatter me, Colonel Carlyle," she said lightly, but in her heart
-she knew that he had spoken truly. She had been afloat on the whirling
-tide of fashionable life now for several months, and praises and
-adulation had followed her everywhere. The gay Parisians went mad over
-her pure blonde loveliness. They said she was the most beautiful and
-refined woman in Paris, as well as the most cold and pure. She had
-begun to take a certain pleasure in the gaieties of the world and in
-the homage that followed her wherever she moved. These were the empty
-husks on which she had to feed her heart's hunger, and she was trying
-to find them sweet.
-
-Colonel Carlyle's baleful jealousy had lain dormant or concealed even
-since he had taken his wife from school.
-
-True, his arch-enemy, Felise Herbert, was in Paris, but for some reason
-of her own she had not as yet laid any serious pitfall for his unwary
-feet.
-
-Perhaps she was only playing with him as the cat does with the little
-mouse before she ruthlessly murders it; perhaps Bonnibel's icy-cold
-manner and studied reserve to all made it harder to excite the old
-soldier's ever ready suspicion.
-
-Be that as it may, life flowed on calmly if not happily to the colonel
-and his young wife.
-
-They met Mrs. Arnold and her daughter frequently in their fashionable
-rounds, they invited them to their house, and received invitations in
-return, but though the colonel was cordial, his wife was cold and proud
-to the two women who had been so cruel to her and driven her into this
-unhappy marriage with a man old enough to be her grandfather. She could
-not forgive them for that cruel deed.
-
-"I bide my time," Felise said to her mother one day when they were
-discussing the Carlyles. "I am giving her a little taste of the world's
-pleasures. I want her to fall in love with this life she is leading
-here. She will be tempted by its enticements and forget her coldness
-and prudishness. Then I shall strike."
-
-"She is very circumspect," said Mrs. Arnold. "They say she is a model
-of virtue and beautiful wifely obedience."
-
-"The higher she soars now the lower her fall shall be!" exclaimed the
-relentless girl, with her low, reckless laugh, "mother, I shall not
-fail of my revenge!"
-
-Ah! Felise Herbert! The coils of fate are tightening around you like a
-deadly serpent while you exult in your wickedness.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXVI.
-
-
-The gay, pleasure-loving Parisians were on the _qui vive_ for Mrs.
-Carlyle's masquerade ball, for it was everywhere conceded that her
-entertainments were the most _recherche_ and delightful in the whole
-city. Colonel Carlyle spared neither pains nor expense to render them
-so.
-
-In his laudable desire to further Bonnibel's happiness, the colonel
-lavished gold like water. He knew no other path to success than this.
-He wanted to win her regard, if possible, and his experience in society
-had disposed him to believe that the most potent "open sesame" to a
-woman's heart was wealth and power.
-
-How far the colonel's convictions were true, or how ably he might have
-succeeded in the darling wish of his heart, had things gone well,
-we shall never know, for the frail superstructure of his happiness,
-builded on the sand, was destined to be thrown down and shattered into
-fragments by the wild winds of fate, that should converge into storms
-on that fatal night to which so many looked forward with pleasure.
-
-And yet not the faintest presentiment of evil came to him that day to
-whisper of the gathering clouds of destiny. He knew not that his "house
-of cards" tottered on its foundation, that the wreck and ruin of his
-dearest hope was about to be consummated. He knew not, or he might have
-exclaimed with the poet:
-
-    "Of all that life can teach us,
-       There's naught so true as this;
-     The winds of fate blow ever,
-       But ever blow amiss!"
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The brief winter day came at length, gloomy and overcast, with clouded
-sky that overflowed with a wild, tempestuous rain, as though
-
-    "The heart of Heaven was breaking
-     In tears o'er the fallen earth."
-
-At night the storm passed over, the bright stars shone through the
-misty veil of darkness, a lovely silver moon hung its crescent in the
-sky. All things seemed propitious for the hour that was "big with fate"
-to the lovely girl whose changing fortunes we have followed to the
-turning point of her life.
-
-Cold, and dark, and gloomy though it seemed outside, all was light, and
-warmth, and summer in the splendid chateau.
-
-Hot-house flowers bloomed everywhere in the most lavish profusion. The
-air was heavy with their fragrance.
-
-Entrancing strains of music echoed through the splendid halls, tempting
-light feet to the gay whirl of the dance. The splendid drawing-rooms,
-opening into each other, looked like long vistas of fairy-land, in
-the glow of light, and the beauty shed around by countless flowers
-overflowing great marble vases everywhere. The gay masquers moved
-through the entrancing scene, chatting, laughing, dancing, as though
-life itself were but one long revel. In the banqueting hall the long
-tables were loaded with every luxury under the sun, temptingly spread
-on gold and silver plates. Nothing that taste could devise, or wealth
-could procure, was lacking for the enjoyment of the guests; and
-pleasure reigned supreme.
-
-It was almost the hour for unmasking, and Colonel Carlyle stood alone,
-half hidden by a crimson-satin curtain, looking on idly at the gay
-dancers before him.
-
-He felt weary and dull, though he would not have owned it for the
-world. He hated to feel the weakness and feebleness of old age creeping
-over him, as it was too surely doing, and affected to enter into all
-the gaieties of the season, with the zest and ardor of a younger and
-stronger man.
-
-He had for a few moments felt dull, sad and discontented. The reason
-was because he had lost sight of his beautiful idol whom no mask could
-hide from his loving eyes.
-
-She had disappeared in the moving throng a little while ago, and now he
-impatiently waited until some happy chance should restore her to his
-sight again.
-
-"I am very foolish over my darling," he said to himself, half proudly,
-half seriously. "I do not believe that any young man could worship her
-as passionately as I do. I watch over her as closely and jealously as
-if some dread mischance might remove her from my sight at any moment.
-Ah, those dreadful two years in which I so cruelly put her out of my
-life and starved my eyes and my heart--would that I might recall them
-and undo their work! Those years of separation and repentance have
-sadly aged me!"
-
-He sighed heavily, and again his anxious gaze roved through the room.
-
-"Ah, there she is," he murmured, delightedly. "My beautiful Bonnibel!
-how I wish the time for unmasking would come. I cannot bear for her
-sweet face to be hidden from my sight."
-
-At that moment a small hand fluttered down upon his arm.
-
-He turned abruptly.
-
-Beside him stood a woman whose dark eyes shone through her concealing
-mask like coals of fire. She spoke in a low, unfamiliar voice:
-
-"I know you, sir. Your mask cannot hide Colonel Carlyle from my eyes."
-
-"Madam, you have the advantage of me," he answered politely. "Will you
-accord me the privilege of your name?"
-
-"It matters not," she answered, with a low, eerie laugh, whose
-strangeness sent a cold thrill like an icy chill along his veins, "I am
-but a wandering sibyl; I claim no name, no country."
-
-"Perhaps you will foretell my future," he said, humoring her assumption
-of the character.
-
-"It were best concealed," she said, and again he heard that strange,
-blood-curdling laugh.
-
-He bowed and stood gazing at her silently, wondering a little who she
-could be.
-
-The wandering sibyl stood silent, too, as if lost in thought. Presently
-she started and spoke like one waking from a dream:
-
-"And yet perhaps I may give you a word of warning."
-
-"Pray do so," he answered carelessly, for his eyes had returned to the
-graceful form of Bonnibel as she stood leaning against a tall stand of
-flowers at a little distance from him.
-
-The woman's eyes followed his. She frowned darkly beneath her mask.
-
-"You have gathered many distinguished guests around you to-night,
-Colonel Carlyle," she said, abruptly.
-
-"None more honored than yourself, madam, be sure, although unknown," he
-answered, with a courtly bow.
-
-"Pretty words," she answered, with a mocking laugh. "Let me repay them
-by a friendly warning."
-
-She bent nearer and breathed in a low, sibilant whisper:
-
-"Your wife and the great artist who is your honored guest to-night,
-were lovers long ago. Watch well how they meet when unmasked to-night!"
-
-With the words she glided from him like the serpent forsaking Eden.
-
-And that deadly serpent, jealousy, that had lain dormant in the
-colonel's heart for months, "scotched but not killed," now coiled
-itself anew for a fatal spring.
-
-The blood in his veins seemed turning to liquid fire.
-
-His heart beat so wildly that he could distinctly hear its rapid throbs.
-
-He felt frightened at the swiftness and violence of the passion that
-flooded his whole being.
-
-The words spoken by the masked woman seemed to burn themselves into his
-heart.
-
-"Your wife and the great artist who is your honored guest to-night were
-lovers long ago. Watch well how they meet when unmasked to-night."
-
-For a moment Reason tried to assert her supremacy, and whisper, "Peace,
-be still," to the seething whirlpool of emotion.
-
-"Do not believe it," she said. "Someone is trying to tease you. It is
-quite impossible that Bonnibel and this foreign artist should have met
-before. Anonymous warnings should always be treated with contempt."
-
-And then he remembered the anonymous note he had received at Long
-Branch two years before.
-
-"_That_ was true," he said to himself. "Bonnibel as good as admitted
-it, for she would not show me the inscription in the ring, and she
-refused to give up wearing it. But she said that the giver was dead.
-Had she had two lovers, then, innocent and youthful as she was? Perhaps
-she deceived me. Women are not to be trusted, they say. I will obey the
-warning of my unknown friend and watch."
-
-He waited impatiently for the summons to supper, which would be the
-signal for laying aside the masks.
-
-"It must be true," he said to himself, "for that would explain why he
-was so discourteous about painting her portrait. He did not wish to
-be thrown into familiar contact with her again. Perhaps she had used
-him cruelly. It may be that she threw him over because he was poor and
-unknown, then, and accepted me only for the sake of my wealth."
-
-He was nearly maddened by these tumultuous thoughts. He was almost
-on the point of going to her at once and overwhelming her with the
-accusation of her wrong-doing.
-
-At that moment the signal came and his guests unmasked.
-
-He saw Monsieur Favart coming toward him accompanied by a handsome
-distinguished-looking young man in the costume of a knight. He had
-never met the great Roman artist, yet he felt a quick intuition that
-this must be the man. The premonition was verified for Monsieur Favart
-paused before him and said:
-
-"Colonel Carlyle, it gives me pleasure to present my artist friend, Mr.
-Dane."
-
-The two gentlemen bowed to each other, but for a moment Colonel Carlyle
-could not speak. When he did his voice was hoarse and strained, and
-his words of welcome were so few that Monsieur Favart looked at him in
-surprise. What had become of the old colonel's urbanity and courtliness?
-
-"You will allow me to present you to my wife, Mr. Dane," said the host,
-breaking the silence with an effort.
-
-The artist bowed and they moved down the long room side by side, the
-old man with his white face and silvery beard, the young one with his
-princely grace and refined beauty.
-
-Leslie Dane had been most reluctant to attend the ball given by the
-American colonel, but Carl Muller had teased him into compliance. He
-had nerved himself for the trial, and found that he could bear the
-contact with one from his native land with more _sang froid_ than he
-expected.
-
-"Now I shall see the old lady," was his half-smiling comment to himself
-as he walked along. "I wonder if she is very angry with me because I
-would not paint her portrait."
-
-The next moment, before he had time to raise his eyes, he found himself
-bowing hurriedly at the sound of his host's voice uttering the usual
-formal words of introduction.
-
-Bonnibel was standing alone by a tall _jardiniere_ of flowers, looking
-downward a little thoughtfully. She was dressed as Undine, in a
-floating robe of sea-green, with billows of snowy tulle, looped with
-water-lilies and sea-grasses, and lightly embroidered with pearls and
-tiny sea-shells. Her appropriate ornaments were _aquamarines_ in a
-setting of golden shells. Her long, golden hair fell unbound over her
-shoulders and rippled to her waist, enveloping her form in a halo of
-brightness. She looked like a beautiful siren of old ocean, as fair and
-fresh and beautiful as Venus when she first arose from its coral caves.
-
-Someone had said to her just a moment before, "Mrs. Carlyle, you look
-like a beautiful picture," and the words had recalled to her mind the
-great artist who had refused to paint her portrait.
-
-"I wonder if Mr. _Deane_ is here to-night," she was thinking, when
-Colonel Carlyle's voice spoke suddenly beside her, and she bowed
-haughtily, actuated by a little feeling of pique, and lifted her
-sea-blue eyes to the face of the artist. She met his gaze fixed
-steadily upon her with a look of utter surprise, bitter pain and
-bitterer scorn upon his deathly pale face. In an instant the tide of
-time rolled backward and these two, standing face to face the first
-time in years, knew each other!
-
-Ah, me! how could she bear the revelation that flashed over her so
-swiftly, and live through its horror, its shame and disgrace! The words
-she had been about to speak died unuttered on her lips, the lights,
-the flowers, the stern, set face of Leslie Dane, all swam before her
-eyes as things "seen in a glass, darkly." She threw up her hands
-blindly and reeled backward, striking against the light _jardiniere_
-as she fell. It was overturned by the shock, and scattered its wealth
-of flowers about her as she lay there unconscious, as beautiful, as
-fragile, as innocent as they.
-
-For a moment neither Colonel Carlyle nor Leslie Dane moved or spoke. It
-was a third person who pushed past them and lifted the fair, inanimate
-form. For Colonel Carlyle, there was murder seething in his jealous
-heart that moment, and in the breast of Leslie Dane a grand scorn was
-strangling every emotion of pity.
-
-    "Falser than all fancy fathoms,
-     Falser than all songs have sung,"
-
-was the thought in his heart as he looked down on the pale and lifeless
-face.
-
-People crowded around, with advice and restoratives, and as she came
-back slowly to life they asked her what had caused her to faint. Was
-she ill, were the flowers too overpowering, were the rooms too warm?
-
-"I struck my head against the _jardiniere_ and fell," was all she would
-say as she hid her pale face in her hands to shut out the sight of the
-cold, calm eyes that looked down upon her with veiled scorn.
-
-Colonel Carlyle revived sufficiently to lead her away to her room, and
-people told each other that an accident had happened to Mrs. Carlyle.
-She had struck her head against the _jardiniere_ of flowers and fainted
-from the pain.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXVII.
-
-
-Colonel Carlyle would fain have lingered in Bonnibel's apartment
-and asked for some explanation of her fainting spell, which he was
-convinced was the result of her meeting with the artist, although her
-simple assertion of striking her head against the _jardiniere_ had
-deceived all others except himself, as it might have deceived him but
-for the warning of the masked sibyl.
