Marion Arleigh's Penance by Charlotte M. Braeme
C >>
Charlotte M. Braeme >> Marion Arleigh\'s Penance
Pages:
1 |
2 | 3 |
4 |
5 |
6
"It will be a good thing for me," he said to himself. "If I succeed,
painting may go. I shall not trouble myself about anything but spending
money. If I succeed, Adelaide shall have her reward." And he pleased
himself by thinking how, out of his forty thousands, he would give her a
fortune.
"She deserves it. She has worked hard for me, and she shall not be
forgotten."
It did not occur to him that there would arise any serious difficulty.
Of course, no steps could be taken until she was twenty-one. He could
not marry her without the consent of her guardian, and to ask for it
was, of course, nonsense. He would bind her to himself with the most
solemn of promises, and the very day she was of age they would be
married. As he walked toward his humble lodgings he amused himself by
thinking what he should do when he became master of Hanton Hall. No
sentiment troubled Allan Lyster; he could make love in any style he
liked to anyone who suited him. As to any remorse over the girl his
sister had betrayed and they had both deceived, he felt none.
"How do you like him, Marion?" asked Adelaide Lyster, as the two walked
home.
"He is very handsome and very clever," was the grave reply.
"Add to that--he is more deeply in love than any man ever was yet," said
Miss Lyster, laughingly. "Marion, he worships you--his love is something
that frightens me."
Miss Arleigh avowed that it was true.
"He will go home," continued Adelaide, "and instead of going to sleep
like a sensible man, he will walk about all night, composing grand poems
about you."
"Does he write poetry?" asked Marion, with increased admiration.
"He is a poet and artist both," said his sister, with a little touch of
pride that amused the heiress.
That was Miss Arleigh's first interview with her admirer, the second
was, he assured her, for the sake of the picture--the third, that he
might see how the picture was going on--the fourth, that she might see
it completed--the fifth, because she found the flattery of his love so
irresistible she could no longer do without it--the sixth, because she
began to fall in love with him herself--and then she lost all count, she
lived for those interviews, and nothing else.
"I want to impress one thing upon you," said Adelaide to her brother;
"bear it always in mind. When you think you have made sufficient
advances in her favor to ask her to marry you, do not rest satisfied
with her spoken word, make her write it. It will be of no use to you
unless you do that."
"Explain a little further, my wisest of sisters," said Allan.
"A written promise of marriage is the only security a man has. Women
change like the wind, without rhyme or reason. But if you have her own
word pledged to you, her promise of marriage written so that there shall
be no mistake, then it will be worth a fortune to you."
"Even if she should refuse to fulfil"--
"You are not very worldly wise, Allan," said his sister with the
slightest tinge of contempt in her voice. "If she fulfils it, all well
and good. The very fact of having written it keeps a girl true when she
should otherwise be false. But if she refuses to keep it, the remedy
then is in your own hands."
"And that remedy is"--he began, but she interrupted him quickly.
"The remedy is, of course, an action at law; or what would be far more
efficacious in her case, holding her letters as a means of getting money
from her. A proud woman will sacrifice any amount of wealth rather than
have such a thing known."
Marion Arleigh fell easily into the plot laid by those she considered
her best friends.
CHAPTER VII.
It is not pleasant to trace the steps by which the simple credulous girl
fell into the snare laid for her. She had sense and reason, but they
were both overbalanced by romance--she saw only the ideal side of
everything. The romance of this hidden love was delightful to her; she
compared herself to every heroine in fiction, and found none of them in
a more charming position that herself.
Allan's profession had something to do with romance; had he been a mere
commonplace doctor or lawyer it would have been a different matter, but
an artist--the halo of his art transfigured him in her eyes--thus to be
capable of a deep and passionate love such as he felt for her!
It was altogether like one of those romances that charmed her; and after
a time she gave herself up entirely to her love.
By the skilful mamnagement of Adelaide Lyster their meetings became very
frequent, and before long he had won from her a promise that she would
love him all her life, and would consent to marry him. Even at that
time, when she was most ecstatic, most carried away by the novelty and
the romance, even then, if any sensible person had spoken to her, she
would have understood more her position than she did now.
