Only a Girl's Love by Charles Garvice (the rosie project TXT) 📕

"It is real—too real," said Lady Lilian, with a smile and a little sigh. "I daresay you think it is very nice, and I—do you know what I think?"

Stella shook her head.

"I think, as I look down at your little cottage, how beautiful, how nice your life must be."

"Mine!" said Stella. "Well, yes, it is very nice. But this is wonderful."

"Because you are not used to it," said Lady Lilian. "Ah! you would soon get tired of it, believe me."

"Never," breathed Stella, looking down; as she did so she saw the maidenhair, and held it up.

"Lord Leycester sent these to you," she said.

A loving light came into Lady Lilian's eyes as she took the green, fragrant sprays.

"Leycester?" she said, touching her cheek with them. "That is like him—he is too good to me."

Stella looked across the room at a picture of the Madonna rising from the earth, with upturned, glorious eyes.

"Is he?" she murmured.

"Oh, yes, yes, there never was a brother like him in all the wide world," said Lady Lilian, in a rapt voice. "I cannot tell you how good he is to me; he is always thinking of me—he who has so much to think of. I fancy sometimes that people are apt to deem him selfish and—and—thoughtless, but they do not know——"

[83]

"No," said Stella again. The voice sounded like music in her ears—she could have listened forever while it sung his song; and yet that word suddenly rang out in discord, and she smiled. "He seems very kind," she said—"he is very kind to me."

Lady Lilian looked at her suddenly, and an anxious expression came into her eyes. It was not many nights ago that she had implored Leycester to see no more of the girl with the dark eyes and silky hair; and here was the girl sitting at her feet, and it was her doing! She had not thought of that before; she had been so fascinated by the fresh young beauty, by the pure, frank eyes, that she had actually acted against her own instincts, and brought her into Leycester's path!

"Yes, he is very kind to everybody," she said. "And you have enjoyed yourself? Have they been singing?"

"Yes, Lady Beauchamp."

"Lenore," said Lilian, eagerly. "Ah, yes; does she not sing beautifully, and is she not lovely?"

"She sings beautifully, and she is very lovely," said Stella, still looking at the Madonna.

Lady Lilian laughed softly.

"I am very fond of Lenore. You will like her very much when you know her better. She is—I was going to say—very imperial."

"That would be right," said Stella; "she is like a queen, only more beautiful than most queens have been."

"I am so glad you admire her," said Lady Lilian; then she paused a moment, and her white hand fell like a thistle down on the dark head beside her. "Shall I tell you a secret?"

Stella looked up, with a smile.

"Yes; I will promise to keep it."

Lilian smiled down at her.

"How strangely you said that—so gravely. Yes, I think you would keep a secret to the death. But this is not one of that sort; it is only this—that we hope, all of us, that Lenore will become my sister."

Stella did not start; did not remove her eyes from the pale, lovely face, but into those eyes a something came that was not wonder nor pain, but a strong, indefinable expression, as if she were holding her breath in the effort to suppress any sign of feeling.

"Do you mean that Lord Leycester will marry her?" she said, distinctly.

Lady Lilian nodded.

"Yes, that is it. Would it not be nice?"

Stella smiled.

"For Lord Leycester?"

Lady Lilian laughed her soft laugh.

"What a strange girl you are," she said, smoothing the silky hair. "What am I to say to that? Well—yes, of course. And for Lenore, too," she added, with a touch of pride.

"Yes, for Lady Lenore also," said Stella, and her eyes went back to the Madonna.

"We are all so anxious to see Leycester married," went on[84] Lady Lilian, with a smile. "They say he is—so wild, I think it is, they say! Ah, they do not see him as I see him. Do you think he is wild?"

Stella paled. The strain was great, her heart was beating with suppressed throbs. The gentle girl did not know how she was torturing her with such questions.

"I?" she murmured. "I do not know. I cannot tell. How should I? I scarcely know your brother."

"Ah, no, I forget," said Lady Lilian. "To me it seems as if we had known each other so long, and we only met the other morning for a few minutes. How is it? Do you possess some charm, and did you conceal it in the flowers you gave me, so that I am under a spell, Stella? That is your name, isn't it? It is a beautiful name; are you angry with me for calling you by it?"

"Angry! No!" said Stella, putting up her warm, firm hand, and touching the thin white one resting on her hair. "No, I like you to call me by it."

"And you will call me by mine—Lilian?"

"If you wish it," said Stella. "Yes, I will."

"And we shall be great friends. See, I have kept your flowers quite cool and fresh," and she pointed to a vase in which the primroses stood at the other end of the room. "I love wild flowers. They are Heaven's very own, are they not? No human hand does anything for them, or helps them to grow."