-
-But it was quite true that she had hurt her head, and when the faithful
-Lucy parted the thick locks and began to dress the slight wound,
-her young mistress turned so ghastly pale and closed her eyes so
-wearily that the jealous old man saw that it was no fitting time for
-recrimination, and went away to attend to his guests, half-resolved to
-have it out with the artist himself.
-
-But calmer thoughts stepped in and forbade this indulgence of his
-spleen. After all, what could he say to the young man? What did he know
-wherewith to accuse him? His anonymous informant had only said that his
-wife and the artist had been former lovers. What, then? How the gay
-world would have laughed if he picked a quarrel with the lion of the
-hour on such a charge as that.
-
-Many of the women whom Colonel Carlyle knew would have deemed it an
-honor to have been loved either in the past or present by the gifted
-artist. No, there was nothing he could say to the man on the subject,
-yet he determined that he would at least watch him closely, and if--if
-there should be even the faintest attempt on his part to revive the
-intimacy of the past, then woe unto him, for Colonel Carlyle was nerved
-to almost any act of frenzy.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Bonnibel lifted her head when the colonel was gone and looked at her
-faithful attendant with a face on which death itself seemed to have set
-its seal.
-
-"Oh, me! Miss Bonnibel, you are as white as a ghost," exclaimed Lucy.
-"And no wonder! It is a bad cut, though not very deep. Does it hurt you
-very much?"
-
-"What are you talking of, Lucy? What _should_ hurt me?" inquired her
-mistress in a wild, startled tone, showing that she had quite forgotten
-her wound.
-
-"Why, the cut on your head, to be sure," said Lucy in surprise.
-
-"Oh! Heaven, I had forgotten that," moaned the poor young creature. "I
-do not feel the pain, Lucy, for the wound in my heart is much deeper.
-It is of that only I am thinking."
-
-She bowed her face in her hands and deep, smothered moans shook her
-from head to foot. The delicate frame reeled and shook with emotion
-like some slender reed shaken by a storm.
-
-Lucy knelt down at her feet and implored her mistress to tell her what
-she could do to help her in her trouble, whatever it might be.
-
-"Miss Bonnibel," she urged, "tell me something that I can do for
-you--anything, no matter what, to help you out of your trouble if I
-can."
-
-Bonnibel hushed her sobs by a great effort of will, and looked down at
-the faithful creature.
-
-"Bring me my writing-desk, Lucy," she said, "and I will tell you what
-you can do for me."
-
-Lucy complied in wondering silence.
-
-Bonnibel took out a creamy white sheet, smooth as satin, and wrote a
-few lines upon it with a shaking hand. Then she dashed her pen several
-times through the elaborate monogram "B.C." at the top of the sheet.
-
-"Lucy," she said, as she inclosed her note in an envelope and hastily
-addressed it, "do you remember a gentleman who used to visit at Sea
-View before my Uncle Francis died--a Mr. Dane?"
-
-"Perfectly well, ma'am," Lucy responded, promptly. "He was an artist."
-
-"Yes, he was an artist. Should you know him again, Lucy?"
-
-"I think I should, ma'am. He was very handsome, with dark eyes and
-hair," said the girl, who was by no means behind her sex in her
-appreciation of manly beauty.
-
-"He is down-stairs now, Lucy--he is one of our guests to-night," said
-Bonnibel, with a heavy sigh.
-
-"Is it possible, ma'am?" exclaimed the girl, in surprise. "I
-thought--at least I heard--Miss Herbert's maid told me a long while ago
-that Mr. Dane was dead."
-
-"There was some mistake," answered Bonnibel, drearily. "He is alive--I
-have seen him. And now, Lucy, I will tell you what I wish you to do."
-
-The girl stood listening attentively.
-
-"You will take this note, my good girl, and go down-stairs and put it
-in the hands of Mr. Dane, if you can find him. Try and deliver it to
-him unobserved, and bring me back his answer."
-
-"I will find him if he is to be found anywhere," said Lucy, taking the
-note and departing on her secret mission.
-
-Leslie Dane's first passionate impulse after his abrupt meeting with
-his lost wife was to leave the house which sheltered her false head.
-
-But as he was about to put his resolve into execution he was accosted
-by a group of ladies and detained for half an hour listening to an idle
-hum of words, from which he longed to tear himself away in the frenzy
-of scorn and indignation which possessed him.
-
-At length he excused himself, and was about passing through the
-deserted hall on his way out when he encountered Bonnibel's maid.
-
-Lucy had, like many illiterate persons, a keen recollection of faces.
-She knew the artist immediately.
-
-"You are Mr. Dane," she said, going up to him after a keen glance
-around to see if she were unobserved.
-
-"Yes," he answered, looking at her in wonder.
-
-"I have a note for you, sir. Please read it and give me an answer at
-once."
-
-He took it, tore off the envelope, and read the few lines that Bonnibel
-had penned, while a frown gathered on his brow.
-
-"Well, sir?"
-
-"Wait a moment."
-
-He took a gold pencil from his pocket and hastily scribbled a few lines
-on the back of Bonnibel's sheet. Lucy, watching him curiously under the
-glare of gas-light, saw that he was deadly pale, and trembled like a
-leaf.
-
-"Give this to your mistress," he said, putting the sheet back in the
-torn envelope, "and tell her that I am gone."
-
-He turned away and walked rapidly out of sight.
-
-Lucy sighed, she could not have told why, and turned back along the
-hall.
-
-"Hold, girl!" exclaimed a hoarse, passionate voice behind her.
-
-She turned in a fright, and saw Colonel Carlyle just behind her, his
-features distorted by rage and passion. He caught her arm violently and
-tore the note from her grasp.
-
-"I will myself deliver this note to your mistress," he said, "and as
-for you, girl, go!"
-
-He dragged her along the hallway to the open door, and pushed her out
-violently into the street, bareheaded and with no wrapping to protect
-her frail, womanly form from the rigors of the wintry night.
-
-"Go, creature!" he thundered after her, "go, false minion of a false
-woman, and never darken these doors again with your hated presence!"
-
-Lucy sank down upon the wet and sleety pavement with a moan of pain,
-and Colonel Carlyle closed and locked the door upon her defenseless
-form.
-
-Rage had transformed the courteous old man into something more
-fiend-like than human.
-
-As soon as he had disposed of his wife's attendant so summarily he
-turned his attention to the note he had wrested from her reluctant
-grasp.
-
-Retiring into a deserted ante-room he opened and read it as coolly as
-if it had been addressed to himself.
-
-What he read caused the veins to start out upon his forehead like great
-twisted cords, and his lips to writhe, while his face grew purple, and
-his eyes almost started from their sockets.
-
-Bonnibel had written:
-
-  "Leslie, forgive me if you can. Before God, I wronged you innocently!
-  I thought you _dead_! If there is one spark of pity or honor in your
-  breast _keep my secret_. It would _kill_ me to have it known to
-  the _world_! I will go away from here and hide myself in obscurity
-  forever! Of course I cannot remain with Colonel Carlyle a day longer.
-  You seemed very angry to-night--your eyes flashed lurid lightnings
-  upon me. I pray you, do not believe me willfully guilty--do not
-  betray me for the sake of revenge! The shame, the horror, the
-  disgrace of _our fatal secret_ will kill me soon enough.
-
-                                                        BONNIBEL."
-
-Looking at the top of the page he saw that she had dashed her pen
-several times through her monogram. He gnashed his teeth at the sight.
-
-"What could she possibly mean by it?" he asked himself, as he turned
-the sheet and read the artist's reply:
-
-  "Do not fear for your proud position, Bonnibel. Mine is the last
-  hand upon earth that would drag you down from it! Pursue your wonted
-  way in peace and serenity. You need not go away--that is for me to
-  do. God knows I would never have come here to-night had I dreamed of
-  meeting _you_! But try to forget it! To-morrow I shall have passed
-  out of your life forever, and that most deplorable _secret_ will be
-  as safe with me as if I really were dead!
-
-                                                     LESLIE DANE."
-
-Colonel Carlyle crumpled those strange, unfathomable notes into his
-breast-pocket, and went out with ominous calm to bid adieu to his
-parting guests.
-
-They had enjoyed themselves so much, they said, and with many regrets
-for Mrs. Carlyle's unfortunate accident they hastened their departure.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXVIII.
-
-
-Bonnibel sat crouching in her chair, a prey to the most hopeless
-misery, waiting for Lucy's return.
-
-She was stunned and bewildered by the force and suddenness of the blow
-that had stricken her.
-
-One tangible thought alone ran through the mass of confused and
-conflicting feeling.
-
-It was that she must fly, at all hazards, from her humiliating position
-in Colonel Carlyle's house.
-
-She did not know where she would go, or how she would manage her
-flight. She would leave it all to Lucy.
-
-The girl was clear-headed and intelligent. They would go away together,
-and Lucy would find a hiding-place somewhere for her wretched head.
-
-But, oh! the shame, the misery of it all!
-
-Leslie Dane was alive, yet she who was his wife in the sight of Heaven
-dare not rejoice in the knowledge. His resurrection from his supposed
-death had fixed a blighting hand upon her beautiful brow.
-
-"Oh, God!" she moaned, wringing her white hands helplessly, "what have
-I done to deserve this heavy cross?"
-
-The minutes passed slowly, but Lucy did not return. The little French
-_pendule_ on the mantel chimed the quarters of the hour three times
-while Bonnibel sat drooping in her chair alone. Then the door was
-pushed rudely open and Colonel Carlyle entered.
-
-In her dumb agony the creature failed to look up or even to distinguish
-the difference in the step of Colonel Carlyle.
-
-"You saw him, Lucy?" she asked, without lifting her head.
-
-There was no reply.
-
-She looked up in surprise at the girl's silence and saw Colonel Carlyle
-standing in the center of the room regarding her fixedly.
-
-Bonnibel had seen him jealous and enraged before, but she had never
-seen him look as he did then.
-
-The veins stood on his forehead like thick, knotted cords. His face was
-purple with excitement, his eyes glared like those of a wild animal,
-his hands were clenched. It seemed as though he only restrained himself
-by a powerful effort of will from springing upon and rending her to
-pieces.
-
-Thus convulsed and speechless he stood gazing down upon her.
-
-"Oh, Colonel Carlyle, you are ill," she exclaimed, regarding him in
-terror. "Shall I not ring for assistance?"
-
-He did not answer, but continued to gaze upon her in the same stony
-silence.
-
-Fearing that he was suddenly seized with some kind of a fit, she sprang
-up and shook him violently by the arm.
-
-But he shook off her grasp with such force and passion that she lost
-her balance and fell heavily to the floor.
-
-Half stunned by the violence of the fall she lay quite still a moment,
-with closed eyes and gasping breath.
-
-He looked at her as she lay there like a broken flower, but made no
-effort to assist her.
-
-Presently the dark blue eyes flashed open and looked up at him with a
-quiet scorn in their lovely depths. She made no effort to rise, and
-when she spoke her voice startled him with its tragic ring.
-
-"Finish your work, Colonel Carlyle," she said, in those deep tones.
-"I will thank you and bless you if you will strike one fatal blow that
-shall lay me dead at your feet."
-
-Something in the words or the tone struck an arrow of remorse into his
-soul. He bent down and lifted the slight form, gently placing her back
-in her chair.
-
-"Pardon me," he said, coldly, "I did not mean to hurt you, but you
-should not have touched me. I could not bear the touch of your hand."
-
-She lifted her fair face and looked at him in wonder.
-
-"Colonel Carlyle, what have I done to _you_?" she asked, in a voice of
-strange pathos.
-
-"You have wronged me," he answered, bitterly.
-
-Her face blanched to a hue even more deathly than before, at his
-meaning words. What did he suspect? What did he know?
-
-"I know all," he continued, sternly.
-
-For a moment she dropped her face in her hands and turned crimson from
-brow to throat under his merciless gaze, then she looked up at him
-proudly, and said, almost defiantly:
-
-"If, indeed, you know all, Colonel Carlyle, you know, of a truth, that
-I did not wrong you willfully."
-
-He was silent a moment, drawing her crumpled note from his breast and
-smoothing out the folds.
-
-"This is all I know," he said, holding it up before her eyes. "This
-tells me that you have wronged me, that you have a dreadful secret--you
-and the man at whose feet you fainted to-night. You must tell me that
-secret now."
-
-"Where did you get the note?" she panted, breathlessly.
-
-"Perhaps the artist gave it to me!" he sneered.
-
-"I will not believe it," she said, passionately. "Lucy--where is Lucy?"
-
-"She is out in the street where I thrust her when I found her with this
-note," he answered, harshly. "It is enough that my roof must shelter a
-false wife, it shall not protect her false minion!"
-
-"Out in the street!" gasped Bonnibel, hoarsely. "In the cold and the
-darkness. My poor Lucy! Let me go, too, then; I will find her and go
-away with her. We will neither of us trouble you!"
-
-She was rushing to the door, but he pushed her back into her seat,
-locked the door and put the key into his pocket.
-
-"We will see if you shall disgrace me thus," he cried out. "You
-would fly from me, you said. And where? Perhaps to the arms of your
-artist-lover! You would heap this disgrace on the head of an old man,
-whose only fault has been that he loved you too well and trusted you
-too blindly."
-
-She shivered as he denounced her so cruelly; but not one word of
-defiance came from her pale, writhing lips. The fair face was hidden in
-her hands, the golden hair fell about her like a veil.
-
-"But I will protect my honor," he continued, harshly. "I will see that
-you do not desert me and make my name a by-word for the scorn of the
-world. You shall stay with me, even though I am tempted to hate you;
-you shall stay with me if I have to keep you _imprisoned_ to save my
-honor!"
-
-She looked up at him wildly.
-
-"Oh, for God's sake, let me go!" she said. "In pity for me, in pity
-for yourself, let me go away from you forever! It is wrong for me to
-stay--I ought to go, I must go! Let the world say what it will--tell
-them I am dead, or tell them I am mad, and chained in the walls
-of a mad-house! Tell them anything that will save your honorable
-name from shame, but let me go from under this roof, where I cannot
-breathe--where the air stifles me!"
-
-"It must indeed be a fatal secret that can make you rave so wildly," he
-answered, bitterly. "Let me hear it, Bonnibel, and judge for myself if
-it is sufficient to exile my wife from my home and heart."
-
-She shivered at the words.
