"HEARTS WIN;" OR, MISS RUTHERFORD'S FORTUNE. CHAP. V. "I tell you, Cecil, it's all nonsense," said Augusta Bellenden-"absurdity; I wonder why we are to be mewed up here like a parcel of nuns, just because that stupid little schoolgirl is in mourning!” "Miles wishes it." He ought, and you "Miles cares nothing about it, I daresay. You don't mean me to believe that he really cares for Marie's feelings?" "Hush, Augusta ! ought." "I daresay I care quite as much as he does. But it's of no use at all for you to talk about it. The invitations are written, and must be sent. If you like we'll make it a fortnight later." "Well, that would be a little better. A month from this-eh?" "Yes. Now, Cecil, do let King's ears alone. I declare, you have pulled them till they are absolutely hideous!" Cecil started, as a little figure came forward from the door of the conservatory which joined the drawing-room. "I could not help it," said Marie, looking at him apologetically. "I could not help hearing; so I came in. But Miss Bellenden, please do not put off anything on my account. I need not appear, you know. I might stay in my own room. "You simple child!" exclaimed Cecil. "What would Miles say?" "He would not care.' "Nonsense, Marie," said Augusta: "you know very well it would not be proper; so pray do not take such an absurd notion into your head. And, now I think of it, it is all very right for you to call me Miss Bellenden to strangers, but I think it would be more fitting if you addressed me personally as Augusta. It seems as if there were some immense difference between us." "Very well. If you would only consent to make no difference in anything you were going to do. I cannot bear to think I am a trouble; it makes me unhappy." "Then that is exceedingly foolish of you, my dear," said Augusta. 66 But, if you wish it here is Miles; say no more about it." But Marie went forward with unusual bra very and animation. "Sir Miles," she said, earnestly, and then stopped short-he was so terribly rigid. "Well !" "It cannot be your wish that your sistersnay, everyone in the house, should be made uncomfortable on my account?" Sir Miles looked from one to the other silently. "I do not exactly understand you, Marie. I have an extreme dislike to anything approaching incoherence: you must be aware that I have. Please to explain more clearly what it is that cannot be my wish." "Don't excite yourself, Miles," said Au gusta. "We have invited a few people for the twenty-fifth, and Cecil has been absurd about it, that's all; saying you would not wish it, and frightening this poor child!" "Cecil knows-you all know, perfectly well, that such follies are nothing to me. If Marie likes it that is another thing; though I should have thought, just now-' "Indeed,” began Marie; but Miss Bellenden stopped her: "There, there, Marie! do let the subject drop. We have all had enough of it. If I were you, Miles, I would not be so tyrannical!" Sir Miles bowed ironically to his sister, and turned to Marie. "I should like you to come with me, Marie, if you are disposed for a walk. There is a friend of mine-ahem!-I mean a sort of gentleman artist whom I have rather patronised" (how George would have enjoyed that!), "sketching in the park. I think it would be a good thing for you to oberve his style." "Who is he, Miles?" asked Augusta. "The artist, Burford." "What, is George down here?" exclaimed Cecil. "I wonder where he is staying." Sir Miles looked at his brother with some faint idea of a reprimand for undue familiarity with the artist; but he remembered that, for a younger brother, it was not of so much consequence-the Bellenden position was safely represented by the head of the family. "Clever George,' as they call him," said Augusta. "I think I shall go with you, Miles: I always liked his pictures." Augusta cared nothing about pictures, and F did not know whether she had ever seen one of Burford's or not; but she had watched the expression of Marie's face, and did not wish that there should be a téte-à-téte walk between her brother and his betrothed just then. Not that she feared the breaking-off of the marriageshe knew Miles better than that; nor would she have been displeased if it had been broken off; but her chance-words must not be repeated to Miles, and she knew that Marie had overheard them. When George Burford went back to the village inn he was, on the whole, well pleased with his first day's work. Certainly he had scarcely spoken a word to Marie herself, but he had been particularly agreeable to the baronet, treating his opinions with marked deference, and drawing from him skilfully a pompous expression of pleasure at the meeting, and a gracious invitation to make himself quite at home in the park at all hours. "And if," concluded the baronet, "you