Lady Lilian looked at her inquiringly.
"Wonderful," said Stella, frankly. "You see I have never been in such a place as this before; it all seems so grand and beautiful – more beautiful than grand indeed, that I can scarcely believe it is real."
"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 – "
"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 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 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?"
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:
"I wandered down the valley in the eventide,
The birds were singing sweetly in the summer air,
The river glided murm'ring to the ocean wide,
But still no peace was there;
For love lay lurking in the ferny brake;
I saw him lying with his bow beside;
He cried, 'Sweetheart, we will never, never part!'
By the river in the valley at the eventide.
"I fled to the mountains, to the clouds and mist,
Where the eagle and the hawk share their solitary throne;
'Here at least,' I cried, 'wicked love I can deride,
He will leave me here at peace alone.'
But love lay lurking in the clouds and mist;
I heard him singing sweetly on the mountain side,
''Tis all in vain you fly, for everywhere am I,
In every quiet valley, on every mountain side.'"
With his eyes fixed on hers, he sang as if every word were addressed to her; his voice was like a flute, mellow and clear, and musical, but it was not the voice but the words that seemed to sink into Stella's heart as she listened. It seemed to her as if he dared her to fly, to seek safety from him – his love, he seemed to say, would pursue her in every quiet valley, on every mountain side.
For a moment she forgot Lady Lenore, forgot everything; she felt helpless beneath the spell of those dark eyes, the musical voice; her head drooped, her eyes closed.
"'Tis all in vain you fly, for everywhere am I, in every quiet valley, on every mountain side."
Was it to be so with her? Would his presence haunt her ever and everywhere?
With a start she turned from him and glided swiftly to the couch as if seeking protection.
Lady Lilian looked at her.
"You are tired," she said.
"I think I am," said Stella.
"Leycester take her away; I will not have her wearied, or she will not come again. You will come again, will you not?"
"Yes," said Stella, "I will come again."
Lord Leycester stood beside the open door, but Lilian still clung to her hand.
"Good-night," she said, and she put up her face.
Stella bent and kissed her.
"Good-night," she answered, and passed out.
They went down the stairs in silence, and reached the fernery; then he stopped short.
"Will you not wait a moment here?" he said.
Stella shook her head.
"It must be late," she said.
"A moment only," he said. "Let me feel that I have you to myself for a moment before you go – you have belonged to others until now."
"No, no," she said – "I must go."
And she moved on; but he put out his hand, and stopped her.
"Stella!"
She turned, and looked at him most piteously; but he saw only her loveliness before him like a flower.
"Stella," he repeated, and he drew her nearer, "I must speak – I must tell you – I love you!"
CHAPTER XII
"I love you," he said.
Only three words, but only a woman can understand what those three words meant to Stella.
She was a girl – a mere child, as Lady Wyndward had said; never, save from her father's lips, had she heard those words before.
Even now she scarcely realized their full meaning. She only knew that his hand was upon her arm; that his eyes were fixed on hers with a passionate, pleading entreaty, combined with a masterful power which she felt unable to resist.
White and almost breathless she stood, not downcast, for her eyes felt drawn to his, all her maidenly nature roused and excited by this first declaration of a man's love.
"Stella, I love you!" he repeated, and his voice sounded like some low, subtle music, which rang through her ears even after the words had died from his lips.
Pale and trembling she looked at him, and put her hand to gently force his grasp from her arm.
"No, no!" she panted.
"But it is 'yes,'" he said, and he took her other hand and held her a close prisoner, looking into the depths of the dark, wondering, troubled eyes. "I love you, Stella."
"No," she repeated again, almost inaudibly. "It is impossible!"
"Impossible!" he echoed, and a faint smile flitted across the eager face – a smile that seemed to intensify the passion in his eyes. "It seems to me impossible not to love you. Stella, are you angry with me – offended? I have been too sudden, too rude and rough."
At his tender pleading her eyes drooped for the first time.
Too rough, too rude! He, who seemed to her the type of knightly chivalry and courtesy.