-
-"Oh! indeed it is sufficient," she moaned, wringing her hands in
-anguish. "I implore you to let me go."
-
-"Let me be the judge," he answered again. "Tell me your reasons for
-this wild step."
-
-She was silent from sheer despair.
-
-"Bonnibel, will you tell me the secret?" he urged, feverishly.
-
-"I cannot. I cannot! Do not ask me!" she answered pleadingly.
-
-"What if I demand it from Mr. Dane?" he said, threateningly.
-
-"I do not believe he will tell you," she answered bitterly. "If he did
-you would regret that you learned it. Oh! believe me, Colonel Carlyle,
-that 'ignorance is bliss' to you in this case. Oh! be merciful and let
-me go!"
-
-"Would you know what answer your artist lover sent to your wild
-appeal?" he exclaimed abruptly.
-
-She looked at him wildly. He straightened out the sheet and read over
-the words that Leslie Dane had written, in a bitter, mocking tone.
-
-"Leslie Dane," he repeated. "Leslie Dane! Why, this is the first time
-I have caught the villain's name aright! It seems familiar. I have
-heard it somewhere long ago--let me think."
-
-In a sudden excess of excitement he dropped the note and paced
-furiously up and down the room. Bonnibel watched him forlornly under
-her drooping lashes.
-
-He stopped suddenly with a violent start, and looked at her sternly.
-
-"I have it now," he said triumphantly. "My God! it is worse than I
-thought; but when I knew his real name it all rushed over me! Yes,
-Bonnibel, I know the fatal secret now, that you, oh! my God, share with
-that miserable wretch!"
-
-"Oh! no, you cannot know it," she breathed!
-
-"I do know it," he answered sternly. "I remember it all now. Leslie
-Dane is that guilty man who rests at this moment under the charge of
-murdering your uncle!"
-
-"It is false!" she exclaimed, confronting him indignantly. "No one ever
-breathed such a foul aspersion upon Leslie Dane but you!"
-
-"Great God! do you deny it?" he exclaimed in genuine surprise and
-amazement. "Surely your brain is turned, Bonnibel. Everyone knows that
-Leslie Dane was convicted of the murder on circumstantial evidence;
-everyone knows that he fled the country and has been in hiding ever
-since. But the fatal charge is still hanging over his head."
-
-"I have never heard such a thing before, never! And I would believe
-that Leslie Dane was guiltless in the face of all the evidence in the
-world! He is the very soul of honor! He could not do a cowardly act
-to save his life!" exclaimed Bonnibel, springing up in a fever of
-passionate excitement.
-
-Colonel Carlyle was fairly maddened by her words.
-
-"You shall see whether he be guilty or not," he exclaimed, leaving the
-room in a rage.
-
-Bonnibel heard the key grate in the lock outside, and discovered, to
-her dismay, that she was Colonel Carlyle's prisoner in truth.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIX.
-
-
-"You went off from the ball in a hurry last night, Leslie. Why did you
-not stop for me?"
-
-It was Carl Muller who spoke. He had come into Mr. Dane's rooms the
-morning after the ball and found him sitting over a cup of coffee,
-looking haggard and weary in the clear light of day.
-
-"Excuse me, Carl," he responded. "The actual truth is, I forgot you. I
-was tired and wanted to come away, and I did so, _sans ceremonie_."
-
-"Well, you look fagged and tired out, that's a fact. I never saw you
-look so ill. Have a smoke; it will clear the mist from your brain."
-
-"Thank you, no," said the artist, briefly.
-
-Carl sat down on a chair and hummed a few bars of a song while he
-regarded his friend in some surprise at his altered looks.
-
-"I was sorry you went off without me, last night," he said presently.
-"I wanted to chaff you a little. Weren't you surprised and abashed when
-you found that the old woman whose portrait you declined to paint was
-the loveliest angel in the world?"
-
-"It was quite a surprise," Mr. Dane said, sipping his _cafe au lait_
-composedly.
-
-"Did you ever see such a beautiful young creature?" continued Carl,
-with enthusiasm.
-
-"Yes," was the unexpected reply.
-
-"You have!" exclaimed Carl; "I did not think it possible for two such
-divinities to exist upon this earth. Have the goodness to tell me where
-you ever saw Mrs. Carlyle's equal in grace and loveliness."
-
-But Mr. Dane, who but seldom descended to Carl's special prerogative,
-poetry, sat down his cup and slowly repeated like one communing with
-himself:
-
-    "'I remember one that perished; sweetly did she speak and move;
-      Such an one do I remember, whom to look at was to love.'"
-
-"She is dead, then?" said Carl.
-
-"She is dead to me," was the bitter reply.
-
-And with a significant look Carl repeated the lines that came next to
-those that Leslie had quoted:
-
-    "'Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore?
-      No, she never loved me truly; love is love forevermore.'"
-
-"Forevermore," Leslie Dane repeated with something like a sigh.
-
-He rose and began to pace the floor with bowed head and arms folded
-over his breast.
-
-"Carl," he said suddenly, "I have had enough of Paris. Have you?"
-
-"What, in seven days? Why, my dear fellow, I have just begun to enjoy
-myself. I have only had a taste of pleasure yet."
-
-"I am going back to Rome to-day," continued Leslie.
-
-"I should like to know why you have made this sudden decision,
-Leslie--for it is sudden, is it not?" asked Carl, pointedly.
-
-Leslie Dane flushed scarlet, then paled again.
-
-"Yes, it is sudden," he answered, constrainedly, "but none the less
-decisive. Don't try to argue me out of it, Carl, for that would be
-useless. Believe me, it is much better that I should go. I want to get
-to work again."
-
-"There is something more than work at the bottom of this sudden move,"
-said Carl Muller, quietly. "I don't wish to intrude on your secrets,
-_mon ami_, but I could tell you just why you are going back to Rome in
-such a confounded hurry."
-
-"You could?" asked Leslie Dane, incredulously.
-
-"You know I told you long ago, Leslie, that there is a woman at the
-bottom of everything that happens. There is one at the bottom of this
-decision of yours. You are running away from a woman!"
-
-"The deuce!" exclaimed Leslie, startled out of his self-control by Carl
-Muller's point-blank shot; "how know you that?"
-
-"I can put two and two together," the German answered, coolly.
-
-Leslie looked at him with a question in his eyes.
-
-"Shall I explain?" inquired Carl.
-
-Leslie bowed without speaking.
-
-"Well, then, last night, when we laid aside our masks I happened to
-be quite near to our lovely hostess, and a friend who was beside me
-immediately presented me."
-
-"Well?" said Leslie Dane, with white lips.
-
-"I was immediately impressed with the idea," continued Carl, "that
-I had met Mrs. Carlyle before. The impression grew upon me steadily
-during the minute or two while I stood talking to her, although I could
-not for the life of me tell where I had met her. But after I had left
-her side I stood at a little distance and observed her presentation to
-you."
-
-Leslie Dane walked away to a window and stood looking out with his back
-turned to his friend.
-
-"I saw her look at you, Leslie," Carl went on, "and that minute she
-fell back and fainted. They said that she struck her head against the
-_jardiniere_, which caused her to faint. But I know better. She may
-have struck her head--I do not dispute that--but the primal cause of
-her swoon was the simple sight of _you_!"
-
-"I do not know why you should think so, Carl," said his friend, without
-turning round. "It is not plausible that the mere sight of a stranger
-should have thus overcome her. Am I so hideous as that?"
-
-"You were not a stranger," said Carl, overlooking the latter query,
-"for in that moment when she bowed to you it flashed over me like
-lightning who she was. I was mistaken when I thought I had met her
-before. She was utterly a stranger to me. But I had seen her peerless
-beauty portrayed in a score of pictures from the hand of a master
-artist. It is no wonder the resemblance haunted me so persistently."
-
-There was silence for a minute. Leslie did not move or speak.
-
-"Leslie, you cannot deny it," Carl said, convincingly: "the beautiful
-Mrs. Carlyle is the original of the veiled portrait you used to keep in
-your studio, and which you allowed me to look at only on the occasion
-when you painted it out."
-
-"I do not deny it," he said, in a voice of repressed pain. "What then,
-Carl?"
-
-"This, _mon ami_--she was false to you! I do not know in what way, but
-possibly it was by selling herself for that old man's gold. You owe her
-no consideration. Why should you curtail your holiday and disappoint
-your friends and admirers merely because her guilty conscience feels
-a pang at meeting you? You two can keep apart. Paris is surely large
-enough for both to dwell in without jostling each other."
-
-What Leslie Dane might have answered to this reasoning will never be a
-matter of history, for before he could open his lips to speak there was
-a thundering rap at the door.
-
-In some suspense he advanced and threw it open.
-
-Three or four officers of the French police, in their neat uniform,
-stood in the hallway without.
-
-"Enter, gentlemen," he said, courteously, though there was a tone of
-surprise in his voice that they could not mistake.
-
-Carl Muller, too, though he did not speak, rose from his seat and
-expressed his amazement by his manner.
-
-The officers filed into the room gravely, closing the door after them.
-Then the foremost one advanced, with an open paper in his hand, and
-laid his hand firmly but respectfully on Leslie Dane's arm.
-
-"Monsieur Dane," he said, in clear, incisive tones that fell like a
-thunder-clap on the hearing of the two artists--"Monsieur Dane, I
-arrest you for the willful murder of Francis Arnold at his home in
-America three years ago!"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXX.
-
-
-"_Quelle horreur_, Felise! that was a shocking _denouement_ to-night.
-We tremble on the brink of a volcano."
-
-Mrs. Arnold and her daughter were rolling homeward in their luxurious
-carriage from the masquerade ball at Colonel Carlyle's chateau, and the
-elder lady's remark was uttered in a tone of trepidation and terror.
-
-But Felise leaning back in her corner among the silken cushions in the
-picturesque costume of a fortune-teller, only laughed at her terror--a
-low and fiendish laugh that expressed unqualified satisfaction.
-
-"_Ma mere_, was Leslie Dane's resurrection a great surprise to you?"
-she inquired, with a covert sneer.
-
-"A great surprise, and a terrible shock to me, too," the lady answered.
-"Of course, after believing him dead so long, it is very inconvenient
-to have him come to life again--as inconvenient for Colonel Carlyle and
-his wife as for us."
-
-And again Felise laughed mockingly, as if she found only the sweetest
-pleasure in her mother's words.
-
-"Felise, I cannot understand you," exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, anxiously.
-"Surely you forget the peril we are in from this man's resurrection
-from the grave where we thought him lying. I thought you would be as
-much surprised and frightened at this dreadful _contretemps_ as I am."
-
-"I have known that Leslie Dane was living all these three years,"
-answered Miss Herbert, as coolly as before.
-
-"Then the paper you showed to me and to Bonnibel must have been a
-forgery!'
-
-"It was. I had the notice of Leslie Dane's death inserted myself."
-
-The carriage paused at their hotel, and they were handed out.
-
-Mrs. Arnold followed her daughter to her own apartments.
-
-"Send your maid away, Felise. I must talk to you a little," she said.
-
-Felise had a French maid now instead of Janet, who had resolutely
-declined to cross the ocean with her.
-
-"Finette, you may go for awhile," she said. "I will ring when I need
-you."
-
-The maid courtesied and went away.
-
-Felise motioned her mother to a chair, and sank into another herself.
-Mrs. Arnold seated herself and looked at her daughter searchingly.
-
-Mrs. Arnold took up the conversation where it had been dropped when
-they left the carriage.
-
-"You say you forged the notice of Leslie Dane's death in the
-newspaper," she said. "Of course you had some object in doing that,
-Felise."
-
-"Yes, of course," with another wicked laugh. "It was to further the
-revenge of which I have had so sweet a taste to-night."
-
-"So what has happened to-night is only what you have intended and
-desired all along?"
-
-Felise bowed with the grace of a duchess.
-
-"Exactly," she answered, with a triumphant smile. "I have been planning
-and scheming over two years to bring about the consummation of
-to-night."
-
-"It was cleverly planned and well executed," Mrs. Arnold said,
-admiringly; "but is it quite finished? Of course Colonel Carlyle does
-not know the truth yet."
-
-"He knows that Leslie Dane was a former lover of his wife; he witnessed
-their meeting to-night. That of itself was enough to inflame his
-jealous passions to the highest degree, and make him wretched. I rely
-upon Bonnibel herself to finish my work."
-
-"Upon Bonnibel! How will she do it?"
-
-"You know her high and overstrained sense of honor, mother. Of course
-she will not remain with Colonel Carlyle, now that she knows she is not
-his wife. There is but one course open to her. She will fly with Leslie
-Dane, and leave a note behind her revealing the whole truth to him."
-
-"Are you sure she will, Felise?"
-
-"I am quite certain, mother. That is the only orthodox mode for such
-a heroine of romance as your husband's niece. To-morrow Leslie Dane
-and his silly young wife will have flown beyond pursuit and discovery,
-yet neither one can be happy. The years in which she has belonged to
-Colonel Carlyle will be a blight and a blot upon her fair fame that
-she can never forget, while Leslie Dane, with the passions of manhood
-burning in his veins, _cannot_ forget and will scarcely _forgive_ it.
-They cannot be happy. My revenge has struck too deep at the root of
-that evanescent flower that the world calls happiness. And Colonel
-Carlyle is the proudest man on earth. Think you that he can ever hold
-up his head again after the shame and disgrace of that dreadful blow?"
-
-"Scarcely," said Mrs. Arnold, echoing her daughter's laugh with one as
-cold and cruel. "You have taken a brave revenge, Felise, for Colonel
-Carlyle's wrongs against you, and if all goes as you have planned, I
-shall be proud of your talents and rejoice in your success. But my mind
-misgives me. Suppose some officious American here--and you know there
-are plenty such now sojourning in Paris--should remember Leslie Dane
-and arrest him for my husband's murder?"
-
-For a moment Felise Herbert grew pale, and an icy hand seemed tugging
-at her heart-strings.
-
-"I do not have the least apprehension of such a calamity," she
-answered, throwing off the chill presentiment with an effort. "I feel
-sure that Leslie Dane and his Bonnibel will be far beyond pursuit and
-detection before to-morrow night. And you will infinitely oblige me by
-keeping your doleful croaking to yourself, mother."
-
-Mrs. Arnold looked at her watch and rose wearily.
-
-"It is almost morning," she said; "I think I will retire. Good-night,
-my dear, and pleasant dreams."
-
-"They cannot fail to be pleasant!" answered Felise, with her mocking,
-triumphant laugh.