would kindly permit Miss Rutherford to look on occasionally, I should take it as a personal favour. Her taste is, I fear, very uncultivated." As this was precisely what George wanted, he remarked that nothing was so improving to the eye as watching the gradual progress of a painting through all its stages; expressed his pleasure in the prospect of developing Miss Rutherford's taste for art, refused an invitation to lunch at Bellenden Park, and betook himself to his lodging, where, having thrown his cap at Harry, and told him he was fagged to death, he extended himself on a horse-hair sofa, and gave himself up to a cigar and the luxury of his own thoughts. The next day, however, a disappointment was in store for him. He had thought it possible that Marie might come alone to have her taste developed, instead of which Miss Bellenden accompanied her to play propriety. And very well the part was acted. To George it would have been considerably amusing had he not had so great an interest in wishing for more private interconrse with the heiress. Five days together George worked on with unwearied perseverance, and still the two ladies came together to watch the progress of the picture. George was almost in despair. One comfort, however he should now be more at his ease when the opportunity did arrive than he would have been earlier: besides which, he had drawn his own inferences as to the character of the heiress. On the sixth day, reaching the spot fixed upon a little earlier than usual, he saw one figure rise from a camp-stool to meet him. George cast an anxious glance all round; but no one else was there. Have you been waiting for me, Miss Rutherford ?" "Yes. You are later to-day." She was perfectly self-possessed, having about her a certain air of listless weariness which he had noticed before, and commented upon in his own mind. "So you really take pleasure in watching this little sketch ?" said George, well-pleased, "I ought to feel very grateful." "No," said Marie, frankly; "it is not your picture, altogether, Mr. Burford. I like getting out into the park away from the house, to be alone a little. George smiled at the inconsistency. "I was till you came. Besides, that is altogether different. Perhaps," she con tinued, "it is because I have always been accustomed to so much freedom; and here I have to consider what is proper. I must remain indoors often because no one is disposed to walk with me; and it is thought improper to go out alone. Yes, it is disagreeable-stifling. Some day I shall be found choked! I have a feeling constantly as though something heavy were about me, as though-" concluded the faltering voice-" one breath, just a little breath of the sea from the Mermanrock, would be like new life!" "The Mermanrock!" said George, inquiringly. "Ah! it is at home." "Then you like France better than England?" "O yes-no-that is, it can never be the same here, where no one cares for me.-I mean, of course, that I have no relations-I am alone!" "Pretty fair, that!" thought George. "She would hardly speak in such a way if she cared for the baronet as a woman should care for her affianced husband." "I know very little of France," he said. "The friend who is staying here with me has traversed it pretty well; but I don't think he is very enthusiastic about it; in fact, he will scarcely speak of the time he spent there. Sutton is a thorough Englishman." He watched her furtively from under his big, black eyebrows, as he said the name. If it had not been for a certain tremulous motion of the upper lip, he would have fancied her totally indifferent. "Well," said George, breaking into a fresh subject, "people may say what they will of other countries, but the beauty of an English autumn is, I think, rarely excelled." "Yes, it is very beautiful," said Marie, absently; and then she added, with a studied indifference in her tone, "Is your friend an artist too?" 66 Yes." "Oh!" George could have bitten his own tongue when he heard the weary, disappointed accent of that "Oh!" is an artist; but he is not a painter." thrown off her guard. "Yes; how did you know?" with pompous attention, and then went back to his lodgings. Would she be there tomorrow, and alone? He knew, at least, that if not it would not be her own fault. * "Well," said George, yawning, "for a man constitutionally and consistently idle, I do think I work tolerably hard.' "When is it to end?" demanded Harry. "Don't be impatient, my young friend. "Well, Burford, I tell you what, I can't stand this any longer!" She would have liked to tell him more, and to question him. Was this really the same Harry Sutton? And how strange that he should twice be so near her, and yet she could not see or speak to him! Something in the baronet's manner, during that last conversation about the music, recurred to her, warningly. But why might she not see this, the only friend she had had, who knew her father, and to whom she might speak of him. Why, at least, did some foreboding thought stop her, when she was about to take Harry's name upon her lips, ask his friend about him, and say that she had known him, and he was not forgotten? It was still the calm face of Sir Miles that rose before her, forbidding the words, looking at her with that icy sternness which she knew so well. It was hard that they would not suffer her to re-nature?" cognize her father's friend; but she knew that they would not. It did not take Marie long to think all this; and George, watching her face as it changed and grew sad, could almost follow each thought as it set its shadow there. "Then you would go back to France and the old life if you could?" he said, abruptly. "Yes-no. I don't know," stammered Marie. trying to recover herself, "whether it is quite right of you to question me so, Mr. Burford; or quite wise," she added, a little proudly, "in me to answer you so freely." "Forgive me, Miss Rutherford: I had forgotten, perhaps, the distance there is between us !" "You know that is not what I meant, and that it is utterly absurd!" she said, coldly. "I once heard a story," said George, "which recurs to me so vividly when I am with you, that I believe you must bear some shadowy resemblance to the heroine of it. May I tell it to you?" Marie looked at him curiously, but his head was bent over the painting. Something in the expression of his face excited her strangely, and her colour went and came; but she did not answer. Perhaps you do not care for stories from real life?" "Yes, if they are interesting. Let me judge." George thought it probable that she had heard enough for one day; and he knew she would think of nothing else till she saw him again; but then there might not be another opportunity-indeed it was very improbable that there would be. While he hesitated, however, the matter was decided for him: the measured tread of the baronet was heard amongst the trees, and Marie's face changed at once. George bent his head. "I should like to have your opinion of the story," he said, quietly. "Perhaps you may be alone to-morrow. I could not tell it before a third person-numbers, you know, make one nervous." He stayed to exchange a few words with Sir Miles, watched him carry off the camp-stool "Stand what? There's gratitude!" "No, no, don't be silly. How would you like to be mewed up here all-day in this horrible den, with nothing to occupy you but your own thoughts--and those not of the pleasantest Burford shook his head meditatively. ""Tis the old, impetuous nature, HarryHow would I like it? Why, give me a cigar!" "Oh, come, George, that's all chaff. Now just tell me-ought I not to be able to keep out of mischief, eh?", "You ought, certainly. riously, it would materially interfere with our But Harry, seplans if Sir Miles were to catch sight of you." Plague take Sir Miles!" 66 'With all my heart; but you see it won't: "I shall go out to-morrow, George." remem "I flatter myself very prudent. I shall put on a great coat and a respirator; that, with a travelling-cap pulled down over the eyes, rather "Will make you no end of a respectable guy. Well, take your own course. I have warned you. Any letters ?" "Ah, I forgot; so there are. you in such a lawyer's clerk George?" Who writes to sort of hand, "Hand it over, and don't be inquisitive; you're faulty enough without aping feminine peculiarities. Harry! by the way, how old were you when you left that school in the north?" "Don't know. Eight-nine perhaps. Why?" "Never mind." George went on with his letters, answered them, and posted the answers himself, as he alalways did, for security. If he had seen the sorting process, he might have felt less comfortable about them; but, after all, the postmistress was very careful and very seldom broke a seal. The next day George started early on his last visit to the park. He proposed, if all went well, to finish the picture that day, and to offer it to the baronet, "As compensation for what I am doing my best to rob him of," said George, grimly. "It's wonderful what an interest I feel in the thing." As he drew near the place his pulse quickened with anxiety. "What an idiot I am!" muttered George. "It might be my own affair! No, she is not come. Suppose she should not come at all! Suppose Sir Miles-confound him!has taken some absurd crotchet into his head about me. He is stupid enough for that, or anything else. Ha!