Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall. Charles Major
run is more comforting than one who is too attractive."
"You are a philosopher, Sir Malcolm," said Manners, laughingly.
"And a liar," I muttered to myself. I felt sure, however, that I should never marry Dorothy Vernon, and I do not mind telling you, even at this early stage in my history, that I was right in my premonition. I did not marry her.
"I suppose I shall now be compelled to give you up to your relatives," said Manners.
"Yes," I returned, "we must say good-by for the present; but if we do not meet again, it shall not be for the lack of my wishing. Your father and Sir George would feel deeply injured, should they learn of our friendship, therefore—"
"You are quite right," he interrupted. "It is better that no one should know of it. Nevertheless, between you and me let there be no feud."
"The secrecy of our friendship will give it zest," said I. "That is true, but 'good wine needs no bush.' You will not mention my name to the ladies?"
"No, if you wish that I shall not."
"I do so wish."
When the stable boys had taken our horses, I gave my hand to Sir John, after which we entered the inn and treated each other as strangers.
Soon after I had washed the stains of travel from my hands and face, I sent the maid to my cousins, asking that I might be permitted to pay my devotions, and Dorothy came to the tap-room in response to my message.
When she entered she ran to me with outstretched hands and a gleam of welcome in her eyes. We had been rare friends when she was a child.
"Ah, Cousin Malcolm, what a fine surprise you have given us!" she exclaimed, clasping both my hands and offering me her cheek to kiss. "Father's delight will be beyond measure when he sees you."
"As mine now is," I responded, gazing at her from head to foot and drinking in her beauty with my eyes. "Doll! Doll! What a splendid girl you have become. Who would have thought that—that—" I hesitated, realizing that I was rapidly getting myself into trouble.
"Say it. Say it, cousin! I know what is in your mind. Rusty red hair, angular shoulders, sharp elbows, freckles thickly set as stars upon a clear night, and so large and brown that they fairly twinkled. Great staring green eyes. Awkward!—" And she threw up her hands in mimic horror at the remembrance. "No one could have supposed that such a girl would have become—that is, you know," she continued confusedly, "could have changed. I haven't a freckle now," and she lifted her face that I might prove the truth of her words by examination, and perhaps that I might also observe her beauty.
Neither did I waste the opportunity. I dwelt longingly upon the wondrous red golden hair which fringed her low broad forehead, and upon the heavy black eyebrows, the pencilled points of whose curves almost touched across the nose. I saw the rose-tinted ivory of her skin and the long jet lashes curving in a great sweep from her full white lids, and I thought full sure that Venus herself was before me. My gaze halted for a moment at the long eyes which changed chameleon-like with the shifting light, and varied with her moods from deep fathomless green to violet, and from violet to soft voluptuous brown, but in all their tints beaming forth a lustre that would have stirred the soul of an anchorite. Then I noted the beauty of her clean-cut saucy nose and the red arch of her lips, slightly parted for the purpose of showing her teeth. But I could not stop long to dwell upon any one especial feature, for there were still to be seen her divine round chin, her large white throat, and the infinite grace in poise and curve of her strong young form. I dared not pause nor waste my time if I were to see it all, for such a girl as Dorothy waits no man's leisure—that is, unless she wishes to wait. In such case there is no moving her, and patience becomes to her a delightful virtue.
After my prolonged scrutiny Dorothy lowered her face and said laughingly:—
"Now come, cousin, tell me the truth. Who would have thought it possible?"
"Not I, Doll, not I, if you will pardon me the frankness."
"Oh, that is easily done." Then with a merry ripple of laughter, "It is much easier, I fancy, for a woman to speak of the time when she was plain than to refer to the time when—when she was beautiful. What an absurd speech that is for me to make," she said confusedly.
"I certainly did not expect to find so great a change," said I. "Why, Doll, you are wondrous, glorious, beautiful. I can't find words—"
"Then don't try, Cousin Malcolm," she said with a smile that fringed her mouth in dimples. "Don't try. You will make me vain."
"You are that already, Doll," I answered, to tease her.
"I fear I am, cousin—vain as a man. But don't call me Doll. I am tall enough to be called Dorothy."
She straightened herself up to her full height, and stepping close to my side, said: "I am as tall as you. I will now try to make you vain. You look just as young and as handsome as when I last saw you and so ardently admired your waving black mustachio and your curling chin beard."
"Did you admire them, Doll—Dorothy?" I asked, hoping, though with little faith, that the admiration might still continue.
"Oh, prodigiously," she answered with unassuring candor. "Prodigiously. Now who is vain, Cousin Malcolm François de Lorraine Vernon?"
"I," I responded, shrugging my shoulders and confessing by compulsion.
"But you must remember," she continued provokingly, "that a girl of twelve is very immature in her judgment and will fall in love with any man who allows her to look upon him twice."
"Then I am to believe that the fire begins very early to burn in the feminine heart," I responded.
"With birth, my cousin, with birth," she replied; "but in my heart it burned itself out upon your curling beard at the mature age of twelve."
"And you have never been in love since that time, Doll—Dorothy?" I asked with more earnestness in my heart than in my voice.
"No, no; by the Virgin, no! Not even in the shadow of a thought. And by the help of the Virgin I hope I never shall be; for when it comes to me, mark my word, cousin, there will be trouble in Derbyshire."
"By my soul, I believe you speak the truth," I answered, little dreaming how quickly our joint prophecy would come true.
I then asked Dorothy to tell me about her father.
"Father is well in health," she said. "In mind he has been much troubled and disturbed. Last month he lost the lawsuit against detestable old Lord Rutland. He was much angered by the loss, and has been moody and morose in brooding over it ever since. He tries, poor father, to find relief from his troubles, and—and I fear takes too much liquor. Rutland and his friends swore to one lie upon another, and father believes that the judge who tried the case was bribed. Father intends to appeal to Parliament, but even in Parliament he fears he cannot obtain justice. Lord Rutland's son—a disreputable fellow, who for many years has lived at court—is a favorite with the queen, and his acquaintance with her Majesty and with the lords will be to father's prejudice."
"I have always believed that your father stood in the queen's good graces?" I said interrogatively.
"So he does, but I have been told that this son of Lord Rutland, whom I have never seen, has the beauty of—of the devil, and exercises a great influence over her Majesty and her friends. The young man is not known in this neighborhood, for he has never deigned to leave the court; but Lady Cavendish tells me he has all the fascinations of Satan. I would that Satan had him."
"The feud still lives between Vernon and Rutland?" I asked.
"Yes, and it will continue to live so long as an ounce of blood can hold a pound of hatred," said the girl, with flashing eyes and hard lips. "I love to hate the accursed race. They have wronged our house for three generations, and my father has suffered greater injury at their hands than any of our name. Let us not talk of the hateful subject."
We changed the topic. I had expected Dorothy to invite me