"I should have remembered how pure and delicate a flower my beautiful love was," he murmured. "I should have remembered that my love was a star, to be approached with reverence and awe, not taken by storm. I have been too presumptuous; but, oh, Stella, you do not know what such love as mine is! It is like a mountain torrent hard to stem; it sweeps all before it. That is my love for you, Stella. And now, what will you say to me?"
As he spoke he drew her still nearer to him; she could feel his breath stirring her hair, could almost hear the passionate beating of his heart.
What should she say to him? If she allowed her heart to speak she would hide her face upon his breast and whisper – "Take me." But, girl as she was, she had some idea of all that divided them; the very place in which they stood was eloquent of the difference between them; between him, the future lord of Wyndward, and she, the poor painter's niece.
"Will you not speak to me?" he murmured. "Have you not a single word for me? Stella, if you knew how I long to hear those beautiful lips answer me with the words I have spoken. Stella, I would give all I possess in the world to hear you say, 'I love you!'"
"No, no," she said, again, almost pantingly. "Do not ask me – do not say any more. I – I cannot bear it!"
His face flushed hotly for a moment, but he held her tightly, and his eyes searched hers for the truth.
"Does it pain you to hear that I love you?" he whispered. "Are you angry, sorry? Can you not love me, Stella? Oh, my darling! – let me call you my darling, mine, if only for once, for one short minute! See, you are mine, I hold you in both hands! Be mine for a short minute at least, while you answer me. Are you sorry? Can you not give me a little love in return for all the love I bear you? Cannot you, Stella?"
Panting now, and with the rich color coming and going on her face, she looks this way and that like some wild, timid animal seeking to escape.
"Do not press me, do not force me to speak," she almost moans. "Let me go now."
"No, by Heaven!" he says, almost fiercely. "You shall not, must not go, until you have answered me. Tell me, Stella, is it because I am nothing to you, and you do not like to tell me so? Ah! better the truth at once, hard as it may be to bear, than suspense. Tell me, Stella."
"It – it – is not that," she says, with drooping head.
"What is it, then?" he whispers, and he bends his head to catch her faintly whispered words, so that his lips almost touch her face.
From the drawing-room comes the sound of some one playing; it recalls all the grandeur of the scene, all the high mightiness of the house to which he belongs – of which he is so nearly the head, and it gives her strength.
Slowly she raises her head and looks at him.
There is infinite tenderness, infinite yearning, and suppressed maidenly passion in her eyes.
"It is not that," she says. "But – do you forget?"
"Forget!" he asks, patiently, gently, though his eyes are burning with impetuous eagerness.
"Do you forget who I am – who you are?" she says, faintly.
"I forget everything except that you are to me the most lovely and precious of creatures on God's earth," he says, passionately. Then, with a touch of his characteristic pride, "What need have I to remember anything else, Stella?"
"But I have," she said. "Oh yes, it is for me to remember. I cannot – I ought not to forget. It is for me to remember. I am only Stella Etheridge, an artist's niece, a nobody – an insignificant girl, and you – oh, Lord Leycester!"
"And I?" he says, as if ready to meet her fairly at every point.
"And you!" – she looks around – "you are a nobleman; will be the lord of all this beautiful place – of all that you were showing me the other day. You should not, ought not to tell me that – that – what you have told me."
He bent over her, and his hand closed on her arm with a masterful caressing touch.
"You mean that because I am what I am – that because I am rich I am to be made poor; because I have so much – too much, that the one thing on earth which would make the rest worth having is to be denied me."
He laughed almost fiercely.
"Better to be the poorest son of the soil than lord of many acres, if that were true, Stella. But it is not. I do not care whether I am rich or poor, noble or nameless – yes, I do! I am glad for your sake. I have never cared before. I have never realized it before, but I do now. I am glad now. Do you know why?"
She shook her head, her eyes downcast.
"Because I can lay them all at your feet," and as he speaks he bends on one knee beside her and draws her hand with trembling hands to his heart.