-
-But her dreams were all waking ones.
-
-She was too triumphant and excited to sleep.
-
-"This is a happy, happy night for me!" she exclaimed again and again.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXI.
-
-
-Bonnibel was completely crushed by the knowledge that Colonel Carlyle
-had put into execution his threat of making her a prisoner.
-
-For a moment she ran wildly about the room, passionately seeking some
-mode of egress, filled with the impulse of seeking and following her
-poor, maltreated Lucy.
-
-But no loophole of escape presented itself.
-
-Her suite of rooms, boudoir, dressing-room, and sleeping-apartment,
-all communicated with each other, but only one opened into the hall,
-or presented any mode of egress from her imprisonment. Of this room,
-the boudoir which she then occupied, Colonel Carlyle had taken the key.
-She was in an upper story, many feet from the ground, or she would
-have jumped from the window in her desperation. As it was she could do
-nothing. She threw herself down upon the floor, crushing her beautiful
-ball-dress with its grasses and lilies, and wept unrestrainedly.
-
-The slight form heaved and shook with emotion, the tears rained from
-her eyes in a torrent. At length, worn out with passionate weeping,
-and overcome by the "dumb narcotic influence of pain," she fell asleep
-where she lay on the floor, her wet cheek pillowed on her little hand,
-her golden hair floating about her in "sad beauty."
-
-Thus Colonel Carlyle found her when he entered, late that morning.
-He was honestly shocked at the sight, for he had supposed that
-she would yield gracefully to the inevitable, and retire to her
-sleeping-apartment without more ado when she found how inflexible a
-will he was possessed of. Instead, here she lay prostrate on the rich
-velvet carpet of the boudoir, still attired in her ball-dress, the
-traces of tears on her pale cheeks, and her restless slumber broken by
-sobs and moans that shook her slight form like a wind-shaken-willow.
-
-He stood still looking down at her, while pity vainly struggled against
-the fierce anger and resentment burning hotly in his heart.
-
-"She can grieve for him like this," he muttered bitterly, and lifted
-her, not rudely, but yet unlovingly, and laid her down upon a silken
-sofa.
-
-The movement disturbed her, and for a moment she seemed about to wake;
-but the heavy lethargy of her troubled sleep overpowered her.
-
-Colonel Carlyle stood silently watching her for a little while,
-marveling at her beauty even while he felt angry with her for the
-uncontrollable emotion that had touched her fairness with the penciling
-of grief. Then, with a deep yet unconscious sigh, he kissed her several
-times and went softly away. It was noon when she started up from her
-restless slumbers, pushing off the silken coverlet that had been
-carefully spread over her.
-
-She sat up, pressing her hand upon her aching temples, and looked about
-the room with dazed, half-open eyes. For the moment she had forgotten
-her trouble of the previous night, and fully expected to see her
-faithful Lucy Moore keeping her patient vigil by the couch of her weary
-mistress. But memory returned all too swiftly. The kind, loving face of
-Lucy did not beam its welcome upon her as of old. Instead, the cold,
-hard face of a smartly-dressed, elderly Frenchwoman looked curiously at
-her as the owner rose and courtesied.
-
-"I am the new maid, madam," she explained. "I hope madam feels better."
-
-Bonnibel stared at her in bewilderment.
-
-"Where is Lucy? I want Lucy," she said almost appealingly.
-
-"Madam, I knows nothing of Lucy," she answered. "_Monsieur le colonel_,
-the husband of madam, engage me to attend upon madam. I will remove
-your ball dress, _s'il vous plait_."
-
-With those words the whole bitter truth rushed over Bonnibel's mind.
-A low, repressed cry, and she fell back on the sofa, again hiding her
-convulsed face in her hands.
-
-"Madam, you make yourself more sick by dis emotion," said the new maid
-in her broken English. "Allow me to bring you someding to break your
-fast--some chocolate, a roll, a bit of broiled bird."
-
-"I want nothing," Bonnibel answered, bitterly at first, but the next
-moment she sat up and struggled to regain her composure.
-
-"What is your name, my good woman?" she inquired.
-
-"Dolores, madam, at your service," said the maid, with one of her low
-courtesies, "Dolores Dupont."
-
-Bonnibel rose and moved slowly toward her dressing-room.
-
-"Dolores," she said, "you may come and remove this robe. I was very
-tired last night, and my maid having left me, I fell asleep in my ball
-costume."
-
-Dolores deftly removed the crushed and ruined robe, and substituted a
-dressing-gown, while she brushed and arranged the beautiful golden hair
-that was straying on her shoulders in wild disorder.
-
-"It is the most beautiful hair in de world," she said. "Dere are many
-ladies would give a fortune to have it on deir own heads."
-
-But Bonnibel did not heed the praise. She had no thought or care for
-her beauty now. She only said, listlessly:
-
-"Never mind removing the dressing-gown, Dolores, I will lie down again.
-I am very tired."
-
-"I shall bathe your head with the _eau de cologne_--shall I?" the maid
-inquired.
-
-"No, no, only let me rest."
-
-"You will breakfast, at least, madam?" the woman persisted.
-
-"Not now, Dolores. I wish for nothing but rest," she said, as she
-passed into her boudoir and lay down again upon the sofa.
-
-The maid followed after her.
-
-"I should wish your keys, madam, to pack your trunks," she said,
-solicitously.
-
-"To pack my trunks!" exclaimed the mistress, in surprise. "Why should
-you wish to do that, Dolores?"
-
-Dolores looked back at her in surprise also.
-
-"For your journey, of course, Madam Carlyle," she said. "Monsieur, your
-husband, tells me dat Paris do not agree with your health, and dat he
-removes you dis day to his palace in Italy on de Bay of Naples."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXII.
-
-
-Alas for that one triumphant night of Felise Herbert. It was succeeded
-by a day of disappointment.
-
-It was scarcely noon before she heard that Colonel Carlyle had caused
-the arrest of Leslie Dane upon the charge of murdering Mr. Arnold, and
-that he had been committed to prison to await a requisition from the
-governor of New Jersey, in which State the deed had been committed.
-Mrs. Arnold entering her room in a tremor of nervous agitation, found
-her pacing the floor, wildly gesticulating, and muttering to herself,
-in terms of the fiercest denunciation, anathemas against Colonel
-Carlyle.
-
-"The miserable old dotard!" she exclaimed, furiously. "To think that
-his madness should have carried him to such lengths! Just when I felt
-so sure of my revenge he has balked me of my satisfaction and imperiled
-my safety by his jealous madness!"
-
-"Felise, you have heard all, then?" exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, anxiously.
-
-Felise turned her blazing dark eyes toward her mother, and Mrs. Arnold
-shuddered.
-
-"All, all!" she echoed passionately; "ill news flies apace!"
-
-"Felise, I feared this!" exclaimed Mrs. Arnold. "You were
-over-confident last night. Who could tell what form that old man's
-madness would take?"
-
-"Who, indeed!" cried her daughter passionately. "And yet my theory
-seemed so plausible--who could have dreamed of its failure? But for him
-all would have gone as I planned it! But you cannot dream, mother, what
-that besotted old villain had the audacity to do!"
-
-"It is not possible he suspected your complicity in the affair,
-Felise--he has taken no steps against _us_?" wildly questioned the
-mother as she sank into a chair half-fainting with terror.
-
-"No, no, he has not done that, mother--his deviltry took another form."
-
-"What, then, my dear? Oh! Felise, do sit down and calm yourself, and
-let us talk this matter over quietly," implored Mrs. Arnold anxiously.
-
-"Calm myself--ha, ha, ha, when the blood in my veins has turned to
-molten fire, and is burning me to ashes! You are an iceberg, mother,
-with your cold words and calm looks, but you cannot put out the fire
-that is raging within me! Surely I must be wholly my father's child!
-There is nothing of you about me--nothing!"
-
-"Yes, she is like her father--the more pity! For there was madness in
-his blood," Mrs. Arnold muttered inaudibly; "and I, oh! God--all my
-life I have fostered her evil passions, in my greed of gold, until now,
-when her reason totters on the brink of insanity. Oh! that I might undo
-my part in this fearful tragedy, and save her from the gulf that yawns
-beneath her feet!"
-
-Overcome by her late remorse and terrible forebodings, she hid her face
-in her hands while a nervous trembling seized upon her from head to
-foot. Felise paused in her frenzied walk and eyed her curiously.
-
-"Mother, are you turning coward in the face of danger?" she asked, with
-a ring of contempt in her voice.
-
-There was no reply. The bowed face still rested on the trembling hands,
-the form still shook with nervous terror. Something in the weakness
-and forlornness of that drooping attitude in the mother who had
-subordinated everything else to her daughter's welfare, struck like a
-chill upon Felise, and partially tamed the devil raging within her. She
-spoke in a gentler tone:
-
-"Rouse yourself, mother. See! I have quite sobered down, and am ready
-to discuss the matter as calmly and dispassionately as you could wish.
-Ask what you please, and I will answer."
-
-Mrs. Arnold looked up, taking new heart as she saw that Felise still
-retained the power to subdue her fiery passions.
-
-"Then tell me, dear, what else Colonel Carlyle has done besides causing
-Leslie Dane's arrest," said her mother.
-
-Felise grasped the arms of her chair and held herself within it by a
-frenzied effort of will. Her voice was low and intense as she answered:
-
-"Mother--he found out that Bonnibel was about to fly from him last
-night--just as I told you she would, you remember--and he--he actually
-locked her into her rooms, turned Lucy Moore, her maid, into the
-street--and is keeping his wife a prisoner to prevent her escape."
-
-Mrs. Arnold was too astonished to speak for a minute or two. At length
-she found voice to utter:
-
-"How know you that, Felise?"
-
-"I have a spy in the chateau, mother--nothing that transpires there
-remains long unknown to me," returned the daughter, calmly.
-
-Again there was momentary silence and surprise. Mrs. Arnold's weaker
-nature was sometimes confounded by a new discovery of her daughter's
-powerful capabilities for evil.
-
-"What must Bonnibel's feelings be under the circumstances?" she
-exclaimed at last.
-
-"I cannot imagine," was the dry response.
-
-"Will she confess the truth to him, do you think?"
-
-"I cannot tell; I hope she _will not_," said Felise with strong
-emphasis.
-
-"I thought you wished him to know the truth. Was not that a part of
-your cherished scheme of revenge?"
-
-"Yes, it was, but 'there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,' you
-know. And now that he has prevented her escape with Leslie Dane, and
-caused the artist's arrest, the only chance of safety for you and me
-lies in his keeping her a close prisoner until the trial is over."
-
-"What can that avail us, Felise?"
-
-"Can you not see?" exclaimed Felise impatiently. "Leslie Dane must
-be sacrificed to save us. He must be convicted by circumstantial
-evidence, and punished. Bonnibel is the only person who could prove his
-innocence. Let her keep out of the way and all will go well with us.
-Should she appear at the trial then discovery and ruin stare us in the
-face."
-
-"But you forget, my dear, that Leslie Dane can prove his own _alibi_
-by the minister who married him that night, even though we could
-procure Bonnibel's silence."
-
-Felise laughed heartlessly.
-
-"Yes, he could, certainly, but the question is, would he? I am quite
-sure he would not."
-
-"But why should he be silent when his life would most probably pay the
-forfeit?" exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, with a slight shudder.
-
-"Mother, there are men who would die for an over-strained point of
-honor. From all that I can gather from his intercepted letters, Leslie
-Dane is precisely that sort of a man. He is a Southerner, you know--a
-Floridian. You have been in the South, and you know that its natives
-are proud, chivalrous, honorable to the highest degree! Well, he can
-have no means of knowing that Bonnibel is imprisoned by her husband--of
-course the proud old colonel will keep that fact a dead secret, and
-invent some plausible excuse for her retirement from society. The
-artist can therefore attribute her absence from the trial to but one
-thing."
-
-"And that?" queried Mrs. Arnold.
-
-"He will think that Bonnibel is silent because she would sooner
-sacrifice him than lose her prestige in society, and her brilliant
-position as the wife of Colonel Carlyle. He will scorn to betray her
-secret, and will go to his death with the self-sacrifice of a martyr."
-
-"But suppose Colonel Carlyle should let Bonnibel go free? What then?"
-
-Felise laughed softly.
-
-"He will not do so, mother. I have sent him an anonymous letter to-day
-that will fairly madden him with jealousy. He will never unlock her
-prison-door until the grass is growing over the handsome face of Leslie
-Dane."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXIII.
-
-
-Within the gloomy cell of a French prison Leslie Dane was seated on a
-low cot-bed, looking out through the narrow, grated window at the blue
-and sunny sky of France. The young artist looked haggard and wan in the
-clear light of the pleasant day, for though it was winter the rigors of
-that season had not yet set in. His dark eyes had a look of suffering
-and despair in their beautiful depths, and his lips were set in a weary
-line of pain. It was the day after his incarceration, and he had spent
-a wretched, sleepless night, almost maddened by the horror of his
-fearful situation. Suddenly the heavy key turned in the iron door; it
-swung open to admit a visitor, and then the jailer closed and re-locked
-it, shutting into the gloomy cell the blonde face of Carl Muller.
-
-"_Bon jour_," he said, with his debonair smile that seemed to light the
-gloomy place like a beam of sunshine. "How goes it, _mon ami_?"
-
-A gleam of pleasure shone faintly over his friend's haggard features.
-
-"Is it you, Carl?" he said; "I thought you had deserted me!"
-
-"Ingrate, could you think it?" responded Carl. "I was busy yesterday
-trying to find out some particulars of this mysterious affair, and they
-would not admit me last night. I came this morning as soon as they
-would let me in."
-
-"Thanks Carl; I might have known you were true as steel. And yet there
-is so much falsity and treachery on earth, how could I be sure of your
-loyalty? Have you learned anything?"
-
-"Your accuser is the American, Colonel Carlyle," was the startling
-reply.
-
-"My God!" exclaimed Leslie Dane, with a violent start; and then he
-added in a passionate tone, and half to himself: "Has he not already
-wronged me beyond all forgiveness?"
-
-"He seems to have pushed it forward with the greatest malignity,"
-continued Carl. "There are other countrymen of yours here in this
-city who declare they knew of the foul charge against you, yet they
-say that the verdict against you was given on purely circumstantial
-evidence, and that, such being the case, they did not intend to molest
-you, believing that you might after all be innocent of the crime. But
-Colonel Carlyle has pushed the affair in a way that seems to indicate a
-personal spite against you."
