A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette. Charlotte M. Brame
"Your voice haunts me, I hear it in every sound. I would fain win you, if I can, for my own; but if you tell me that you love this country admirer of yours – this man to whom a perverse fate has bound you – if you tell me that, I will go, and I will never tease you again."
Then she knew that she held the balance of her life in her own hands, and that the whole of her future rested with herself. Should she be true to Earle, say she loved him, and so lose the chance of winning this love from a lord, and resign herself to her quiet, dull, monotonous life? or should she cast him from her and betray him?
"One word – only one word," whispered Lord Vivianne, bending his evil, handsome face over her.
"You think such a question can be answered in a minute," she said. "It is impossible. I can only say this, that I liked him better than any one else one short month ago."
He grasped her hand and held it tightly clasped in his own.
"You say that – you admit that much! Oh, Doris, the rest shall follow. I will not leave Downsbury until I have won the rest."
Then his eyes fell upon the diamond ring, shining and scintillating in the sun. A sudden thought struck him: he held her white hand in his own, and looked at it as he held it up to the light.
"How fine and transparent," he said. "I can see every vein. Such a hand ought to be covered with jewels."
She was of the same opinion herself. Then he drew off the diamond ring that shone like flame on his own finger; he looked entreatingly at her.
"I wonder," he said, "if you will be angry? This was my mother's ring, and I prize it more than I do anything in the wide world. I am afraid. Promise me you will not be angry."
It was, to say the least of it, a great stretch of imagination. Lord Charles Vivianne would never have troubled himself to have worn his mother's ring; but even he, bold and adventurous as he was, thought some little preamble necessary before he offered her so valuable a gift.
"There is a strange, sad love-story connected with it," he said, "which I will tell you some day; but it is dear to me, because it was my mother's ring." Then he drew it from his finger. "I should like to see how it looks on that pretty white hand of yours," he said, laughingly; and, as he spoke, he drew the ring on her finger.
It shone and glanced like fire; the sunbeams seemed to concentrate themselves on it; and, certainly, the beautiful white hand looked the lovelier for the ring. He looked at it admiringly.
"You were born to wear jewels," he said. "You ought never to be without them."
She laughed with the faintest tinge of bitterness.
"I do not see from whom I am to get them," she said.
"As my wife you could get them, and everything that your heart could wish. Think of it, and compare a life of ease and luxury with your dull existence here. You will let me see you again? I have so much to say to you."
"Yes," she replied; "I will see you, if I can get away from home."
"You can always do that." Then he held the little hand even more tightly in his own. "I am half afraid," he said, quietly; "but I wish that you would allow me to offer you this ring."
She looked at him suddenly, and with a burning flush on her face.
"To me?" she said, hesitatingly.
"Yes, if you will only make me happy by accepting it as a little memento of the day on which we first met."
"But it is so costly – it is so very valuable."
"If it were not it would not be worth offering to you," he replied. "I should be so happy if you would wear it – it is the first time a jewel has given me such pleasure."
"How can I wear such a splendid ring?" she said. "Every one who sees it will wonder where it came from."
"You will be able to manage that," he replied; "you are so clever. I cannot doubt your skill. Say you will accept it, Doris?" She was quite silent for some minutes, then a low voice whispered to her: "I will hang jewels more costly than this on your beautiful neck, and round your white arms; you shall be crowned with diamonds, if you will. See how marvelously fair it makes that sweet hand of yours. Jewels crown a beautiful woman with a glory nothing else can give. You, above all others, ought to be so crowned, for there is no other woman so fair."
The flush died from her face. She had not quite made up her mind. There came before her a vision of her past lover, with his wild worship, his passionate love; of all the vows and promises she had made to him; of his trust and faith in her. If she took this lord's ring, and promised to meet him again, it meant forsaking Earle. Besides, he had spoken of making her his wife. Was he in earnest?
She rose hurriedly from her seat. He saw that her lips quivered and her hands trembled; she was agitated and confused.
"Give me time," she said. "You frighten me. I can hardly understand. I must go now; they will think that I am lost."
He rose with her, and stood by her side.
"You will keep the ring, Doris, for my sake, in memory of the time when I first saw you?"
"I will keep it," she replied, hastily. "Oh, Lord Vivianne, let me go; I am frightened – this is so different to being with Earle. Let me go."
"You will meet me again," he urged, "say on Friday – you will not refuse – at this same time and same place? I will lavish the luxury of the whole world on you, if you will only care for me."
But now that her ambition was satisfied, was realized, she was frightened at her own success, and hastened away.
CHAPTER XXV
THE FALSE LIPS OF WOMAN
Earle was not the only one who found Doris changed. She had hastened home from that interview almost wild with excitement. Could it be that the wildest dream of her life was realized at last; that this handsome lord had offered her every luxury in the world; it seemed too bright a vision to be real; she was obliged to look again at the diamond on her finger to convince herself of its truth.
Mark Brace and his wife, as well as Mattie, wondered when Doris reached home, where her animation and high spirits had gone. Mattie spoke, and she seemed hardly to hear her; her mother asked her some trifling question and she made no answer. She was like one in a dream. As a rule she was the delight and torment of Mark's life. As they sat together in the evening, she would puzzle him with questions – she would tease, irritate, charm, and annoy him. But on this night Doris said no word, and Mark fancied it was because Earle was away. He sat looking at her with great solemn eyes, wondering who could fathom the mysteries of a woman's heart. He had never thought Doris fond of Earle, yet there she was, wretched, miserable, and lonely, because he was away.
How little he guessed that in her mind Earle was already of the past. She had loved him as well as it was in her power to love any one, but that was not much; and now that the grand temptation of her life was before her all regard for Earle sank into insignificance. She was faint with wonder, and amazed that she, Doris Brace should have made such a conquest; her heart beat with delight, then sank with fear. Was he only trifling with her, this handsome lord? Her face flushed proudly.
"If I thought he was only trifling with me," she said to herself, "I should know how to treat him."
Then one look at the jewel on her finger reassured her.
"Gentlemen do not give jewels that cost hundreds of pounds unless they really love and intend marriage."
There was some assurance of success in the gleam of the diamond. She had been obliged to remove the ring lest her mother and Mattie might see it.
On the morning following Earle hastened to Brackenside. He was longing to see his lady-love again; she was so kind to him when they parted – she had been so unusually gentle that he had longed for more kindness. He was at Brackenside before the breakfast was finished. One look at the beautiful face of his love sufficed; she was dreamy, abstracted; she seemed hardly to notice his entrance. No light came in her eyes as she spoke to him; she did not make room for him by her side. When he went up to her and tried to kiss the face he loved so well, she drew back, not angrily,