If anyone had said to her: "That man is not a hero, he is only a fortune
hunter; he is not even an honorable man, or he would not seek to decoy
you from your duty to bind you to an underhand agreement; instead of
being honorable and a hero he is dishonorable and a rogue"--she had
sense enough to have seen that. She understood enough of the laws of
honor to know when they were broken. But this side of the question
never occured to her. He was young, handsome, and an artist; he loved
her so dearly that for love of her he was almost dying. She was rich and
powerful; he had nothing but genius; he loved her so that her smile gave
him life, her frown was death. It was pleasant, too, and most romantic,
to escape from the thraldom of school to wander with him in the gray
twilight through the old orchard and the green lanes; it was pleasant to
feel in the depth of her heart a love that no one knew anything of--no
one even understood. The scenery, viewed from its romantic side, charmed
her.
They told her continually how great and noble, how generous she was, and
she delighted in hearing it.
"You value genius more than money," Allan would say to her, "and you are
right. God gives genius, men make money. You have the power of
discriminating between them."
She began to look upon herself as something very superior
indeed--something far excelling the ordinary run of girls. They
flattered her until she hardly knew what was false and what was true.
She delighted in making pictures of the future; how she was to stoop
from the height of her grandeur to raise him; how her wealth was, as it
were, to crown his genius. They told her that the whole world would
praise her for her noble generosity. That the rich heiress who forgot
her wealth and became the artist's wife, would be honored wherever her
name was known. They intoxicated her with romance, they bewildered her
with flattery. And she was only seventeen, with no mother to speak one
warning word to her.
She pledged herself to be Allan Lyster's wife when she came of age. He
told her he would rather forego all claim to her wealth, marry her at
once, and leave her guardian to act as he thought best; but she, though
delighted to find him free from the least taint of anything mercenary,
refused to run the risk of losing her fortune.
"Would you really," she said to him one day, "love me as much if I were
quite poor, as you do now?"
"Would I! Oh, Marion, what a question to ask me! The only drawback to my
love is that hateful fortune; if it were not for that I would marry you
at once. Ah, you should find out what I loved you for, sweet. I would
work for you night and day. I would move the whole world to find for my
darling that which she would require."
And the girl in her simplicity believed him, and thought herself the
most fortunate among woman to have won a love for herself that had in it
no taint of this world.
So they flung the glamor of love and flattery around her, until she lost
the keen perception of right and wrong that would have saved her.
She promised to be Allan Lyster's wife. When he had won that promise
from her, he pretended to think better of it.
"I am wrong to ask you, Marion; I am selfish, I ought not even wish you
to share my lot."
She asked him why, raising her sweet eyes to his face.
"Why, because when you go out into the great world peers and princes
will woo you, my darling; the noblest in the land will sue for your
favor, and you, who might have been a duchess, will repent loving and
caring for one so poor and obscure as I am. I can give you no title."
"You can give me what I value more," she said. "You can give me true and
disinterested love."
He did not forget his sister's advice, that he should have that promise
in writing. One evening--it was August then, when the fruit hung ripe on
the trees--he told her, with many sighs, that he should not see her
again for some days.
"How am I to live through them, Marion, I do not know; now when I wake,
my first thought is that I shall see you; all the world seems so fair
and life so bright, because I shall see you. What will happen to me when
the morning sun brings no such delight?"
She was young and simple enough to feel very much touched with his
words; the old idea of having his life in her hands never left her.
"Grant me a favor," he said. "I shall have no energy for work unless you
promise it: Write to me every night and in your letters tell me, sweet,
that which I love best to hear, that you will marry me."
So to make him happy, to give him life and energy for his work, she
wrote to him every evening, and, remembering his request, in each one of
those letters she repeated her promise to marry him.
This is no overstrained story, it is no exaggeration; hundreds of men
have acted as Allan Lyster did, and hundreds will act so in the future.
When girls have once mastered the grand lesson that all secrecy--all
concealment is wrong, they will have taken the only precaution possible
to save themselves.
So matters went on until the continued secrecy began to prey upon
Marion's mind; then she made an appeal to Allan with which our story
opens. He did his best to argue with her, and he sent a note to his
sister, telling her the bright, bonnie bird they had ensnared was
growing restive under constraint.
No doubts ever came to her. Youth is the age of romance; youth
imperatively demands love and poetry. She had found both and was
perfectly satisfied. She believed honestly that she loved him very
dearly; it never occurred to her that the greatest charm really was the
excitement of having to plan interviews and arrange her letters so as to
escape detection; it never occured to her that if she had been like
other girls of her age in society, and so enabled to judge of people, so
far from loving him and making a hero of him, he would have been
distasteful to her. She had had no opportunities of being able to judge.