Stella listened to the low, beautiful voice with a rapt awe.

Lady Lilian looked down at her with a smile.

"I wonder whether you would grant me a favor if I asked it?" she said.

"I would do anything for you," said Stella, looking up at her.

"Will you go and play for me?" she said. "I know that you can play and sing because I have looked into your eyes."

"Suppose I say that I cannot," said Stella, laughing softly.

"You cannot!" said Lady Lilian. "I am never mistaken. Leycester says that I am a witch in such matters."

"Well, I will try," said Stella, and she crossed the room and opened the tiny piano, and began to play a sonata by Schubert.

"I cannot play like Lady Lenore," she said, almost to herself, but Lady Lilian heard her.

"You play exquisitely," she said.

"No, I can't play," repeated Stella, with almost a touch of impatience; then she looked up and saw the Madonna, and on the impulse of the moment began to sing Gounod's "Ave Maria." There is no more exquisite piece of devotional music in the world, and it was Stella's favorite. She had sung it often and often in the dreary school-days, with all her longing heart in her voice; she had sung it in solemn aisled cathedrals, while the incense rose to the vaulted roof; but she had never sung it as she sang it now—now that the strange, indefinable pain was filling her heart with wistful vague longing. Lady Lilian leant forward—her lips parted, her eyes filling with tears—so rapt that she did not notice that the door had opened, and that Lord Leycester stood in the room. When she did see him he held up[85] his hand to silence any word of greeting, and stood with his head lowered, his eyes fixed on Stella's face, upturned, white, and rapt. As he listened, his handsome face grew pale, his dark eyes deepened with intense emotion; he had stood beside the piano down-stairs while Lady Lenore had been singing, with a calm, polite attention; here and at this moment his heart beat and throbbed with an intense longing to bend and kiss the upturned face—with an intense longing to draw the eyes toward his—to silence the exquisite voice—to change its imploring prayer into a song of love.

All unconsciously Stella sang on till the end, that last, lingering, exquisite, long-drawn sigh; then she turned and saw him, but she did not move—only turned pale, her eyes fixed on his. And so they looked at each other.

With an effort he broke the spell, and moved. But he did not speak to her at once, but to Lilian.

"I have brought you something," he said, in a low voice, and he held up the sketch.

Lady Lilian uttered a cry of delight.

"And it is for me! Oh, Leycester, that is nice! It is beautiful! I know who painted it—it was your uncle, Stella! Oh, yes, I know!"

"You are right," said Leycester, then he went toward Stella.

"How can I thank you?" he said, in a low voice. "I know now why you would not sing to to us down-stairs! You were quite right. I would not have you sing to a mob in a drawing-room after dinner. What shall I say?—what can I say?"

Stella looked up pale and almost breathless beneath the passionate fire that burned in his eyes.

"I did not know you were here," she said, at last.

"Or you would not have sung. I am glad I came—I cannot say how glad! You will not sing again?"

"No, no," she said.

"No," he said. "I did not think you would, and yet I would give something to hear you once—only once more."

"No," said Stella, and she rose and went back to her seat.

"Isn't it beautiful?" said Lady Lilian, in a murmur. "I have been richly endowed to-night. Your song and this picture. How exquisite it was! Where did you learn to sing like that?"

"Nowhere," said Leycester. "That cannot be learnt!"

Lilian looked at him; he was still pale, and his eyes seemed to burn with suppressed eagerness.

"Go and thank Mr. Etheridge," she said.

"Presently," he said, and he came and put his hand on her arm. "Presently! let me rest here a little while. It is Paradise after——" he paused.

"You shall not rest," she said. "Go and sing something, Ley."

Then, as Stella looked up, she laughed softly.

"Did you not know he could sing? He is a bad, wicked, indolent boy. He can do all sorts of things when he likes, but he never will exert himself. He will not sing, now will you?"

[86]

He stood looking at Stella, and as if constrained to speak and look at him, Stella raised her eyes.

"Will you sing?" she said, almost inaudibly.

As if waiting for her command, he bent his head and went to the piano.

His fingers strayed over the notes slowly for a moment or two, then he said, without turning his head:

"Have you seen these flowers?"

Stella did not wish to move; but the voice seemed to draw her, and she rose and crossed to the piano.

He looked up.

"Stay," he murmured.

She hesitated a second, then stood with downcast eyes, which, hidden as they were, seemed to feel his ardent gaze fixed upon her.

He still touched the keys gently, and then, without further prelude, he began in a low voice: