Star of India. Alice Perrin
I gave my love a little key,
A little key of yellow gold,
Because she locks her sweets from me,
And will not her dear heart unfold.
I gave my love a little dove,
Around its neck a feathery ring,
Because a ring betokens love,
And love to my sweet love I bring.
And in return what gave my love
Of all the precious gifts that be?
No rose, nor key, nor ring-necked dove—
She gave but her sweet self to me!"
Mrs. Carrington and Augusta murmured polite applause, though they thoroughly disapproved of the words. They said they had heard the song before, though they could not recall when, or by whom, it had been sung.
Ellen could have told them. Poor Ellen! The gay young cousin had sung it, sung it to her in those far-off days that now were as a faint, impossible dream. She herself had copied the music and the words with an etching pen, and purposely had buried the manuscript at the bottom of the ottoman where for so long she had guarded it jealously. Only on the rare occasions when she was alone in the house did she take it out and tinkle the accompaniment, whispering the words. It seemed a sort of sacrilege to Ellen that the song should have been exhumed by the careless Stella to be sung with zest in a loud voice that destroyed the echo of the beautiful tenor, the remembrance of which caused her heart to ache and brought tears to her eyes.
Stella, with girlish enthusiasm, pronounced the song to be "perfectly sweet," and proceeded to hunt through the rest of the pile. Colonel Crayfield watched her lithe movements; he was well satisfied with his own performance, and he smiled to himself as he recollected the last occasion on which he had sung this song—to a pretty young married woman with whom at that time he was pleasantly philandering; the lady had burst into tears at the piano, an affecting scene had ensued, and the husband had all but surprised them; it had been just touch-and-go, a Providential escape. What on earth was her name? He could only remember that her hair was golden and her eyes like forget-me-nots!
Never mind, it did not matter; all that mattered to him was this exquisite child who was to learn the facts and the meaning of marriage from him and from him alone. … If only the three tiresome old women were out of the room—the two spinsters, scraggy and genteel; the old mother, austere and cold; and to add to his provocation, when Mrs. Carrington beckoned Stella to her side that she might kiss her good-night, he heard the old lady forbid her to go out before breakfast next morning. No reason was given, only the order. What tyranny! Was it any wonder that, apart from everything else, Stella should yearn to escape from The Chestnuts? Stella glanced at him ruefully over her grandmother's head; he returned her a nod of sympathetic understanding. Next day it should all be different. He enjoyed the prospect of astounding the old martinet.
The following morning Mrs. Carrington was not so easy to corner. When she appeared Ellen was in close attendance, and Stella was on duty with Augusta, occupied with household tasks that seemed to involve strenuous attacks on cupboards, and perpetual visits to the kitchen, whence came hot, sweet whiffs of jam-making. Colonel Crayfield wandered aimlessly in the garden, consoling himself with plans for the immediate future. The marriage must take place as soon as possible—he supposed it would have to be in the village church—but a special licence would expedite matters. In little more than a couple of months his leave would be up—it would allow only just time for Stella to have riding lessons, singing lessons, to collect the right sort of outfit, for which, of course, he would be responsible. No village dressmaker, no ready-made garments for his wife. His own particular star should shine in every detail.
At last; there was the old lady, alone on the terrace, settled in a big basket chair, a mushroom-shaped hat tied on with a broad ribbon, her ebony stick handy, a small table at her side on which lay spectacles, a handkerchief, and the paper which arrived at midday. Colonel Crayfield approached her; formal greetings were exchanged, then he took an uncomfortable little garden chair from its resting-place against the wall and applied himself to business.
"Now," he said briskly, "I am ready to tell you what I propose should be done about Stella."
Mrs. Carrington pouched her cheeks, and intimated silently that she also was ready—to listen. He trusted she would not have a stroke when she heard what he was about to propose!
"It may seem a very sudden decision on my part, Mrs. Carrington," he began; "but I wish to take Stella into my own keeping——"
At once Mrs. Carrington was all gracious acquiescence. (Ellen! He had spoken to Ellen?)
"Perhaps I can guess the means by which you intend to bring about such an excellent solution of our difficulties," she remarked, with an arch expression that struck him as grotesque; and before he could continue, she added: "I may tell you that I had my suspicions ten years ago!" (Good heavens! What could she mean?) "I may also say that in my opinion nothing could be more suitable."
"I am afraid we are at cross purposes," said Colonel Crayfield carefully. From his own standpoint he felt that the marriage could hardly be termed "suitable," though the gain for the girl was undeniable.
"Then will you kindly explain?" demanded Mrs. Carrington.
"Certainly. It is my intention to marry your granddaughter."
Grandmamma stared at him. Then she grabbed her stick and struck it sharply on the ground. "My good man, are you in your senses?" she cried. "Do you realise that Stella is not only a child, but that she has bad blood in her veins? That such an unnatural union could only result in disaster? Now, if it had been Ellen, her aunt——"
The old lady's natural reserve had been blown, as by a volcano, sky high.
So that was the idea! Colonel Crayfield only just saved himself from laughing aloud.
"But you see," he said lightly, "it is not Miss Ellen—fortunately for me, since I fear she would hardly welcome me as a suitor."
Mrs. Carrington ignored this playful attitude. "It is a preposterous idea! You are not a young man. Have you considered the cost and the risk?" Her voice was severe.
"Why," he argued judicially, "should there be any 'risk,' as you call it? After all, I am not such a Methuselah, and surely you can trust me to safeguard my wife's honour and happiness as well as my own?"
"In the present, no doubt. But what about the end of it all? In ten, even twenty years' time, Stella will still be a young woman, while you——" Her pause was cruelly pointed.
Colonel Crayfield glowered. Confound the old devil; there must be an end to this croaking, these distasteful forebodings. Assuming indifference, he stretched out his legs. The chair wobbled ominously, and rising with precautionary haste, he began to pace backwards and forwards before his aged adversary. Her opposition was so unexpected!
"It seems to me," he said, keeping his temper with an effort, "that Stella would be infinitely better off as my wife than if she stayed here, perhaps to marry beneath her, perhaps never to marry at all? I can't take her to India as my ward or as my adopted daughter. I'm not quite old enough for that!"
"How old are you?" inquired grandmamma spitefully.
"Not much over fifty," he told her, with disarming readiness, "and I flatter myself that I am young for my age. I am well off; I am willing to make suitable provision for my widow. What more can you want?" He spoke now with truculence.
"Well, I suppose you must cut your own throat, if you are so minded," said grandmamma; "but perhaps Stella may not care to marry a man old enough to be her father—even, to stretch a point, her grandfather!"
"We shall see!" was his confident answer.
The old lady sat silent. She was deeply disappointed, so convinced had she felt that it was Ellen he was after, and that Stella would be going to India