--all right, there she is!" "I must make good use of my time to-day," taking off his hat in salutation. I think there will be a change." "Will there?" "I think so." Burford made his preparations quickly, glancing down at his companion. "Ah! you have brought a book, Miss Rutherford." "Yes. I have been here half-an-hour." "Indeed! and I thought you were not come. The trees hid you." Marie blushed slightly. "Miss Bellenden is out in the park, and I thought-I did not want-" "You were afraid I would not tell my story," said George, smiling. "Shall I begin? It is not a long one." A little gesture answered him. "When I was a young manpaused. George Marie did not smile, for to her his strongly marked rugged features and the threads of silver in his hair had given him the air of a no longer young man, or, at least, old enough to speak of youth in the past tense. "Is it about yourself?" she asked. "No, Miss Rutherford, it is not. And, on second thoughts, I will not use the first person. At least I will not be my own hero. I should like you to think that I am merely reading to you from a book, if you can." Marie nodded. "The hero was then a young man and an enthusiast. He had taken up a profession, as young men sometimes do, from pure love for it -authorship, for instance-he determined to devote himself to it heart and mind, to care for nothing else; to make as it were a kind of idol of it." Again George paused as though for a reply. "That was wrong," said Marie. "I think it was. I think that nothing can justify the creature in refusing those natural ties and comforts which the Creator intended him to enjoy. But I daresay many do begin theworld with such theories of devotion; I fancy they never come to much, however. My friend was punished for his thoughtless resolution. He falsified his vow. Accident brought him into intimate acquaintance with one who was very well qualified to make him do so. Never mind who she was; he found out, however, that she was above him in the social scale. That did not cure him: he had no longer power to choquer his feelings. He kept on foolishly sinking deeper into a state of semi-happiness which he knew could not last, putting off all thought of the end, never speaking of what he felt, but lingering day after day with this one, who seemed to have become a part of his own life, so that he could not bear to be away from her. "The awakening came. Her guardian, prʊbably suspecting something of the truth, told him suddenly one evening that the treasure he had taken into his heart to live there for ever was not free; that she was engaged to a man in her own sphere--I mean her equal in the world." "Well," said Marie, speaking low. "He went away. He never spoke one word of all that he had hoped and suffered, but went away at once. No man of honour could have done otherwise; but still- are you sorry for my friend, Miss Rutherford ?" "Yes," said Marie, in the same tone. "He went about his daily work uncomplaining. Who knows? He might in time have been successful in the struggle to forget, or, at least, to conquer; but some time afterwards he met her again. Did I tell you she was rich? My friend's infatuation returned, and he gave way to it. He was even mad enough to conceive an absurd idea that she-I dislike naming my characters-did not love her promised husband. From circumstances which came to his knowledge, he believed that the engagement had been contracted when she was too young to have a voice in the matter, between her father and the lover, if lover he was. For, you see, so infatuated was my friend that he doubted even that. He nourished a wish to save her from what he believed would be a lifetime of misery, even though there was no hope for himself. Very foolish, was it not?" "Go on." 'Nay, before I go on, will you answer me one question. Allowing that all my friend's suppositions were true, how do you think the lady would act when she knew of his love?" "She could do nothing; she was bound by her promise." "Even though it had been made without reference to her wishes?" "It was made for her, and she had agreed to it. Yes, she was bound." "But, if circumstances caused the gentleman himself to release her?" "He never would release her," said Marie, wearily. George felt and believed that she was thinking of Sir Miles, and he went on. Supposing, for the sake of argument, that circumstances came to her knowledge, which, if related to him, would cause him to set her free?" "If it was right and just he should know, she would tell him." "And if (still merely for argument's sake) it involved the loss of her wealth and left her poor? Marie's face flushed and grew pale again, and her hand clasped her book nervously. "Poverty is a hard thing no doubt, but freedom would be worth the price," she said. "Well, my friend made a discovery, which nearly rendered him distracted between hope and fear, namely that the lady had not an undisputed right to her estate. He believed that she was not the legal