CHAPTER IX.

"ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE."

"I believe my faith in thee

Strong as my life, so nobly placed to be;

I would as soon expect to see the sun

Fall like a dead king from his height sublime,

His glory stricken from the throne of time,

As thee unworth the worship thou hast won."

Love found Dainty sitting in a large double swing out in the grounds,

gently swaying to and fro, and with the fragment of a little song on her

rosy lips as she waited for him to join her there.

As the beautiful face turned confidingly to his, Love knew that the

sudden love-light in her eyes was reflected from her heart, and that he

could not possibly have a rival in her affections.

When Dainty saw the pale, agitated face of her lover, she started in

alarm, and the sweet song died on her lips as she exclaimed:

"Oh, Love, what is the matter? Are you ill, that you look so frightfully

pale?"

Love took the swinging seat opposite her, and with an effort at

calmness, answered:

"Do not be frightened, darling. I am not ill. Only very, very angry."

"With me?" she faltered, in dismay.

"Certainly not, dear little one!" he cried, tenderly; continuing with

sudden vehemence: "I am angry with the schemers who are trying to part

us from each other, darling."

"You mean Olive and Ela," she cried, quickly, the rose-bloom fading from

her dimpled cheeks and her sweet mouth trembling as she sighed: "Oh, I

knew that we were too happy for it to last and that something would

happen! There was a shadow on my heart. That was why I was singing, as

you came up:

"'All that's bright must fade,

The brightest, still the fleetest,

All that's sweet was made

To be lost when sweetest;

Flowers that bloom and fall,

Buds that blight in springing,

These, alas! are types of all

To which our hearts are clinging.'"

"What a little pessimist you are, Dainty! Always turning your face to

the darker side of life!" cried her lover, somewhat impatiently; adding:

"Nothing shall happen to part us, my own little love; though if your

aunt and cousins had their way, we would never see each other's face

again. Listen, Dainty. They have told me falsehoods about you--that you

had left a lover in Richmond; that he has followed you here, and has

been sending you notes to meet him in the grounds."

"Shameful!" she cried, indignantly. "How could they be so wicked!"

"And," continued her lover, crumpling the letters into a ball and

throwing them into her lap, "they gave me these notes to read, saying

you had dropped them, and a servant had brought them to your aunt."

Dainty smoothed out the sheets and glanced at them calmly.

"Oh!" she cried comprehensively. "And did you read them, dear?"

"Certainly not! I could not stoop so low. Besides, I had perfect

confidence in you, my dearest," he cried tenderly.

"Oh, Love, how noble you are to me! But your trust is not misplaced. I

can explain all about these notes; so please read them now," said the

young girl, earnestly, smoothing them out and holding them open before

his eyes.

He read, with much amazement, the following notes in a neat, masculine

chirography:

"DEAR LITTLE DAINTY,--Will you meet me down at the gate

about sunset? I have something very particular to say

to you. I know your good heart will make you grant me

this small favor. Do not fail me.

"Yours, wretchedly,

VERNON."

"MY CRUEL DARLING,--Is it possible you can refuse my

earnest prayer for one short interview? Oh, how you

have changed since you left Richmond! Yet such a little

while ago you swore you loved me as dearly as I loved

you, and promised to marry me in December. I see how it

is--that rich Ellsworth is winning you away from me.

Oh, my love, I can not bear to lose you! Life would be

worthless, even unbearable, if you forsook me now! Oh,

let me see you once, just once, and you can not resist

my pleadings! I curse the hour that your rich aunt

tempted you from love and duty! Oh, return to your

better self--come to me, dear! I will be waiting at

the gate just at twilight. When you see me, you will

repent that cold letter breaking our engagement. Come,

oh, come, my love; my heart is breaking for you!

"Despairingly,

VERNON."

Love finished the reading, and looked up in amazement at Dainty's calm

face.

She gave him a sweet, reassuring smile as she said:

"The case certainly looks dark against me, does it not, Love?"

"Yes," he replied, somewhat uneasily, in spite of his faith.

"And yet I can explain it all," she returned, happily; adding: "This

Vernon Ashley was Ela Craye's lover. They were engaged; but Vernon is

only a poor man, a stenographer in a bank, and when Aunt Judith invited

her here, she heartlessly threw him over, hoping to catch a richer

husband. He followed her to Ellsworth, and sent the first little note to

me, begging me to ask Ela to grant him an interview. I asked her, but

she refused in scorn; and when I carried him her refusal, he sent her

this note of love and reproach. He also told me he would stay in the

neighborhood several days, hoping she would relent. That is the true

story, and if you wish to verify it, Love, you can easily find Mr.

Ashley at Caldwell Station, and he will settle all your doubts."

"I have never had a doubt of you, my darling," he answered, bending

forward to kiss her tenderly, as he continued: "But what shameful

duplicity to deceive my step-mother with this false story, for I am sure

she believed every word she was telling me! But never mind; I will get

even with Miss Craye, be sure of that, Dainty. And now I have to tell

you of another story. It is said that you have hysterical spells every

night, declaring that you are haunted by the mythical old monk, with the

consumption. Is this true?"