-
-Leslie's broad, white brow clouded over gloomily.
-
-"It is true, then, that there is such a charge against me. I fancied
-there _must_ be some mistake. The whole affair seemed too monstrous
-for belief, yet you say it is a stern fact. It is so inexplicable to
-me, for I swear to you, Carl, that up to the very moment of my arrest
-yesterday I did not know that Francis Arnold was dead."
-
-"And I believe you, Leslie, as firmly as I believe in the purity of my
-mother away off in my beloved Germany. I know you never could have been
-guilty of such a foul crime."
-
-"A thousand thanks for your noble confidence, Carl. Now I know that I
-have at least one true friend on earth. I was rather cynical in such
-matters before. A sad experience had taught me to distrust everyone,"
-exclaimed Leslie, as he warmly grasped the young German's hand. "But
-what reason do they assign for my alleged commission of the crime?"
-
-"They told me," said Carl, hesitatingly, "that you were poor and
-unknown, and aspired to the hand of the millionaire's beautiful and
-high-born niece. Mr. Arnold, they said, declined your suit for the
-young lady's hand, and you became enraged and left him, uttering very
-abusive language coupled with threats of violence. He was murdered
-while sleeping in his arm-chair that night on his piazza, and it was
-supposed that you had stealthily returned and wreaked your vengeance
-upon him."
-
-"My God!" said Leslie Dane, "they have made out a black case against
-me, indeed. But upon whose circumstantial evidence was my conviction
-based?"
-
-"Mrs. Arnold, the wife of the murdered man, and his step-daughter, Miss
-Herbert, heard and witnessed the altercation from their drawing-room
-windows. Their evidence convicted you, it is said."
-
-"My soul!" exclaimed the unhappy prisoner to himself. "Bonnibel was
-there; she at least knew my innocence, yet she spoke no word to clear
-me from that most foul aspersion! And yet I could have sworn that she
-loved me as her own life. Oh, God! She was falser than I could have
-dreamed. But, oh, that angel face; those beguiling lips--how can they
-cover a heart so black?"
-
-"Come, come, _mon ami_, don't give up like this," said Carl, distressed
-by the sight of his friend's uncontrollable emotion. "It is a monstrous
-thing, I know, and will involve no end of time and worry before you get
-clear, of course, but, then, there is no doubt of your getting off--you
-have only to prove your innocence, and you can easily do that, you
-know. So let's take it as a joke, and bear it bravely. Do you know I
-mean to cross the ocean with you, and see the farce played out to the
-end? Then you shall take me around, and do the honors of your native
-land."
-
-Leslie looked at the bright, buoyant face of the German artist as he
-spoke so cheerily, and a suspicious moisture crept into his dark eyes.
-He dashed his hand across them, deeming it unmanly weakness.
-
-"Oh! Carl," he exclaimed, remorsefully, "how little I have valued your
-friendship, yet how firm and noble it has proved itself in this dark
-and trying hour! Forgive me, my friend, and believe me when I say that
-I give you the sole affection and trust of a heart that heretofore has
-trusted nothing of human kind, so basely had it been deceived. I thank,
-I bless you for that promise to stand by me in my trial! And now I will
-do what I should have done long ago if I had known the value of your
-noble heart. I will tell you my story, and you shall be my judge."
-
-Word for word, though it gave him inexpressible pain to recall it, he
-went over the story of his love for Bonnibel Vere, and her uncle's
-rejection of his suit, and the high words that passed between them.
-He passed lightly over their farewell, omitting but one thing. It was
-the story of their moonlight sail and secret marriage. That story was
-sealed within his breast. He would have died before he would have
-revealed Bonnibel's fatal secret to any living soul.
-
-"I left Cape May, where they were summering, on the midnight train,"
-he concluded, "and the next day I sailed from New York for Europe. I
-never heard from Francis Arnold or his niece again. She had promised to
-be faithful to our love, but though I wrote to her many times I never
-received one line in return until that fatal note which you remember.
-In it she wrote me that she loved another."
-
-"Perfidious creature!" muttered Carl.
-
-"I never heard of her again," continued Leslie, "until, to my
-unutterable surprise, I met her as the wife of Colonel Carlyle."
-
-"And it is for one so false and cruel that you rest under this dreadful
-charge," exclaimed the German. "But, please God, you will soon be
-cleared from it. Of course you will have no difficulty in proving an
-_alibi_. That is all you need to clear you."
-
-But Leslie did not answer, and his friend saw that he was pale as
-death.
-
-"Of course you can prove an _alibi_--cannot you, Leslie?" he asked,
-with a shade of anxiety in his tone.
-
-But Leslie looked at him with a gleam of horror in his dark eyes, and
-his voice shook with emotion as he answered:
-
-"No, Carl, I cannot!"
-
-Carl Muller started as though a bullet had struck him.
-
-"Leslie you jest," he exclaimed, hoarsely. "Of course you can prove
-where you were at that exact time when the murder took place. Your
-safety all hinges upon that. Do you not remember where you were at that
-time?"
-
-"Ah, Heaven, do I not remember? Every moment of that time is indelibly
-stamped upon my memory," groaned the unhappy prisoner.
-
-"Then why do you talk so wildly, my dear fellow? All you have to do is
-to tell where you were at that time, and produce even one competent
-witness to prove it."
-
-"I cannot do it!" Leslie answered, gravely.
-
-"But, good Heavens, man, your life may have to pay the forfeit if you
-fail to establish an _alibi_ at the trial."
-
-"I must pay the forfeit, then. Carl, I choose death rather than the
-only available alternative," was the inscrutable and final reply.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXIV.
-
-
-"Words fail me, Colonel Carlyle, when I try to express my burning
-sense of your injustice in this high-handed outrage! What, in this
-enlightened age, in this nineteenth century, do men turn palaces into
-prisons, and debar weak women of their liberties? Am I a slave that you
-have turned your keys upon me, and set hirelings and slaves to watch
-me? Am I a criminal? If so, where is my crime?"
-
-A long and elegant saloon in a beautiful palace in Italy. The rich
-curtains of silk and lace are looped back from the windows, and the
-view outside is the beautiful Bay of Naples with the clear, blue, sunny
-sky reflected in its blue and sparkling waves. A garden lies below the
-windows, rich, in this tropical clime, with beautiful flowers, and
-vines and shrubbery, while groves of oranges, lemons, figs and dates
-abound in lavish luxuriance. Within the room that was furnished with
-princely magnificence and taste, were a man and a woman, the man old,
-and bowed, and broken, the woman young and more beautiful than it
-often falls to the lot of women to be. Her delicate features, chiseled
-with the rare perfection of a head carved in cameo, were flushed with
-passion, and the glow of anger shone through the pure, transparent
-skin, tinting it with an unusual bloom. As she walked restlessly up and
-down the room, in her trailing robe of soft azure hue, her sea-blue
-eyes blazed under their drooping lashes until they looked black with
-excitement.
-
-"I tell you," she said, pausing a moment, as no answer came to her
-passionate outburst, and facing the man before her with a slim,
-uplifted finger, as if in menace, "I tell you, Colonel Carlyle, that
-the vengeance of Heaven will fall upon you for this cruel, unmanly
-deed! Oh, how can you forget your sense of honor as a soldier and a
-gentleman, and descend to an act so ignoble and unworthy? To imprison a
-weak and helpless woman, who has no friend or defender save Heaven! Oh,
-for shame, for shame!"
-
-His eyes fell before the unbearable scorn in hers, and he turned as if
-to leave the room. But half way to the door he paused and came back to
-her.
-
-"Bonnibel," he said, sternly, "cease this wild raving, and calm
-yourself. My troubles are hard enough to bear without the additional
-weight of unmerited reproaches from you. I am of all men the most
-miserable."
-
-She shook off the hand with which he attempted to lead her to a seat,
-as if there had been contagion in the mere contact of his white,
-aristocratic fingers.
-
-"No, do not touch me!" she exclaimed, wildly. "At least spare me that
-indignity. All other relations that have existed between us are altered
-now, and merged simply into this--I am your prisoner, and you are my
-jailer. The eagle spurns the hand of its captor. Remember, there is
-proud, untamable blood in my veins that will not be subdued. I am Harry
-Vere's daughter."
-
-Bonnibel saw him wince as the name of her beloved father passed her
-lips.
-
-"Ah, you are not lost to all sense of shame," she cried. "You can
-tremble at the name of the hero you have wronged through his helpless
-daughter! Oh, Colonel Carlyle, by the memory of my father, whom you
-pretended to love and honor, I beg you to let me go free from this
-place."
-
-Her angry recklessness had broken down suddenly into pathetic pleading.
-Her slender hands were locked together, her eyes were lifted to his
-with great, raining tears shining in them. He turned half away,
-trembling in spite of his iron will at sight of those tearful eyes, and
-parted, quivering lips.
-
-"Bonnibel," he answered, in a voice of repressed emotion, "my suffering
-at the course I have found myself compelled to pursue with you is
-greater than your own. I love you with all the strength of a man's
-heart, and yet I am almost compelled to believe you the falsest of
-women. And yet, through all the distrust and suspicion which your
-recent conduct has forced me to harbor, the instinct that bids me have
-faith in the honor of Harry Vere's daughter is so much beyond the mere
-power of my reason that at one little promise from your lips you might
-this moment go free!"
-
-"And that promise?" she asked, dashing the blinding tears away from her
-eyes and looking into his face.
-
-"Bonnibel, on the night when I presumed to lock you into your chamber
-you were about to fly from me--to what fate I know not, but--I feared
-the worst. Think of the shame, the disgrace, the agony I must have
-endured from your desertion! Can you wonder that I took stringent
-measures to prevent you from carrying your wild project into execution?
-I would have laid you _dead_ at my feet before you should have broken
-my heart and made me a target for the scorn of the world."
-
-She did not flinch as he uttered the emphatic words and looked keenly
-into her face. She thought of herself vaguely as of one lying dead at
-the feet of that stern, old, white-haired man, yet the passing thought
-came to her indifferently as to one who was bearing the burden of a
-"life more pathetic than death." She felt no anger rising within her
-at the threat. Only a faint, stifled yearning awoke within her for a
-moment as his stern voice evoked a vision of the rest and peace of the
-grave.
-
-"You see how strongly I feel on this subject, my wife," he continued,
-after a long pause, "yet even now you shall go free if you will give me
-your sacred word of honor, by the memory of your father, that you will
-not desert me--that you will not leave me!"
-
-Silence fell--a long, painful silence. He stood quite still, looking
-down at her pale face, and waiting for her answer with quickened
-heart-beats. For her, she seemed transformed to a statue of marble
-only for the quick throbs that stirred the filmy lace folded over her
-breast. She stood quite still, her eyes drooping from his, a look of
-pitiful despair frozen on the deathly pallor of her face. Outside they
-could hear a soft wind sighing among the flowers and kissing the blue
-waves of the bay. Within, the fragrance of an orange tree, blooming in
-a niche, came to them with almost sickening oppressiveness. Still she
-made no sign of answer.
-
-"Bonnibel," he said, and his hoarse, strained voice fell so unnaturally
-on the stillness that he started at its strange sound, "Bonnibel, my
-darling little wife, you will give me that promise?"
-
-She shivered through all her frame as if those pleading words had
-broken her trance of silence.
-
-"Do not ask me," she said, faintly, "I cannot!"
-
-"You will not give me that little promise, Bonnibel?"
-
-"_I cannot_," she moaned, sinking into a chair and hiding her face in
-her hands.
-
-"You are determined to leave me, then, if you can?" he exclaimed in a
-voice of blended horror and reproach.
-
-"_I must_," she reiterated.
-
-"Then tell me _why_ you must go away, Bonnibel. What is this fatal
-secret that is driving you forth into exile? This mystery will drive me
-mad!"
-
-She removed her hands a moment, and looked up at him with sad, wistful
-eyes, and a face crimson with painful blushes.
-
-"Colonel Carlyle, I will tell you this much," she said, "for I see that
-you suspect me of that which I would rather die than be guilty of. I
-am not going because a guilty passion for a former lover is driving
-me from your arms to his. If I go into exile I shall go alone, and I
-shall pray for death every hour until my weary days upon earth are
-ended forever. Death is the only happiness I look for, the future holds
-nothing for me but the blackness of darkness. I can tell you nothing
-more!"
-
-She ceased, and dropped her anguished face into the friendly shelter of
-her hands again. He remained rooted to the spot as if he could never
-move again.
-
-"Bonnibel," he said, at last, "surely some subtle madness possesses
-you. You do not know what you would do. I must save you from yourself
-until you become rational again."
-
-With these words he went out of the room, locking the door behind him.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXV.
-
-
-Colonel Carlyle had not quitted the room an hour before Bonnibel's
-maid, Dolores, came into her presence, bearing a sealed letter upon a
-salver.
-
-"_Une lettre_ from monsieur le colonel, for Madam Carlyle," she said,
-in her curious _melange_ of French and English. Bonnibel took the
-letter, and Dolores retreated to a little distance and stood awaiting
-her pleasure.
-
-"What can he have to write to me of?" she thought, in some surprise, as
-she opened the envelope.
-
-She read these words in a rather tremulous hand-writing:
-
-  "Bonnibel, my dear wife," and she shuddered slightly at the words--"I
-  sought you a little while ago to inform you of my immediate departure
-  for Paris, but our interview was of so harrowing a nature that
-  I was forced to leave you without communicating my intention. I
-  could not endure your reproaches longer. I am compelled to leave
-  you here--circumstances force my immediate return to Paris. It is
-  possible, nay, probable, that I may have to make a trip to the United
-  States before I return to Naples. Believe me, it is distressing to me
-  beyond measure to leave you now under existing circumstances, but the
-  business that takes me away is most imperative and admits of no delay.
-
-  "I have made every possible provision for your comfort and pleasure
-  during my absence. The housekeeper, the domestics and your own
-  especial maid will care for you faithfully. In an hour I leave here.
-  If you have any commands for me; if you are willing to see me again,
-  and speak even one word of kind farewell, send me a single line by
-  Dolores, and I will be at your side in an instant.
-
-                                               "CLIFFORD CARLYLE."
-
-She finished reading and dropped the letter, forgetful of the lynx-eyed
-French woman who regarded her curiously. Her eyes wandered to the
-window, and she fell into deep thought.
