Part 52 (2/2)
When the earl deemed that full reparation had been made to his daughter, he agreed that she should go to Beechgrove.
The country will never forget that home-coming. It was on a brilliant day toward the end of July. The whole country side was present to bid Lady Arleigh welcome--the tenants, servants, dependents, friends; children strewed flowers in her path, flags and banners waved in the sunlit air, there was a long procession with bands of music, there were evergreen arches with ”Welcome Home” in monster letters.
It was difficult to tell who was cheered most heartily--the fair young wife whose beauty won all hearts, the n.o.ble husband, or the gallant earl whose pride and delight in his daughter were so great. Lord Arleigh said a few words in response to this splendid reception--and he was not ashamed of His own inability to finish what he had intended to say.
There had never been such a home-coming within one's memory The old house was filled with guests, all the _elite_ of the county were there.
There was a grand dinner, followed by a grand ball, and there was feasting for the tenantry--everything that could be thought of for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the vast crowd.
On that evening, while the festivities were at their height, Lord Arleigh and his lovely young wife stole away from their guests and went up to the picture-gallery. The broad, silvery moonbeams fell on the spot where they had once endured such cruel anguish. The fire seemed to have paled in the rubies round the white neck of t.i.tian's gorgeous beauty.
Lord Arleigh clasped his wife in his arms, and then he placed her at some little distance from himself, where the silvery moonlight fell on the fair, lovely profile, on the golden head, on the superb dress of rich white silk and on the gleaming diamonds.
”My darling,” he said, ”you are thousand times lovelier than even t.i.tian's beauty here! Do you remember all we suffered in this spot?'
”I can never forget it,” she replied.
”But you must forget it--it is for that I have brought you hither. This is the pleasantest nook in our house, and I want you to have pleasant a.s.sociations with it. Where we suffered hear me say----” He paused.
”What is it?” she asked, quietly.
He threw his arms round her, and drew her to his breast.
”Hear me say this, my darling--that I love you with all my heart; that I will so love you, truthfully and faithfully, until death; and that I thank Heaven for the sweetest and best of all blessings, the gift of a good, pure, and loving wife.”
Chapter XL.
Philippa, d.u.c.h.ess of Hazlewood, was sitting in the superb drawing-room at Vere Court. It was some time since she had left town, but she had brought some portion of the gay world back with her. The court was filled with visitors, and nothing was thought of but brilliant festivities and amus.e.m.e.nt. The d.u.c.h.ess was queen of all gayety; the time that had pa.s.sed had simply added to her beauty--she was now one of the handsomest women in society.
It was a warm day, the last day in June, and Vere Court had never seemed so brilliant. The lovely young d.u.c.h.ess had withdrawn for a short time from her guests. Most of them had gone out riding or driving. There was to be a grand ball that evening and her Grace of Hazlewood did not wish to fatigue herself before it came off. As for driving or riding in the hot sun simply because the day was fine and the country fair, she did not believe in it. She had retired to her drawing-room; a soft couch, had been placed near one of the open windows, and the breeze that came in was heavy with perfume. On the stand by her side lay a richly-jeweled fan, a bottle of sweet scent, a bouquet of heliotrope--her favorite flower--and one or two books which she had selected to read. She lay, with her dark, queenly head on the soft cus.h.i.+on of crimson velvet in an att.i.tude that would have charmed a painter. But the d.u.c.h.ess was not wasting the light of her dark eyes over a book. She had closed them, as a flower closes its leaves in the heat of the sun. As she lay there, beautiful, languid, graceful, the picture she formed was a marvelous rich study of color. So thought the duke, who, unheard by her, had entered the room.
Everything had prospered with his grace. He had always been extremely wealthy, but his wealth had been increased in a sudden and unexpected fas.h.i.+on. On one of his estates in the north a vein of coal had been discovered, which was one of the richest in England. The proceeds of it added wonderfully to his income, and promised to add still more. No luxury was wanting; the d.u.c.h.ess had all that her heart, even in its wildest caprices, could desire. The duke loved her with as keen and pa.s.sionate a love as ever. He had refused to go out this morning, because she had not gone; and now he stood watching her with something like adoration in his face--the beautiful woman, in her flowing draperies of amber and white. He went up to her and touched her brow lightly with his lips.
”Are you asleep, my darling?” he asked.
”No,” she replied, opening her eyes.
”I have something to read to you--something wonderful.”
She roused herself.
”Your geese are generally swans, Vere. What is the wonder?”
”Listen, Philippa;” and, as the duke scanned the newspaper in his hands, he sang the first few lines of his favorite song:
”'Queen Philippa sat in her bower alone.'
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