"See, Stella, I lay them at your feet. I say take them, if you think them worth – take them, and make them worth having; no, I say rather, share them with me? Set against your love, my darling, title, lands, wealth – are all worthless dross to me. Give me your love, Stella; I must, I will have it!" and he presses a passionate clinging kiss on her hand.
Frightened by his vehemence, Stella draws her hand away and shrinks back.
He rises and draws her to a seat, standing beside her calm and penitent.
"Forgive me, Stella! I frighten you! See, I will be quite gentle and quiet – only listen to me!"
"No, no," she murmurs, trembling, "I must not. Think – if – if – I said what you wish me to say, how could I meet the countess? What would they say to me? They would blame me for stealing your love."
"You have not stolen; no nun from a convent could have been more free from artifice than you, Stella. You have stolen nothing; it is I who have given– GIVEN you all."
She shook her head.
"It is the same," she murmured. "They would be so displeased. Oh, it cannot be."
"It cannot be?" he repeated, with a smile. "But it has already come to pass. Am I one to love and unlove in a breath, Stella? Look at me!"
She raises her eyes, and meets his eager, passionate gaze.
"Do I look like one to be swayed as a reed by any passing wind, gentle or rough? No, Stella, such love as I feel for you is not to be turned aside. Even if you were to tell me that you do not, cannot love me, my love would not die; it has taken root in my heart – it has become part of myself. There is not one hour since I saw you that I have not thought about you. Stella, you have come to me even in my sleep; I have dreamed that you whispered to me, 'I love you.' Let the dream be a true one. Oh, my life, my darling, let your heart speak, if it is to say that it loves me. See, Stella, you are all the world to me – do not rob me of happiness. You do not doubt my love?"
Doubt his love! That was not possible for her to do, since every word, every look, bore the impress of truth.
But still she would not yield. Even as he spoke, she fancied she could see the stern face of the earl looking at her with hard condemnation – could see the beautiful eyes of the countess looking down at her with cold displeasure and wondering, amazed scorn.
Footsteps were approaching, and she rose hurriedly, to fly from him if need be. But Lord Leycester was not a man to be turned aside. As she rose he took her arm gently, tenderly, with loving persuasion, and drew her near to him.
"Come with me," he said. "Do not leave me for a moment. See, the door is open – it is quite warm. We shall be alone here. Oh, my darling, do not leave me in suspense."
She was powerless to resist, and he led her on to the terrace outside.
Out into the dusky night, odorous with the breath of the flowers, and mystical in the dim light of the stars. A gentle summer, zephyr-like air stirred the trees; the sound of the water falling over the weir came like music up the hillside. A nightingale sang in the woods below them; all the night seemed full of slumberous passion and unspoken love.
"We are alone here, Stella," he murmured. "Now answer me. Listen once more, darling! I am not tired of telling you; I shall never tire of it. Listen! I love you – I love you!"
The stars grew dull and misty before her eyes, the charm of his voice, of his presence, was stealing over her; the passionate love which burnt in her heart for him was finding its way through cool prudence, her lips were tremulous. A sigh, long and deep, broke from them.
"I love you!" he replied, as if the words were a spell, as indeed they were – a spell not to be resisted. "Give me your answer, Stella. Come close to me. Whisper it! whisper 'I love you,' or send me away. But you will not do that; no, you shall not do that!" and forgetful of his vow to be gentle with her, he put his arm round her, drew her to him and – kissed her.
It was the first kiss. A thrill ran through her, the sky seemed to sink, the whole night to pause as if it were waiting. With a little shudder of exquisite pleasure, mingled with that subtle pain which ecstasy always brings in its train, she laid her head upon his breast, and hiding her eyes, murmured —
"I love you!"
If the words meant much to him – to him the man of the world before whom many a beautiful woman had been ready to bow with complaisant homage – if they meant much to him, how much more did they mean to her?
All her young maiden faith spoke in those three words. With them she surrendered her young, pure life, her unstained, unsullied heart to him. With a passion as intense as his own, she repaid him tenfold. For a moment he was silent, his eyes fixed on the stars, his whole being thrilling under the music – the joy of this simple avowal. Then he pressed her to him, and poured a shower of kisses upon her hair and upon her arm which lay across his breast.