Lord Ridsdale's only idea was to keep her at school as long as possible,
in order to escape further trouble. She had never been in the society of
gentlemen, and her head was full of romance and poetry.
Therefore she fell an easy victim to the artist and his sister. She was
ready to believe he was a great hero, because he was handsome; that he
was all that could be noble and generous, because he talked poetry.
True, she began to dislike the concealment, but it never struck her that
she disliked it because the whole affair was growing tiresome to her.
She had talked it over and over again with him--how they must wait until
she was twenty-one, then they would be married and go to live at Hanton.
"You will like Hanton," she said. "It is old, gray and picturesque; the
woods are beautiful, there is a river running through them."
"I shall like any place that I could share with you," he replied. "When
shall you leave this place, Marion?"
"At Christmas, I expect. But, Allan, shall we never see each other until
I am twenty-one?"
"I hope so," he replied. "You do not know where you will live?"
"No, that is not decided. Lord Ridsdale says I cannot go to Hanton
alone, and I know that I cannot live at his house."
"But go where you will, Marion, you will write to me and see me
sometimes?"
"Of course I shall. If I remain in London it will be comparatively easy,
and if I go into the country you will be obliged to follow me."
"I wish I could disguise myself as a page and go with you," he said. "I
do not see how I am to live without you."
He did another thing which touched her generous heart--he painted a
picture, and with the proceeds of the sale of it he purchased a ring for
her. It was his sister who told her how the ring was procured.
"It is my belief," said Miss Lyster, "that if he could change his whole
heart into one great ruby, he would do so, and offer it to you."
She placed the ring on her finger, and he made her promise never to take
it off. It was made of rubies and opals set in pure gold.
"Do not remove that, Marion," he said, "until I can find a plain gold
ring and that shall bind you to me for as long as we both shall live."
CHAPTER VIII.
A change came at last--one for which none of the three had been
prepared: Lord Ridsdale married.
The first thing the new Lady Ridsdale did was to insist on the removal
of Miss Arleigh from school.
"Nearly eighteen," she said, "and still at school! My dear William, the
only wonder is that the poor girl has not fallen into some dreadful
mischief. She ought to have been presented last year. We must have her
home at once."
Lady Ridsdale was a woman of the world; she knew exactly how much eclat
and importance would accrue to her from the fact of being chaperone to a
wealthy heiress like Miss Arleigh.
"Is the girl pretty?" she asked her husband; and to do him justice, he
looked much confused.
"I hardly know what to answer you, Laura. I must confess the truth; I
have not seen her for two years and more. When my wife died I was quite
at a loss what to do with her, so I sent her to school. Miss Carleton
promised to take complete charge of her, and I have not seen her, as I
say, for more than two years."
"Was she a pretty girl then?" persisted Lady Ridsdale.
"I think so. Miss Carleton said she was beautiful. She had been crying
when I saw her, so that I could hardly judge."
"A beauty, and a wealthy heiress! We must have her at home at once,
William. We will fetch her without any delay."
Lord Ridsdale thought some of the servants might go, that it was hardly
necessary for him to make the journey. His wife laughed at him.
"You do not know the social importance of your ward," she said. "Before
long Miss Arleigh will be one of the queens of society, heiress of
Hanton, and of the large fortune left by her father; we shall have some
of the first men in England wooing her. She may be a duchess if she
likes." At which intelligence Lord Ridsdale opened his eyes.
He had thought of his ward as of a tiresome responsibility, a child of
whom the charge would be very troublesome. He had taken good care of her
money, because he was an honorable man, but he had not thought much of
what his wife called her social position. As a probable duchess he felt
a great amount of respect for her.
So Lord and Lady Ridsdale went together to bring their beautiful young
ward home. Miss Carleton was grieved to lose her.
"She has been a docile pupil, and she is a beautiful, lovable girl.
Though I am sorry indeed to part with her, for her own sake I am glad
she is going; it is high time she saw something of the world."
"You have had no trouble with her, I hope?" said Lord Ridsdale. "At
seventeen most young girls have begun to think of love and lovers."
Miss Carleton prided herself on the fact that in her establishment such
matters were entirely avoided.