-
-"Madam," the maid said, hesitatingly, "Monsieur le colonel awaits _une_
-reply. He hastens to be gone."
-
-Bonnibel looked up at her.
-
-"Go, Dolores," she answered, coldly; "tell him there is _no reply_."
-
-Dolores courtesied and went away. Bonnibel relapsed into thought again.
-She was glad that Colonel Carlyle was going away, yet she felt a faint
-curiosity as to the imperative business which necessitated his return
-to his native land. She had never heard him allude to business before.
-He had been known to her only as a gentleman of elegant leisure.
-
-"Some of the banks in which his wealth is invested have failed,
-perhaps," she thought, vaguely, and dismissed the subject from her mind
-without a single suspicion of the fatal truth--that the jealous old
-man was going to America to be present at the trial of Leslie Dane, and
-to prosecute him to the death. Ah! but too truly is it declared in Holy
-Writ that "jealousy is strong as death, and as cruel as the grave."
-
-Colonel Carlyle was filled with a raging hatred against the man who had
-loved Bonnibel Vere before he had ever looked upon her alluring beauty.
-
-He had received an anonymous letter filled with exaggerated
-descriptions of Bonnibel's love for the artist, and his wild passion
-for her. The writer insinuated that the lovely girl had sold herself
-for the old man's gold, believing that he would soon die, and leave
-her free to wed the poor artist, and endow him with the wealth thus
-obtained. Now, said the unknown writer, since the lovers had met
-again their passion would fain overleap every barrier, and they had
-determined to fly with each other to liberty and love.
-
-Colonel Carlyle was reading the letter for the hundredth time when
-Dolores returned from delivering his letter to Bonnibel with the cold
-message that there was "no reply."
-
-That bitter refusal to the yearning cry of his heart for one kind
-farewell word only inflamed him the more against the man whom he
-believed held his wife's heart. It seemed to him that that in itself
-was a crime for which Leslie Dane merited nothing less than death.
-
-"She read my letter?" he said to the maid who stood waiting before him.
-
-"_Oui, Monsieur_," answered Dolores, with her unfailing courtesy.
-
-"That is well," he said, briefly; "now, go."
-
-Dolores went away and left him wrestling with the bitterest emotions
-the heart of man can feel. He was old, and the conflicting passions
-of the last few years had aged him in appearance more than a score of
-years could have done. He looked haggard, and worn, and weary. But his
-heart had not kept pace with his years. It was still capable of feeling
-the bitter pangs that a younger man might have felt in his place.
-Felise Herbert had done a fearful work in making this man the victim
-of her malevolent revenge. Left to himself he had the nobility of a
-good and true manhood within him. But the hand of a demon had played
-upon the strings of the viler passions that lay dormant within him, and
-transformed him into a fiend.
-
-"Not one word!" he exclaimed, to himself, in a passion of bitter
-resentment. "Not one word will she vouchsafe for me in her pride and
-scorn. Ah, well, Leslie Dane, you shall pay for this! I will hound you
-to your death if wealth and influence can push the prosecution forward!
-Not until you are in your grave can I ever breathe freely again!"
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-"The slow, sad days that bring us all things ill" merged into weary
-weeks, but brought no release to the restless young creature who
-pined and chafed in her confinement like a bird that vainly beats its
-wings against the gilded bars of its cage. Dolores Dupont guarded her
-respectfully but rigorously. Weary days and nights went by while she
-watched the sun shining by day on the blue Bay of Naples, and the
-moonlight by night silvering its limpid waves with brightness. Her
-sick heart wearied of the changeless beauty, the tropical sweetness
-and fragrance about her. A cold, northern sky, with darkening clouds
-and sunless days, would have suited her mood better than the tropical
-sweetness of Southern Italy. As it was she would sometimes murmur to
-herself as she wearily paced the length of her gilded prison:
-
-    "Night, even in the zenith of her dark domain,
-     Is sunshine to the color of my fate."
-
-But "the darkest hour is just before day," it is said. It was as true
-for our sweet Bonnibel as it has proved for many another weary soul
-vainly beating its weary wings against the bars of life in the struggle
-to be free. Just now, when her heart and hope had failed utterly and
-her only chance of escape seemed to lie in a frank confession of the
-truth to Colonel Carlyle, the path of freedom lay just before her feet,
-and destiny was busy shaping an undreamed-of future for that weary,
-restless young heart.
-
-"I can bear it no longer," she murmured, as she paced the floor late
-one night, thinking over her troubles until her brain seemed on fire.
-"I will write to Colonel Carlyle and tell him the truth--tell him that
-dreadful secret--that I am not his wife, that I belong to another!
-Surely he must let me go free then. He will hate me that I have brought
-such shame upon him; but he will keep the secret for his own sake, and
-let me go away and hide myself somewhere in the great dark world until
-I die."
-
-She dropped upon her knees and lifted her clasped hands to heaven,
-while bitter tears rained over her pallid cheeks.
-
-"Heaven help me!" she moaned; "it is hard, hard! If I only had not
-married Colonel Carlyle all might have gone well. Oh, Leslie, Leslie,
-I loved you so! God help me, I love you still! Yet I shall never see
-you again, although I am your wife! Ah, never, never, for a gulf lies
-between us--a gulf of sin, though Heaven is my witness I am innocent of
-all intentional wrong-doing. I would have died first!"
-
-Her words died away in a moan of pain; but presently the anguished
-young voice rose again:
-
-"The sibyl's fateful prophecy has all been fulfilled. Yet how little I
-dreamed that it _could_ come true! Oh, God, how is it that I, the proud
-daughter of the Veres and the Arnolds, can live with the shadow of
-disgrace upon my head?"
-
-She dropped her face in her hands, and the "silence of life, more
-pathetic than death," filled the room. All was strangely still; nothing
-was heard but the murmurous waves of the beautiful Bay of Naples softly
-lapping the shore. Suddenly a slight, strange sound echoed through the
-room. Bonnibel sprang to her feet, a little startled, and listened
-in alarm. Again the sound was repeated. It seemed to Bonnibel as if
-someone had thrown a few pebbles against the window. Yes, it must be
-that, she was sure.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXVI.
-
-
-Full of vague alarm, blent with a little trembling hope of she knew not
-what, Bonnibel ran to the window, which was fortunately not fastened
-down, pushed up the sash and peered down into the night. The moon had
-not fully risen yet, and there was but a faint light in the clear sky,
-but down in the dark shrubbery below she fancied she could see a human
-form and a white face upturned to the window.
-
-Yes, she was right. In a moment a low and cautious, but perfectly
-audible voice, floated up to her ears.
-
-"Oh! my _dear_ Miss Bonnibel," was what it said, "is that you?"
-
-Bonnibel put her hand to her heart as if the shock of joy were too
-great to be borne.
-
-It was the voice of the poor girl over whose unknown fate her heart had
-ached for many weary days--the welcome voice of faithful Lucy Moore.
-
-"Yes, it is Bonnibel," she murmured gently back, fearing that her
-voice might be heard by Dolores Dupont, who slept on a couch in the
-dressing-room to be near her mistress.
-
-"Are you alone?" inquired Lucy, softly.
-
-"Yes, quite alone," was answered back.
-
-"Miss Bonnibel, I have a rope-ladder down here. I am going to throw
-it up to you. Try and catch it, and fasten it to your window strongly
-enough for me to climb up to you."
-
-Bonnibel leaned forward silently. A twisted bundle was skillfully
-thrown up, and she caught it in her hands. Stepping back into the room
-she uncoiled a light yet strong ladder of silken rope.
-
-"Fasten it into the hooks that are used to secure the window-shutters,"
-said Lucy's voice from below.
-
-Trembling with joy, Bonnibel fastened the ends strongly as directed,
-and threw the rope down to Lucy. In a few moments the girl had climbed
-up to the window, sprang over the sill, and had her young mistress in
-her arms.
-
-"One kiss, you darling!" she said, in a voice of ecstasy, "then I must
-pull up the rope, for I fear discovery, and I have much to tell you
-before I take you away with me!"
-
-Bonnibel's heart gave a quick bound of joy.
-
-"Oh! Lucy, will you really take me away?" she exclaimed, pressing the
-girl's hand fondly.
-
-"That's what I am here for," answered Lucy, withdrawing her mistress
-into the darkest corner of the room, after having drawn her rope up and
-dropped the curtains over the coil as it lay upon the floor.
-
-"Lucy, how did you ever find me?" exclaimed Bonnibel, gladly, as they
-sat down together on a low divan, mutually forgetting the difference in
-their position as mistress and maid in the joy of their re-union.
-
-"I've never lost track of you, Miss Bonnibel, since the night your
-husband turned me into the cold, dark street."
-
-"Cruel!" muttered Bonnibel, with a shudder.
-
-"Yes, it was cruel," said Lucy, "but I didn't spend the night in
-the streets! Pierre, the hall-servant, let me in again unbeknownst
-to Colonel Carlyle, and I slept in my old room that night, though I
-couldn't get to speak to you because he had locked you into your room
-and kept the key. At daylight I went away and secured a lodging near
-you--you know I had plenty of money, Miss Bonnibel, because you were
-always very generous! That evening when Colonel Carlyle took you away,
-along with that hateful furrin maid, I followed after, you may be
-sure, and I've been in Naples ever since trying to get speech of you;
-but though I've tried bribery, and corruption, and cunning, too, I've
-always failed until to-night."
-
-She paused to take breath, and Bonnibel silently pressed her hand.
-
-"So there's the whole story in a nutshell," continued Lucy, after
-a minute; "I ain't got time to spin it out, for you and me, Miss
-Bonnibel, has to get away from here as quick as ever we can! Do you
-think you can climb down my ladder of rope?"
-
-Bonnibel smiled at the anxious tone of the girl's question.
-
-"Of course I can, Lucy," she said, confidently, "I wish there were
-nothing harder in life than that."
-
-"Miss Bonnibel," said the girl, in a low voice, "we must be going in a
-minute or two, now. Can you get a dark suit to put on? And have you any
-money you can take with you? For it will take more money than I have in
-my purse, perhaps, to carry us home to New York."
-
-"To New York--are we going back there?" faltered the listener.
-
-"As fast as wind and water can carry us!" answered the girl. "You and
-me are needed there in a hurry, my darling mistress. At least _you_
-are, for I feel almost sure that a man's life is hanging on your
-evidence."
-
-"Lucy, what can you mean?" exclaimed Bonnibel, in amazement.
-
-"Ah! I see they have told you nothing!" answered Lucy.
-
-Bonnibel caught her arm and looked anxiously into her face.
-
-"No one has told me anything," she said. "What should they have told
-me?"
-
-"Much that you never knew, perhaps," said the girl, shaking her head
-gravely.
-
-"Then tell it me yourself," said Bonnibel. "Do not keep me in suspense,
-my good girl."
-
-"May I ask you a question first, Miss Bonnibel?"
-
-"As many as you please, Lucy!"
-
-"You remember the night poor old master was murdered?" said the girl,
-as if reluctant to recall that painful subject.
-
-"As if I could ever forget it," shuddered the listener.
-
-"You were down at the shore until late that night," pursued the
-girl, "and when you got back you found your uncle dead--murdered!
-Miss Bonnibel, was Mr. Dane with you that night on the sands? I have
-sometimes been athinkin' he might a been."
-
-"Lucy, what are you trying to get at?" gasped the listener.
-
-"I only asked you the question," said Lucy, humbly.
-
-"And I cannot understand why you ask it, Lucy, but I will answer it
-truly. Leslie Dane was with me every moment of the time."
-
-"I thought so," said Lucy, fervently. "Thank God!"
-
-"Lucy, please explain yourself," said Bonnibel anxiously. "You frighten
-me with your mysterious looks and words. What has gone wrong?"
-
-"I am going to tell you as fast as I can, my dear young mistress. Try
-and bear it as bravely as you can, for you must go back to America to
-right a great wrong."
-
-"A great wrong!" repeated the listener, helplessly.
-
-"You were so sick after Mr. Arnold died," said Lucy, continuing her
-story, "that the doctors kept the papers and all the news that was
-afloatin' around, away from you; so it happened that we never let you
-know that your friend, Mr. Leslie Dane, was charged with the murder of
-your uncle."
-
-There was a minute's shocked silence; then, with a smothered moan
-of horror, Bonnibel slid from her place and fell on the floor in a
-helpless heap at Lucy's feet.
-
-"Oh! Miss Bonnibel, rouse yourself--oh, for God's sake don't you faint!
-Oh, me! oh, me! what a born fool I was to tell you that before I got
-you away from this place!" cried Lucy in terror, kneeling and lifting
-the drooping head upon her arm.
-
-"Oh! Miss Bonnibel, please don't you faint now!" she reiterated, taking
-a bottle of smelling salts from her pocket and applying it to the young
-lady's nostrils.
-
-Thus vehemently adjured, Bonnibel opened her blue eyes and looked up
-into the troubled face of her attendant.
-
-"We have got to be going now," urged the girl, "you must keep all your
-strength to get away from here."
-
-"I will," said Bonnibel, struggling to a sitting posture in Lucy's
-supporting arms. "I am quite strong, Lucy, I shall not faint, I give
-you my word, I will not! Go on with your story!"
-
-"I mustn't--you can't stand it," answered the girl, hesitating.
-
-"Go on," Bonnibel said, with a certain little authoritative ring in her
-voice that Lucy had always been wont to obey.
-
-"If I must then," said Lucy, reluctantly, "but there's but little more
-to tell. Mr. Dane got away and they never caught him till the night of
-your grand masquerade ball when Colonel Carlyle recognized him. The
-next day he had him arrested and put in a French prison on the charge
-of murder."
-
-"And now?" asked Bonnibel, in horror-struck accents.
-
-"And they all sailed for the United States more than two weeks ago,"
-answered Lucy, sadly. "Mr. Dane to his trial, and Colonel Carlyle, Mrs.
-Arnold and Miss Felise Herbert to testify against him."
-
-"More than two weeks ago," repeated Bonnibel like one dazed.
-
-"I heard some men talking about it," Lucy went on, "and they said that
-if Mr. Dane couldn't prove his absence at the time of the murder he
-would certainly get hung."
-
-A moan was Bonnibel's only response.
-
-"So you see, my dear young mistress, that his only chance rests on your
-evidence, and we must start right away if we are to get there to save
-him!"
-
-Bonnibel sprang to her feet, trembling all over.
-
-"Let us go this moment," she said, feverishly; "oh, what if we should
-be too late!"