"My darling, my darling!" he murmured. "Is it really true? Can I – dare I believe it: you love me? Oh, my darling, the whole world seems changed to me. You love me! See, Stella, it seems so wonderful that I cannot realize it. Let me see your eyes, I shall find the truth there."
She pressed still closer to him, but he raised her head gently – in his very touch was a caress, and it was as if his hands kissed her – and looked long into the rapt, upturned eyes. Then he bent his head slowly, and kissed her once – hungrily, clingingly.
Stella's eyes closed and her face paled under that passionate caress, then slowly and with a little sigh she raised her head and kissed him back again, kiss for kiss.
No word was spoken; side by side, with her head upon his breast, they stood in silence. For them Time had vanished, the whole world seemed to stand still.
Half amazed, with a dim wonder at this new delight which had entered her life, Stella watched the stars and listened to the music of the river. Something had happened to change her whole existence, it was as if the old Stella whom she knew so well had gone, and a new being, wonderfully blessed, wonderfully happy, had taken her place.
And as for him, for the man of the world, he too stood amazed, overwhelmed by the new-born joy. If any one had told him that life held such a moment for him, he would not have believed it; he who had, as he thought, drained the cup of earthly pleasure to the dregs. His blood ran wildly through his veins, his heart beat madly.
"At last," he murmured; "this is love."
But suddenly the awakening came. With a start she looked up at him and strove to free herself, vainly, from his embrace.
"What have I done?" she whispered, with awe-subdued voice.
"Done!" he murmured, with a rapt smile. "Made one man happier than he ever dreamed it possible for mortal to be. That is all."
"Ah, no!" she said; "I have done wrong! I am afraid! – afraid!"
"Afraid of what? There is nothing to make you afraid. Can you speak of fear while you are in my arms – with your head on my breast? Lean back, my darling; now speak of fear."
"Yes, even now," she whispered. "Now – and I am so happy!" she broke off to herself, but he heard her. "So happy! Is it all a dream? Tell me."
He bent and kissed her.
"Is it a dream, do you think?" he answered.
The crimson dyed her face and neck, and her eyes drooped.
"And you are happy?" he said. "Think what I must be. For a man's love is deeper, more passionate than a woman's, Stella. Think what I must be!"
She sighed and looked up at him.
"But still it is wrong! I fear that. All the world will say that."
"All the world!" he echoed, with smiling scorn. "What have we to do with the world? We two stand outside, beyond it. Our world is love – is our two selves, my darling."
"All the world," she said. "Ah! what will they say?" and instinctively she glanced over her shoulder at the great house with the glow of light streaming from its many windows. "Even now – now they are wondering where you are, expecting, waiting for you. What would they say if they knew you were here with me – and – and all that has happened?"
His eyes darkened. He knew better than she, with all her fears, what they would say, and already he was braving himself to meet the storm, but he smiled to re-assure her.
"They will say that I am the most fortunate of men. They will say that the gods have lavished their good gifts with both hands – they have given me all the things that you make so much of, and the greatest of all things – the true sole love of a pure, beautiful angel."
"Oh, hush, hush!" she murmured.
"You are an angel to me," he said, simply. "I am not worthy to touch the hem of your dress! If I could but live my worthless, sinful life over again, for your sake, my darling, it should be purer and a little less unworthy of you."
"Oh, hush!" she murmured. "You unworthy of me! You are my king!"
Strong man as he was he was stirred and moved to the depths of his being at the simple words, eloquent of her absolute trust and devotion.
"My Stella," he murmured, "if you knew all; but see, my life is yours from henceforth. I place it in your hands, mold it as you will. It is yours henceforth."
She was looking at him, all her soul in her eyes, and at his words of passionate protestation, a sudden thrill ran through her, then as instantly, as if a sudden cold hand had come between them, she shivered.
"Mine," she breathed, fearfully, "until they snatch it from me."