"There is nothing of the kind," she replied, earnestly. "I do not
believe that Miss Arleigh has even begun to think of such things."
"So much the worse when she does begin," thought Lady Ridsdale.
When the preliminaries had all been discussed, and Miss Arleigh was
requested to meet her guardian, Lady Ridsdale could not control her
surprise at the sight of the girl's beauty.
"You could not tell whether she was pretty or not?" she said afterwards
to her husband. "William you must be blind."
She welcomed the young girl warmly. She kissed the fresh blooming face
that had all a woman's beauty with the innocence of a child. She clasped
her arms round the slender, girlish figure.
"You must learn to love me," she said, "to look on me in the place of
the mother you have lost."
And Marion Arleigh for the first time in her life imagined to herself
what a mother's love would be like.
"What a strange idea to keep you so long at school!" said Lady Ridsdale.
"We must do our best to atone for it."
"I should imagine that my guardian did not know what to do with me," she
replied, with a smile so bright and sweet that Lord Ridsdale at once
fell in love with her, as his wife had done before him.
"Where am I going to live?" asked Marion, after they had been talking
for some time.
"We are going to Thorpe Castle," replied Lady Ridsdale, "and I thought
you would enjoy being there with us."
"I shall enjoy anything and everything" said Marion. "I have all my life
before me, and it will be full of glorious possibilities."
Suddenly she paused, remembering that her life was settled and arranged;
it held no more possibilities; they were all at an end. For the first
time she felt the weight of the chain that bound her. Lady Ridsdale
wondered why the beautiful face suddenly grew pale and grave.
Half an hour afterwards Marion came timidly to her side.
"Lady Ridsdale," she began, in a half-hesitating manner, "of course I
never thought such happiness as the marriage of my guardian was in store
for me."
"I suppose not," was the smiling reply.
"I used to think that I should go away from here and be so lonely, so
sad. I have made a promise and I do not see how I can keep it."
Lady Ridsdale was touched and flattered by the girl's confidence.
"Tell me all about it, Marion; you shall keep the promise, if it be
possible."
"There is a governess here, one of the assistants; her name is
Lyster--Adelaide Lyster. She has always been very kind to me; indeed I
should have been most lonely but for her, and I--I am very much attached
to her."
"Quite natural and quite right," said Lady Ridsdale. "You wish, of
course, to make her a very handsome present?"
"No, not quite that," said Marion, looking very uncomfortable; "it is
much worse than that. I thought I should be all alone, and I promised
that when I left Miss Carleton's she should go with me as my companion,
and should live with me."
Lady Ridsdale looked very grave.
"I do not think it possible, my dear," she replied. "Lord Ridsdale has
the greatest objection to that kind of thing. Will you not try if you
shall like me as a companion?"
"I am quite sure to do that," she said; "but I made the promise. What
shall I do?"
"You made it under a certain set of circumstances," said Lady Ridsdale
"and they no longer exist. You may, I think, in all honor, defer the
keeping of it, until you have a house of your own."
But Marion still looked as she felt--uncomfortable. Lord Ridsdale had
gone to superintend some arrangements for their departure, leaving the
two ladies alone.
"You think the young person will be disappointed?" said Lady Ridsdale,
kindly.
"I am sure she will," replied Marion wincing at the words "young
person."
"Let me see her; ask her to come here, and I will speak to her. After
all, my dear, you are not in the least to blame if you cannot keep your
promise--you must remember that."
A few more minutes and Miss Lyster, dressed in her most becoming
costume, stood before Lady Ridsdale.
A few words passed, and then Lady Ridsdale began;
"My ward is in some distress, Miss Lyster. I find that she has promised
you that you shall live with her as companion."
"She certainly did so, and I have made all arrangements for that
purpose."
"We will hope you have not made many arrangements," said Lady Ridsdale,
suavely, "as Miss Arleigh's movements have been so very uncertain. Of
course, when Miss Arleigh is of age, and makes her own
arrangements--forms her own household--she will do as she likes. It will
be utterly impossible for her to carry out her promise in Lord
Ridsdale's house, as I am sure you will have the good sense to
perceive."
Now, Miss Lyster was not wanting in good sense. She was taken by
surprise, as was every one else, by this sudden movement. She had had no
time to think what was best under the circumstances; the only idea that
occurred to her was how more than useless it would be to offend Lady
Ridsdale. Unless she managed to secure her good opinions there would be
no invitations to Ridsdale house. These ideas flashed through her mind
with the rapidity of lightning; then Miss Lyster, with an expression on
her face that was a most perfect mixture of reverence and humility,
said:
"I hope Miss Arleigh will study herself and your ladyship, not me."