-
-Wild with horror she set about her preparations. Her one thought now
-was to save Leslie Dane though the whole world should know the shameful
-secret she tried so hard to keep from its knowledge.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXVII.
-
-
-February winds blew coldly over the sea at Cape May, the day was bleak
-and sunless, a misty, drizzling rain fell slowly but continuously,
-chilling the very marrow of one's bones. No one who could have helped
-it would have cared to venture out in such dreary, uncomfortable,
-depressing weather. But up and down the beach, before the closed
-mansion of Sea View, walked a weird, strange figure, bareheaded in the
-pitiless war of the elements, bowed and bent by age, clothed in rent
-and tattered finery, with scant, gray locks flying elfishly in the
-breeze that blew strongly and cruelly enough to have lifted the little,
-witch-like form and cast it into the sea.
-
-"I am a fool to come out in such stormy weather!" this odd creature
-muttered to herself. "What is it that drives me out of my sick bed to
-wander here in the rain and wind before Francis Arnold's house? There
-is a thing they call _Remorse_, ha, ha--is that the haunting devil that
-pursues me?"
-
-She looked at the lonely mansion, and turned back to the sea with a
-shudder.
-
-"_Whose_ is the sin?" she said, looking weirdly out at the wild waves
-as if they had a human voice to answer her query. "_She_ tempted me
-with her gold--she had murder in her heart as red as if she had dyed
-her hands in his life-blood! Ugh!" she wrung her hands and shook them
-from her as if throwing off invisible drops, "how thick and hot it was
-when it spurted out over my hands! Yet was not the sin hers? Hers was
-the brain that planned, mine but the hand that struck the blow!"
-
-"Gold, gold!" she went on, after a shuddering pause, "what a devil it
-is to tempt one! I never harmed human being before, but the yellow
-glitter was so beautiful to my sight that it betrayed me. Strange,
-that when it had made me do her will, it should have grown hateful to
-my sight, and burned my hands, till I came here and cast every golden
-piece of my blood-bought treasure into the sea."
-
-She drew nearer to the waves, peeping into them as if perchance the
-treasure she had cast into their bosom might yet be visible.
-
-"There was a man named Judas," she muttered; "I have heard them tell of
-him somewhere--he sold a man's life for some pieces of silver--but when
-it was done he went and cast the treasure back to those who had bought
-his soul. He must have felt as I do. What is it that I feel--_remorse_,
-_repentance_, or a horror of that dreadful leap I shall soon be taking
-into the dark?"
-
-Walking wildly up and down she did not see two figures coming towards
-her through the mist of the rain--two female figures shrouded in long
-water-proof cloaks and thick veils.
-
-"Miss Bonnibel," said one to the other, "'tis the wicked old witch--the
-fortune-teller--Wild Madge. Sure the old thing must be crazy, tramping
-out in such wild weather!"
-
-Bonnibel shuddered as she looked at the weird old creature.
-
-"Cannot we avoid her notice?" she inquired, shrinking from contact with
-the sibyl.
-
-At that moment Wild Madge turned and saw them. Directly she came up to
-them with her fortune-teller's whine:
-
-"Cross my palm with silver and I will tell your fortune, bonny ladies."
-
-"No, no, Wild Madge, we haven't got time to hear our fortunes told,"
-said Lucy Moore. "Don't try to detain us. We are on a mission of life
-and death."
-
-"So am I," mocked the sibyl with her strange, discordant laugh. "Death
-is on my trail to-day; but I know you, Lucy Moore, and you, too, lovely
-lady," she added, peering curiously under Bonnibel's veil. "I told your
-fortune once, pretty one--did the prophecy come true?" she inquired,
-seizing hold of Bonnibel's reluctant hand, and drawing off her glove.
-
-"Yes, it came true," she answered, tremblingly.
-
-"Yes, I see, I see," said the sibyl, peering into the little hand; "you
-have suffered--you suffer still! But, lady, listen to me! The clouds
-are breaking, there is a silver lining to every one that droops over
-you now. You may believe what I tell you; ha! ha!
-
-    "'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
-      And coming events cast their shadows before.'"
-
-Uttering the quotation with the air of a prophetess, she released
-Bonnibel's hand and suddenly sank upon the wet ground with a stifled
-moan of pain.
-
-"Oh! Lucy, she is ill--her hands are as hot as fire, her eyes are quite
-glassy," exclaimed Bonnibel in alarm as she bent over the fallen form.
-
-"We can't help that, Miss Bonnibel--we are compelled to hurry on to
-Brandon," said the girl, for though ordinarily the softest-hearted of
-human beings her impatience to be gone made her rather indifferent to
-the visible weakness and illness of the sibyl.
-
-"Oh! but, Lucy, we must spare her a moment," cried Bonnibel, full of
-womanly pity, and forgetting her dread of the sibyl at sight of her
-sufferings; "she must not die out here in the cold and rain. Let us
-take her between us and lead her to the house, and leave her in care of
-the old housekeeper if she is there."
-
-"We must hurry, then," said Lucy; "Mr. Leslie Dane's life is worth more
-than this old witch's if she lived two hundred years to follow her
-trade of lying!"
-
-She stooped very gently, however, and helped the poor creature to her
-feet; supporting the frail form between them, the mistress and maid
-walked on toward the house.
-
-"What threatens Leslie Dane's life?" inquired the old sibyl suddenly,
-as she walked between them with drooping head.
-
-"They are trying him for the murder of Mr. Arnold, more than three
-years ago, if you must know," said Lucy.
-
-"Is he innocent?" inquired the old creature in a faltering voice.
-
-"Innocent? Of course he is--as innocent as the angels," answered Lucy,
-"but he can never prove it unless me and Miss Bonnibel can get the
-witnesses at Brandon to prove an _alibi_ for him. So you see we are
-wasting time on you, old woman."
-
-"Yes, yes," faltered Wild Madge, humbly. "But where are they trying
-him, Lucy Moore?"
-
-"At Cape May Court House, old woman--and the evidence will be summed up
-to-day, the jurors will give their verdict. You see we must hurry, if
-we would save him."
-
-"Yes, yes; better to leave the old woman to die in the rain, and hurry
-on," whined the sick woman.
-
-"We are here now. We will leave you under shelter at least," Bonnibel
-answered gently.
-
-They led her in, and consigned her to the care of the wondering old
-housekeeper at Sea View, and went back to the shore.
-
-The _Bonnibel_, battered and worn, but still seaworthy, rocked at her
-moorings yet. They loosened the little craft, sprang in, Bonnibel took
-up the oars, and the little namesake shot swiftly forward through the
-rough waves to Brandon.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXVIII.
-
-
-"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say why the sentence of
-death shall not be pronounced against you?"
-
-The solemn words of the judge echo through the crowded court-room,
-and the sea of human faces turn curiously and with one accord towards
-the spot where the prisoner sits with his friend, the handsome German
-artist, by his side, where he has remained throughout the trial.
-
-The case has excited much interest, for the murdered man had been
-widely known, and as for the man accused of the murder, his native
-land had but just commenced to hear of him as a son whose brow was
-crowned with laurels in the world of art. But almost simultaneously
-with the announcement of his brilliant success abroad had followed the
-dreadful tidings of his arrest for the murder of Mr. Arnold, and the
-distinguished position of the murdered man and the fame of the gifted
-young artist accused of the crime had drawn thousands to the trial.
-
-It was all over now. Day after day the prisoner had sat with his
-flashing dark eye, and calm, pale brow, listening to the damning
-evidence against him. From first to last, despite the entreaties of his
-lawyer and friends, he had resolutely declined to attempt proving an
-_alibi_--the only thing that could have saved him. Now, the trial was
-over, the evidence had been summed up and given to the jury, and they
-had returned their verdict of willful murder. Nothing now remained but
-the dreadful duty of the judge--to pronounce upon that young, handsome,
-gifted man the sentence of annihilation--of _death_!
-
-And accordingly he had begun with the usual ceremonious formula:
-
-"Have you anything to say why the sentence of death should not be
-pronounced against you?"
-
-And the eager crowd surged forward for a nearer view of Leslie Dane's
-face.
-
-Colonel Carlyle was there, sitting with Mrs. Arnold and Felise Herbert.
-There was an ill-concealed expression of relief and satisfaction upon
-the faces of the three. They had pursued an innocent man to the death,
-but no twinge of remorse stirred their hard hearts as he rose in his
-seat, pale, proud and handsome, towering above the crowd in his kingly
-hight and stateliness, and confronted the judge.
-
-"I have nothing to say, your honor, except that _I am not guilty_!"
-
-A low murmur of approbation from some, and of dissent from others
-instantly arose, and was immediately hushed by the crier of the court.
-
-At that moment, when the judge rose to the performance of his duty,
-a messenger brought a tiny slip of paper and placed it in the hands
-of Leslie Dane's lawyer. As he read it his gloomy face brightened
-marvelously. He rose in his seat flushed and radiant.
-
-"May it please your honor to suspend the sentence of the court. There
-is a new and important witness."
-
-The next moment a graceful, veiled figure, clad in heavy, soundless
-black silk, glided into the witness-box.
-
-She was sworn, and lifted her veil to kiss the book. A perfectly
-beautiful face, blanched to the pallor of marble, was revealed by the
-action. A murmur of admiration arose from the spectators, blent with
-subdued exclamations of horror from three who were nearly stricken
-lifeless by her unexpected advent.
-
-"Silence in the court!" thundered the crier.
-
-The examination of the witness began.
-
-"What is your name?"
-
-And clear and sweet as a silver bell the lady's voice arose in answer,
-penetrating every strained ear in the densely-packed court-room.
-
-"I have been known as Bonnibel Carlyle, but I am Bonnibel Dane, the
-wife of the prisoner at the bar!"
-
-As the words left her lips she glanced beneath her long lashes at the
-face of Leslie Dane. In her swift look there was shame, abnegation,
-self-sacrifice, curiously blended with uncontrollable pity and almost
-tenderness. The face that looked back at her was so radiant that it
-almost dazzled her. Her eyes dropped swiftly, and she never looked at
-him again while she stood there.
-
-Many eyes turned upon Colonel Carlyle to see how he bore the stroke of
-fate. He sat perfectly still, white as marble, staring like one frozen
-into a statue of horror at the beautiful witness in the box, whose blue
-eyes took no note of his presence.
-
-The examination proceeded. Bonnibel told her story calmly, clearly,
-bravely. When she concluded and left the witness-stand she was
-succeeded by the old minister and his wife, whom she had brought from
-Brandon.
-
-They corroborated her testimony and left no flaw in the evidence.
-The clouds which had hung over Leslie Dane's fair name so long were
-dissipated by the sunlight of truth. His _alibi_ was triumphantly
-established, his innocence perfectly vindicated. And then, to the
-surprise of all and the utter consternation of Felise Herbert, Wild
-Madge, the sibyl, hobbled weakly into the witness-box, pale, wrinkled,
-cadaverous, the image of hideous old age and approaching death.
-Breathless silence pervaded the multitude while the dying woman told
-her story, interspersing it with many expressions of remorse and
-horror. Briefly told, her confession amounted to this: Felise Herbert
-had sought her humble cabin the night that Mr. Arnold and Leslie Dane
-had quarreled, and bribed her to murder the millionaire. Tempted by
-the large reward, she had stolen upon Mr. Arnold as he slept in his
-arm-chair on the piazza and stabbed him to the heart with a large
-knife. Then, ere long, remorse had fastened upon her, and she had cast
-the golden price of her dreadful crime into the engulfing waves of the
-ocean. Finishing her story with a last labored effort, and throwing up
-her arms wildly into the air, Wild Madge, the feared and dreaded sibyl
-of Cape May fell forward on the floor of the court-room--dead!
-
-As soon as her body had been removed from the place the lawyer who had
-prosecuted Leslie Dane rose hastily in his seat. It might be out of
-order, he said, but he should be glad to ask a few questions of the
-minister who had performed the marriage ceremony between Leslie Dane
-and Miss Bonnibel Vere.
-
-His request was granted, and the aged, white-haired preacher was again
-placed on the witness-stand, while curiosity was on the qui vive for
-further developments. The lawyer cross-questioned the old man closely
-for a few minutes; then he turned to the judge.
-
-"I am bound, your honor," he said, "to inform those most interested
-that, though the lady's evidence has completely vindicated Leslie
-Dane, she has utterly failed to establish the legality of her marriage
-with him. On the contrary, owing to the youth and inexperience of the
-young man, perhaps partly attributable to his haste and agitation that
-night, and to the culpable forgetfulness and carelessness of the aged
-minister here, there was no license procured for the authority of the
-marriage ceremony. Her former marriage, therefore, has no legality in
-the eyes of the law, and she still remains, as she has been known the
-last three years, the wife of Colonel Carlyle."
-
-As the lawyer resumed his seat, amid a breathless hum of excitement,
-a loud shriek pierced the air of the court-room--a wild, horrible,
-blood-curdling, maniacal cry. Every eye turned on Felise Herbert, who
-had risen in her seat, and with distorted features, livid lips and
-burning eyes, was wildly beating the air with her hands. Her appearance
-was appalling to behold as she stood there with her hat falling off,
-her hair in disorder, and foam flecks on her livid, writhing lips.
-
-"Foiled! foiled!" she exclaimed wildly. "I am baffled of my revenge at
-every point."
-
-Everyone seemed horror-struck. None attempted to molest her as she
-moved forward and stood before Colonel Carlyle. The old man looked up
-at her vacantly. He had neither moved nor spoken since the entrance of
-his wife; he seemed to be fettered hand and foot by a trance of horror.
-He did not heed the threatening look in the eyes of Felise Herbert as
-they fell upon him, full of the wild glare of madness.
-
-"You jilted me, fool!" she said, passionately, wildly gesticulating
-with her hands--"jilted me for the sake of Bonnibel Vere's baby beauty.
-I swore revenge upon you both. I forged the notice of Leslie Dane's
-death, made her believe it was true, and drove her to desperation and
-forced her to marry you. I made you jealous by my anonymous letters,
-and turned your married life into a hell upon earth. But now, the
-sweetest drop in my cup--the illegality of your marriage--is turned
-into bitterness. But I will have my revenge yet. _Die_, _die_, villain!"
-
-One movement, swift as the lightning flash, and a little dagger gleamed
-in her hand, and the next instant was buried to the hilt in Colonel
-Carlyle's heart.
