Part 38 (1/2)

It was not filled with loving, pa.s.sionate words, as was the first Hugh had written. He said the time had come when he must have an answer--when he must know from her own lips at what period he might claim the fulfillment of her promise--when she would be his wife.

He would wait no longer. If it was to be war, let the war begin he should win. If peace, so much the better. In any case he was tired of suspense, and must know at once what she intended to do. He would trust to no more promises; that very night he would be at Earlescourt, and must see her. Still, though he intended to enforce his rights, he would not wantonly cause her pain. He would not seek the presence of her father until she had seen him and they had settled upon some plan of action.

”I know the grounds around Earlescourt well,” he wrote. ”I wandered through them for many nights three weeks ago. A narrow path runs from the gardens to the shrubbery--meet me there at nine; it will be dark then, and you need not fear being seen. Remember, Beatrice, at nine tonight I shall be there; and if you do not come, I must seek you in the house, for see you I will.”

The letter fell from her hands; cold drops of fear and shame stood upon her brow; hatred and disgust filled her heart. Oh, that she should ever have placed herself in the power of such a man!

The blow had fallen at last. She stood face to face with her shame and fear. How could she meet Hugh Fernely? What should she say to him?

How must such a meeting end? It would but anger him the more. He should not even touch her hand in greeting, she said to herself; and how would he endure her contempt?

She would not see him. She dared not. How could she find time? Lord Airlie never left her side. She could not meet Hugh. The web seemed closing round her, but she would break through it.

She would send him a letter saying she was ill, and begging him to wait yet a little longer. Despite his firm words, she knew he would not refuse it if she wrote kindly. Again came the old hope something might happen in a few days. If not, she must run away; if everything failed and she could not free herself from him, then she would leave home; in any case she would not fall into his hands--rather death than that.

More than once she thought of Gaspar's words. He was so true, so brave--he would have died for her. Ah, if he could but help her, if she could but call him to her aid! In this, the dark hour of her life by her own deed she had placed herself beyond the reach of all human help.

She would write--upon that she was determined; but who would take the letter? Who could she ask to stand at the shrubbery gate and give to the stranger a missive from herself? If she asked such a favor from a servant, she would part with her secret to one who might hold it as a rod of iron over her. She was too proud for that. There was only one in the world who could help her, and that was her sister Lillian.

She shrank with unutterable shame from telling her. She remembered how long ago at Knutsford she had said something that had shocked her sister, and the scared, startled expression of her face was with her still. It was a humiliation beyond all words. Yet, if she could undergo it, there would be comfort in Lillian's sympathy. Lillian would take the letter, she would see Hugh, and tell him she was ill.

Ill she felt in very truth. Hugh would be pacified for a time if he saw Lillian. She could think of no other arrangement. That evening she would tell her sister--there was rest even in the thought.

Long before dinner Lady Helena came in search of Beatrice--it was high time, she said, that orders should be sent to London for her trousseau, and the list must be made out at once.

She sat calmly in Lady Helena's room, writing in obedience to her words, thinking all the time how she should tell Lillian, how best make her understand the deadly error committed, yet save herself as much as she could. Lady Earle talked of laces and embroidery, of morning dresses and jewels, while Beatrice went over in her mind every word of her confession.

”That will do,” said Lady Earle, with a smile; ”I have been very explicit, but I fear it has been in vain. Have you heard anything I have said, Beatrice?”

She blushed, and looked so confused that Lady Helena said, laughingly:

”You may go--do not be ashamed. Many years ago I was just as much in love myself, and just as unable to think of anything else as you are now.”

There was some difficulty in finding Lillian; she was discovered at last in the library, looking over some fine old engravings with Mr.

Dacre. He looked up hastily when Beatrice asked her sister to spare her half an hour.

”Do not go, Lily,” he said, jestingly; ”it is only some nonsense about wedding dresses. Let us finish this folio.”

But Beatrice had no gay repartee for him. She looked grave, although she tried to force a smile.

”I can not understand that girl,” he said to himself, as the library door closed behind the two sisters. ”I could almost fancy that something was distressing her.”

”Lily,” said Beatrice, ”I want you very much. I am sorry to take you from Lionel; you like being with him, I think.”

The fair face of her sister flushed warmly.

”But I want you, dear,” said Beatrice. ”Oh, Lily, I am in bitter trouble! No one can help me but you.”

They went together into the little boudoir Beatrice called her own.

She placed her sister in the easy lounging chair drawn near the window, and then half knelt, half sat at her feet.