Part 13 (1/2)
”I think you would do well Isabel, to re-consider the offer I made you to visit with my daughters.”
”You are very kind; but, indeed, I would rather not.”
”As you please, Miss Leicester; but I think you are wrong to refuse. You may be sure that the offer is disinterested on my part.” (Disinterested it certainly was, as neither of the Arlington girls could compare favorably with Isabel as to beauty or accomplishments.)
”I fully appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Arlington, but indeed it would be extremely unpleasant to do so,” returned Isabel.
”I cannot let this opportunity pa.s.s without expressing my grat.i.tude for your great kindness during my illness, for I can never, never repay you.
But I will use my best endeavors to make your children all that you can wish.”
”And that will quite repay me,” replied Mrs. Arlington, kindly.
CHAPTER XV.
Upon a beautiful moonlight night, under the trees in the garden of Madame Bourges' boarding-school, near Versailles, quite secure from observation stood Arthur Barrington and Louisa Aubray, engaged in earnest conversation.
”Are you happy here, dearest Louisa?” he inquired, in accents of deepest tenderness.
”Happy! Ah, no, Louisa is never happy,” she answered, ”but lonely and unhappy--so unhappy and miserable!”
”But you are not lonely now that I am here, dear Louisa.”
”No; but, when you are gone, it is so dreary--oh, so dreary!”
”You used to think that you would be so happy at school.”
”Ah, yes! but I'm not. Madame is harsh, the teachers cruel, and the girls so strange: they do not love me,” she cried, in a burst of pa.s.sionate weeping; ”n.o.body loves Louisa!”
”Oh, Louisa, dearest Louisa, do not say so!” he exclaimed pa.s.sionately; ”do not say that n.o.body loves you, when I have come so far expressly to see if you are happy. I love you, Louisa, with all the warmth of my ardent nature, with undying affection. I want you to be mine--MINE! that I may guard you from every ill but such as I can share.”
”Oh! can you--will you--do this, Arthur? Will you, indeed, share all my troubles and sorrows, nor deem them, when the first full joy of love is past, unworthy of your attention--your cares, too great to admit of such trifles, claiming your consideration? If you will, and also let me share all your joys and griefs in perfect sympathy and love, then--then my dream of happiness will be fulfilled; but if, in years to come,” she continued, with suppressed emotion, ”you should change, and a harshness or indifference take the place of sympathy and love, Oh I would wish to die before that day!”
”Dearest Louisa, can you doubt me?”
”I will trust you, Arthur, but I have seen that which makes me almost doubt the existence of love and happiness. I can picture to myself the home of love and peace that I would have. Is it an impossibility; is it but an ideal dream?”
”May it be a blessed reality, my darling Louisa!” he exclaimed, with ardor, as he clasped her pa.s.sionately in his arms. She made no resistance, but, with her head resting upon his breast, she said, in a tone of deep earnestness:
”If you loved me always, and were always kind, oh Arthur, I I could do anything--suffer anything--for your sake, and care for naught beyond our home. But, my nature is not one” she continued impetuously, ”that can be slighted, crushed, and treated with unkindness or indifference, and endure it patiently. No!” she added, with suppressed pa.s.sion, ”a fierce flame of resentment, bitterness, perchance even hatred, would spring up and sweep all kindly feelings far away!”
”Oh, Louisa, Louisa!” interrupted Arthur in a tone of tender remonstrance, ”why do you speak in this dreadful manner--why do you doubt my love and constancy?”
The impetuous mood was gone, and a trusting confidence succeeded it.
She fixed her eyes upon his face with an expression of unutterable tenderness, as she answered, in a sweet, soft voice, ”I love you, Arthur; I cannot doubt you; you are all the world to me.”
”Then you will leave here as soon as I can make arrangements for our marriage.”