-
-With a groan he fell on the floor at her feet.
-
-Strong hands bore the raving maniac away, attended by her frightened,
-horror-struck mother.
-
-The poor victim of the madwoman's fatal revenge, as he lay weltering in
-his blood, lifted his dimming eyes, and gasped one imploring word:
-
-"_Bonnibel!_"
-
-Trembling like a wind-blown leaf, she came at his call, and knelt down
-at his side with a great pity shining in her soft blue eyes.
-
-The dying man's gaze dwelt on her for a moment, drinking in all the
-sweetness and fairness of the face he loved, and which he was losing
-forever.
-
-"My wife," he murmured, in hollow, broken accents, "do you
-not--see--I--was--not wholly--to blame? A--fiend's--work--goaded
-me--on! She has--had--her revenge. But--it--might have been--so
-different--if I had known. Bonnibel, _forgive_!"
-
-She took his hand in hers and bent her face lower over him, with all
-the divine pity and forgiveness of a tender woman shining in the eyes
-that were brimming over with tears.
-
-"I am sorry it all fell out so," she said, very gently, "and I forgive
-all--as freely as I hope to be forgiven."
-
-A beam of love and gratitude flashed over his features an instant; then
-it faded out in the grayness and pallor of death. Bonnibel turned away,
-and hid her face on the shoulder of the faithful Lucy.
-
-"It's all over, my poor darling. Shall we go away now?" Lucy whispered.
-
-"We must go back to his home with him, Lucy. We must show him the last
-tribute of respect. I have forgiven him. He was more sinned against
-than sinning," she murmured back.
-
-So when the mournful funeral cortege moved from the gates of his
-stately home, Colonel Carlyle's darling, whom he had so passionately
-loved despite his jealous madness, went down to the portals of the
-grave with him, and saw all that was mortal of Clifford Carlyle laid
-away in the kindred dust.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXIX.
-
-
-Felise Herbert was pronounced by the most competent physicians a
-dangerous and incurable maniac. She was accordingly removed to an
-insane asylum for life.
-
-Mrs. Arnold escaped all suspicion of complicity in her daughter's
-crimes, and was suffered to go free from the terrors of the law. But
-she had no object in life now. The destruction of her idol had torn
-down the fair citadel of hope and plunged her into incurable despair.
-Wealth and position were nothing to her now, since the beautiful girl
-for whose sake she had schemed to secure them could never enjoy them.
-Among Felise's effects she found Mr. Arnold's stolen will. In a spasm
-of remorse, she restored it to the owner, and Bonnibel received her
-share of the large fortune her Uncle Francis had bequeathed her. Mrs.
-Arnold went into the insane asylum where her daughter was confined,
-and became a nurse there for the sake of being near the wretched and
-violent maniac.
-
-And Bonnibel?
-
-Colonel Carlyle had bequeathed her the whole of his large fortune,
-which, added to her inheritance from her uncle, made her one of the
-wealthiest women in New York. But wealth cannot buy happiness. Mrs.
-Carlyle, young, beautiful and wealthy though she was, might yet have
-exclaimed with the gifted poet:
-
-    "If happiness have not her seat and center in the breast,
-     We may be wise, or rich, or great; we never can be blest."
-
-She shut up the splendid New York mansion, and, taking Lucy with her,
-went back to Sea View, the home she had always loved best. There,
-lulled by the ocean waves, and nursed by the tender breezes, she hoped
-to find a measure of rest and contentment.
-
-"Lucy, there can be no more talk of mistress and maid between you and
-me," she said then. "You have proved yourself a true and faithful
-friend. I shall settle ten thousand dollars upon you, and you shall
-stay, if you will, as my companion."
-
-But Lucy Moore proved obstinate.
-
-"I haven't got education enough to be your companion," she answered; "I
-would rather be your maid still. I love to be about you, and tend you,
-and care for you."
-
-Bonnibel settled the sum she had named upon her, but the devoted girl
-still remained with her in her old position. Summer came with birds and
-flowers, and gentle breezes, then waned and faded, as do all things
-beautiful, and autumn winds blew coldly over the sea.
-
-One cool yet sunny afternoon the lovely widow went down to the shore
-for her accustomed row in her pretty namesake, the _Bonnibel_, which
-had been newly repaired and trimmed.
-
-To her surprise, the little bark was not there, rocking idly about at
-its own sweet will.
-
-"Who can have borrowed it?" she wondered, sitting down on the sands to
-watch for its return.
-
-But after awhile her hands dropped into her lap and clasped each other
-loosely; she fell into a fit of musing, and forgot to watch the sea for
-return of her truant bark. There was a vague doubt and trouble tugging
-at her heart-strings as she recalled some lines she had loved long ago:
-
-    "And yet I know past all doubting, truly,
-       A knowledge greater than grief can dim--
-     I know as he loved, he will love me duly,
-       Yea, better, even better than I love him.
-
-    "And as I walk by the vast calm river,
-       The awful river so dread to see,
-     I say, 'Thy breadth and thy depth forever
-       Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.'"
-
-The keel of the _Bonnibel_ grated suddenly on the shore; the boatman
-sprang out by her side.
-
-She looked up into the dark eyes of Leslie Dane.
-
-"No, do not rise," he said, kneeling down beside her as she made a
-nervous movement, "I do not wish to startle you."
-
-He held out his hand and she laid hers silently within it for a moment.
-
-"I have been traveling all over my native land with my friend, Mr.
-Muller," he said, "and we talk of returning to Europe soon; but I could
-not go, Bonnibel, till I came down here to thank you for--that day when
-you saved my life at such a sacrifice."
-
-"It is a canceled debt," she answered, quietly. "Do not forget that you
-were about to give your life to save my secret."
-
-There was silence for a moment. She was looking out at the ocean
-with troubled, blue eyes, and a faint quiver on the tender lips. He
-was looking at her as he looked long ago with his heart in his eyes.
-Suddenly he caught both hands in his and held them tightly.
-
-"It was a dreadful mistake I made that night when I thought I had bound
-you so truly my own," he said. "Bonnibel, I wonder whether you are glad
-or sorry now that it happened so?"
-
-"Perhaps it was for the best," she answered, gently, "the way things
-fell out."
-
-A shade of disappointment crossed his handsome features.
-
-"Then, Bonnibel, my darling, loved through it all," he cried, "you
-would not be willing to give yourself to me now?"
-
-She smiled and lifted her eyes to his. In their blue and tender depths
-he saw shining on him the unchangeable love of a lifetime.
-
-"Make the bond a tighter one, next time, Leslie," she said, with a shy
-and radiant smile.
-
-He stooped and clasped her fondly in his arms.
-
-"Ah, darling," he answered, holding her tightly clasped to his wildly
-beating heart, "there shall be no blind, boyish mistake this time.
-There shall be a license that shall hold you mine as fast and tight
-_forever_ as I hold you now in my arms!"
-
-
-THE END.
-
-
-
-
-Transcriber's Notes:
-
-
-This story was first serialized in the _New York Family Story Paper_ in
-1881; the version used as the basis for this electronic text comes from
-Street & Smith's _Eagle Series_ no. 192, which also contained the full
-text of another Mrs. Miller novel, _Jacquelina_.
-
-Italics are represented with _underscores_.
-
-Added table of contents.
-
-Some unusual spellings, such as using "hight" instead of "height" (a
-consistent habit of this author), are retained from the original.
-
-Some inconsistent punctuation (e.g. schoolroom vs. school-room) has
-been retained from the original.
-
-Page 1, corrected "portentious silence" to "portentous silence."
-
-Page 13, corrected "should-ders" to "shoulders" ("which had slipped
-from her shoulders").
-
-Page 17, corrected "Dean" to "Dane" in "Leslie Dane drew the old man
-aside."
-
-Page 21, corrected typo "necesary" in "Is it necessary to reveal it?"
-
-Page 29, corrected comma to apostrophe in "gossip in the servants'
-hall."
-
-Page 37, Added missing close single quote after "present woes and past"
-and corrected "iudustry" to "industry." Added missing single quotes
-around poem beginning "Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb."
-
-Page 39, added missing space to "every one" in "every one has been like
-a stab."
-
-Page 44, corrected "herself" to "himself" in "waited a proper season
-to declare himself." Retained unusual spelling "impident" as presumed
-dialect.
-
-Page 52, changed "yov" to "you" and "he" to "the" in "you to refuse
-Colonel Carlyle, and remain here to cheat her out of the...." Corrected
-typo "difficulty" in "the difficult art of self-control." Corrected
-typo "humilation" in "humiliation of her clever, handsome daughter."
-Corrected single to double quote before "It is impossible for me to
-marry...."
-
-Page 53, corrected ? to ! after "out you go from under the shelter of
-this roof!"
-
-Page 56, corrected "hals" to "half" in "he said, half questioningly."
-
-Page 58, corrected typo "Felese" in "tutored by Felise."
-
-Page 60, corrected comma to period after "against her cruelty."
-
-Page 61, moved misplaced quote from before "I will not have them!"
-to before "Mother, have done with your warnings" and corrected typo
-"warning's" in that second phrase.
-
-Page 62, deleted duplicate "some" from "like some wild heart." Changed
-"deeper meaner" to "deeper meaning."
-
-Page 65, removed unnecessary quote after "animated her now."
-
-Page 66, changed "Ere his first" to "Ere this first."
-
-Page 73, added missing period after "he answers, furiously."
-
-Page 75, added missing quote after "if I had been tucked into my bed."
-
-Page 81, added missing "a" before "lovely garden of roses."
-
-Page 86, added missing quote after "paint the portrait of a wrinkled
-old woman." Changed "was" to "were" in "chairs and sofas were
-upholstered."
-
-Page 88, corrected typo "Carlisle" in "You flatter me, Colonel Carlyle"
-and "Carlyle's masquerade ball."
-
-Page 96, corrected "wiil" to "will" in "will be as safe." Removed
-unnecessary quote after "hastened their departure."
-
-Page 98, added missing quote after "I did not wrong you willfully."
-Corrected ? to ! in "We will neither of us trouble you!"
-
-Page 99, corrected "she" to "he" in "'Leslie Dane,' he repeated."
-
-Page 103, corrected typo "resurection" in "man's resurrection from the
-grave."
-
-Page 110, corrected single to double quote after "Arnold was dead."
-
-Page 112, corrected typo "hirlings" in "set hirelings and slaves."
-
-Page 113, corrected typo "spear" in "spare me that indignity."
-
-Page 114, corrected typo "sten" in "his stern voice evoked."
-
-Page 117, added missing quote before "I have made every possible
-provision."
-
-Page 122, added missing comma after "So am I."
-
-
-
-
-
-End of Project Gutenberg's An Old Man's Darling, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
-
-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN OLD MAN'S DARLING ***
-
-***** This file should be named 54570-0.txt or 54570-0.zip *****
-This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
-        http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/5/7/54570/
-
-Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed
-Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy
-of the Digital Library@Villanova University
-(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
-
-Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
-be renamed.
-
-Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
-law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
-so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
-States without permission and without paying copyright
-royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
-of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
-concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
-and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
-specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
-eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
-for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
-performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
-away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
-not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
-trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
-
-START: FULL LICENSE
-
-THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
-PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
-
-To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
-distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
-(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
-Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
-Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
-www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-
-1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
-and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
-(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
-the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
-destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
-possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
-Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
-by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
-person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
-1.E.8.
-
-1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
-used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
-agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
-things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
-paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
-agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
-
-1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
-Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
-of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
-works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
-States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
-United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
-claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
-displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
-all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
-that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
-free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
-works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
-Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
-comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
-same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
-you share it without charge with others.
-
-1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
-what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
-in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
-check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
-agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
-distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
-other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
-representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
-country outside the United States.
-
-1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
-
-1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
-immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
-prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
-on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
-phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
-performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
-
-  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
-  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
-  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
-  United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
-  are located before using this ebook.
-
-1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
-derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
-contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
-copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
-the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
-redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
-Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
-either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
-obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
-trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-
-1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
-with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
-must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
-additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
-will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
-posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
-beginning of this work.
-
-1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
-License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
-work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
-
-1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
-electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
-prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
-active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm License.
-
-1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
-compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
-any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
-to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
-other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
-version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
-(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
-to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
-of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
-Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
-full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
-
-1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
-performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
-unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-
-1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
-access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-provided that
-
-* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
-  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
-  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
-  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
-  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
-  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
-  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
-  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
-  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
-  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
-  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
-  Literary Archive Foundation."
-
-* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
-  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
-  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
-  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
-  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
-  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
-  works.
-
-* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
-  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
-  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
-  receipt of the work.
-
-* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
-  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
-
-1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
-are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
-from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
-Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
-trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
-
-1.F.
-
-1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
-effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
-works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
-Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
-contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
-or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
-intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
-other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
-cannot be read by your equipment.
-
-1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
-of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
-liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
-fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
-LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
-PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
-TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
-LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
-INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
-DAMAGE.
-
-1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
-defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
-receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
-written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
-received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
-with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
-with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
-lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
-or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
-opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
-the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
-without further opportunities to fix the problem.
-
-1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
-in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
-OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
-LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
-
-1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
-warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
-damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
-violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
-agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
-limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
-unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
-remaining provisions.
-
-1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
-trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
-providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
-accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
-production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
-including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
-the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
-or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
-additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
-Defect you cause.
-
-Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
-electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
-computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
-exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
-from people in all walks of life.
-
-Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
-assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
-goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
-remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
-and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
-generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
-Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
-www.gutenberg.org
-
-
-
-Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
-
-The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
-501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
-state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
-Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
-number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
-U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
-
-The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
-mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
-volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
-locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
-Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
-date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
-official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
-
-For additional contact information:
-
-    Dr. Gregory B. Newby
-    Chief Executive and Director
-    gbnewby@pglaf.org
-
-Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
-Literary Archive Foundation
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
-spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
-increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
-freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
-array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
-($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
-status with the IRS.
-
-The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
-charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
-States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
-considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
-with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
-where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
-DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
-state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
-
-While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
-have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
-against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
-approach us with offers to donate.
-
-International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
-any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
-outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
-
-Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
-methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
-ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
-donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
-
-Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.
-
-Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
-freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
-distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
-volunteer support.
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
-editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
-the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
-necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
-edition.
-
-Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
-facility: www.gutenberg.org
-
-This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
-including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
-subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
-