heir, and he knew certainly that her promised husband would not marry any one, however beautiful, good, or noble, who was without the one thing he needed, property. But, then, what could he do? He was not sure of the lady's feelings, though he hoped on, of course. You would forgive a man, whose life was bound up in one object, for clinging to hope. You see, Miss Rutherford, it was necessary for him to discover the ideas of the pseudoheiress; because, if he had found out that she wished the marriage to take place, either from affection for her promised husband, or liking for his title, he would have retired at once, and borne the secret with him rather than trouble her peace. That was true love, was it not?" said George, glancing down at his companion. "Was it justice?" "Under the circumstances-which, however, you do not know fully-it was uot an offence against justice, but rather a self-abnegation. He managed in some way to have a similar case insinuated to the lady, that he might know her opinion." George stopped, and went on with his painting vigorously. "What did she say?" demanded Marie. Still George continued his work irresolutely. "Upon my word, Miss Rutherford," he said, at last, looking down at his companion again, "I don't know. That is exactly what I want to know." "What do you mean?" exclaimed Marie. getting up excitedly. "I cannot help thinking you have some object in telling me this. Am IIs there Oh, Mr. Burford, you are not trifling with me!" "As I hope for happiness for myself and for my friend Harry Sutton, I am not." "Then it is all true?" "Every word." "And-Harry Sutton?" "Remembers the Mermanrock as well as you do; and the cloak, and the setting sun which lighted up your face as you did your act of kindness." "Hush! But the rest, the strange story-Am not-? Tell me a little more clearly; quick, for I am afraid of being interrupted." George spoke quickly and imperatively. "I believe that there is a living son of your father's eldest brother, and of course he is the real heir. At present he himself is unaware of it. We have been searching out the facts for some time, but I wanted to ascertain your feelings before your cousin's suspicions were excited." "My cousin!" repeated Marie- "How strange it sounds; and I have not a near relation in the world!" "We are to find him, then, and tell him?" "Yes, yes.” "Will you keep it secret for a time, till we are prepared? It will not be long now." "Yes. I see a figure through the trees, I must go now. I cannot-do not wish to see anyone just now. They will wonder". 'It is fancy," said George. "I see nothing, One word, Miss Rutherford. Harry Sutton. my friend". "Not now," interrupted Marie, imploringly "Pray spare me; you know I am not free.' "But a word of kindness, to let him know that you are not displeased at what he has done, to show that he is not utterly forgotten." "I do think of him indeed. I cannot help it. My dear father liked him. I thank him for his kindness and his generous friendship." And Marie was gone. When Miss Bellenden came up, George was coolly putting the finishing touches to his drawing. "My work is finished," he said, "and in good time; those clouds look threatening." Miss Bellenden glanced round uneasily. "Have you seen Miss Rutherford ?" Oh, yes. Do you think Sir Miles would like this?" "I am sure he would, but"- "The foliage of that oak does not please you, perhaps?" "Yes, it does, but" "Ah, I see, you detect a little error in those distances you have a quick eye, Miss Bellenden." "You are very much mistaken if you give me credit for anything of the sort, Mr. Burford; but I thought "The madder should have been a little deeper in that shadow. There is a brightness about it which-" "How long is it since-" "I beg your pardon, Miss Bellenden: I should really be obliged for your opinion, because I intend offering the sketch to Sir Miles ; and you will be able to tell me whether you think he will like it, or if you can suggest any alterations." "I am sure he will be very much pleased with it," said Augusta, now thoroughly out of patience. How long is it since Miss Rutherford left you?" Oh, some time. Probably she has gone farther into the park. Then you think the sketch tolerably successful?" "What a conceited animal!" thought Augusta. George looked after her with a smile. "Don't think you'll overtake her now, Miss Bellenden," he muttered. I fancy I did that rather well, at the expense of my reputation for humility; and besides, I think the little heiress is by this time in her own room at Bellenden." Then the artist took himself and his sketch away. "Well, Sutton," he said, entering the little room languidly, "I have done a horribly hard day's work. Wouldn't undergo such another for Hallo! I say, what's the matter with you?" |