"You must not look at it in that light. Miss Arleigh studies every one
most kindly, I am sure. It is simply this: that there would never be the
least objection to Miss Arleigh following out any wish or any idea that
should occur to her, but that in this case it would be impossible to
carry out her wish. Miss Arleigh will soon be surrounded by friends and
companions of her own age, and then she will not feel lonely."
Miss Lyster's reply was a deep, silent bow. To herself she said:
"If she thinks to take Marion from me, she is mistaken. I will never
lose my hold on her."
Lady Ridsdale was touched by the companion's resignation to
circumstances.
"We shall be very pleased to see you at Thorpe Castle during the
vacation, Miss Lyster," said Lady Ridsdale, "and we owe you a deep debt
of gratitude for your unfailing kindness to Miss Arleigh."
Then the interview ended.
Miss Lyster, after a few more words, quitted the room.
"My dear Marion," said Lady Ridsdale, "I am almost glad that
circumstances do prevent you from carrying out this arrangement."
"Why?" she asked simply.
"Because I have lived in the world long enough to be a judge of
character, and your friend's face does not please me. Do not trust her
too far."
CHAPTER IX.
Life at Miss Carleton's and life at Thorpe Castle were very different.
Marion had not been there very long before she began to feel most
perfectly happy, and to wonder how she endured the monotonous routine of
school.
The parting from Allan had really been terrible to her, his love had
for so long been her chief comfort and her only pleasure. She said to
herself that she should miss him most terribly; yet, if she had looked
into her own heart, she would have seen it was not so much him she
should miss as it was the novelty of his letters, his plotting, his
poetry, the stolen interviews, the hidden romance that she thought so
beautiful.
"You will not forget me, darling?" he said, pleadingly. "You will write
to me, and you will let me sometimes see you?" She promised faithfully.
She wept over leaving him, yet in some unaccountable way her spirits
rose when she came away; she felt more free, more at ease than she had
done for a long time.
"You must make the best use of the sunny days," said Lady Ridsdale.
"There is one advantage in having been so long at school--you will be
perfectly fresh to the world, and that is always a charm in itself. You
must give yourself up entirely to my guidance for a time."
Marion did so most willingly. Lady Ridsdale engaged a pretty, quick
Parisian as lady's maid; she invited young ladies of her own rank and
position to stay at the castle; she obtained every possible enjoyment
and pleasure for the girl.
This was something like. The hours seemed to fly like golden moments,
the very atmosphere was different. Here all was refinement, grace,
courtesy and kindness. Lady Ridsdale knew some delightful people, and
nothing pleased her so much as filling Thorpe Castle with visitors.
One and all were delighted with the young heiress. Her beauty, her
brilliant accomplishments, her simplicity, her frankness of character
and sweetness of temper made her a general favorite. She soon made up
for lost time. She learned to drive, to ride, to row, to do all the
hundred and one pretty things that mark the young lady of the world.
The gentlemen admired her exceedingly, she was so lovely, so candid. She
was never left alone. If she entered the drawing-room she was instantly
surrounded with a little court of admirers. When she wished to ride or
walk there was always some little contention as to who should accompany
her. It was very pleasant. Before she had been at Thorpe Castle long
Marion Arleigh was queen of the new world. In the midst of all her
happiness the first letter from Allan Lyster came like a thunderbolt.
She was naturally so frank, so candid, that the keeping of a secret was
most difficult to her. Her first impulse was to go to Lady Ridsdale and
tell her everything. Then she remembered that she had given a solemn
pledge of secrecy, and that she must not say one word.
It made her very unhappy. She did not like the sense of concealment. She
did not like having a secret of so much importance that she could share
with no one. Then it struck her, too, that the tone of the letter was
not quite what she liked; it was in some vague way different from the
tone of the people she was living with. She did not like that reiterated
petition, for secrecy was weighing heavily on her heart and soul. She
waited two days before answering that letter. She said to herself that
she ought to be very pleased to receive it, and that she was pleased;
yet something weighed on her mind and shadowed the perfect happiness she
had expected to feel.
Pages:
1 |
2 | 3 |
4 |
5 |
6