Instantly the fair, rosy face became pale and downcast, and Dainty

shuddered as if an icy blast had swept over her lissom form.

"Oh, who has told you this?" she cried, regretfully.

"The story was told Mrs. Ellsworth by Sheila Kelly. Is it true?" he

demanded, earnestly; and the girl bowed her golden head sorrowfully,

faltering:

"Oh, do not be angry with me, Love, but it is true!"

"True? Then why have you kept it from me?" he cried.

"Oh, Love, they told me you always grew angry when you heard anything

about the Ellsworth ghost. They warned me that you would never forgive

the mention of it. But I can not tell you an untruth. Since you ask me,

I must own everything, and take the bitter consequences."

She bowed her fair face in her little white hands, and her form shook as

with ague, in spite of the heat of the July weather.

"Since I came to Ellsworth," she cried, "there has never been a night

but I have been tortured by the sight or sound of that old sick man. In

the dead of night I have felt his cold, clammy hand on my brow, and

wakened, sobbing with fright, sometimes to see his dark form fading from

sight, and the echo of his hollow cough ringing in my horrified ears.

Yet that Sheila Kelly, on her cot across the room, slept heavily on and

heard nothing. What secret agonies I have nightly endured only the

angels can ever know, Love; but I bore it all rather than incur the risk

of your anger and contempt. They had told you I was a coward, and I was

trying to be brave, and not to tell you--to tell you--"

Her voice broke in a storm of choking sobs, and her lover caught her to

his breast in a passion of sympathy.

"My own brave darling! How much you have endured, like a patient little

martyr, without complaint! Yet I feel sure it is nothing but your too

vivid imagination. You have heard the silly stories from the servants,

and you dreamed the rest while stolid Sheila Kelly slept on unconscious.

But this must not go on. I shall write to your mother to come to

Ellsworth to stay with you until our wedding; and then, please God, you

will forget, in the shelter of my love, all these nervous fancies."

"Our wedding!" she sobbed, bashfully, against his breast.

"Yes, darling, our wedding; for it must be very soon. I have never told

you yet, love, that by the terms of my father's will I must marry on or

before my twenty-sixth birthday, or forfeit my fortune to my

step-mother."

"What a strange will!" she cried, forgetting her terrors in simple

wonderment.

"Yes; my father had some peculiar notions. One of them was a rooted

belief in the necessity, or expediency, of early marriages; and to

insure my obedience to his wish, he framed his will in the fashion he

did. But he was a good man, and I am not quarreling with his plans; for

I would gladly get married to-day if you were willing, my precious

girl," declared Love, kissing her as a fitting period to his sentence.

Dainty made no answer. She was fluttering with girlish timidity at

thought of the early marriage he was threatening. She said to herself:

"I love him dearly, but I am afraid I shall not like to be married

soon. I have not enough dignity to look like a married lady."

Unconscious of her girlish fears, Love continued, fondly:

"The first day of August is my twenty-sixth birthday, and we must be

married on that day, my darling."

"Oh, I--" she began; but he stopped the objection with a kiss.

"You are going to say you can not get ready so soon; but you need not

make many preparations, love. I want you to wear my mother's

wedding-dress; it is so beautiful--a white brocade, veiled in costly

lace. And we will be married at Ellsworth. That will be better than

going back to the hot city for a wedding--do you not think so? Oh, I

intend to have everything my own way, sweet; and so I shall write to

your mother to-day to come at once to Ellsworth."

"But Aunt Judith--and the girls? They will be fearfully angry," she

whispered, tearfully.

"Yes, they will be very angry, I grant you. But Ellsworth belongs to me,

so they will have to behave or leave; and I fancy they will choose the

former part. Now come with me to your aunt and cousins, and see how

cleverly I shall pay them out for their meanness. Don't tremble so, my

timid little love."

And taking her hand, he led her back to the house, to a long,

vine-wreathed veranda, where the three ladies were sitting together.

Mrs. Ellsworth had just told them of Love's betrothal to Dainty, and

they frowned when the happy lovers came among them hand in hand.

Love placed Dainty in a chair, then turned to his step-mother.

"Madame, Dainty has explained to my satisfaction the story you told me

just now. One of these notes was written to her, the second one to Miss

Craye, who will not deny that Vernon Ashley is her lover, and that

Dainty only acted the part of a friend in trying to reconcile the

estranged lovers."

If a bomb had exploded at her feet, Ela could not have been more

startled than at his bold charge.

She started, and paled to an ashen hue, flashing a malevolent look at

Dainty, and cried threateningly:

"How dared you tell?"

"It was true," the young girl answered, dauntlessly.

"I deny it!" muttered Ela; but every one could read her guilt in her

abashed face.

"How dare you tell such falsehoods on Ela?" stormed Mrs. Ellsworth to

Dainty; but her step-son frowned angrily.

"Madame, I will not permit such disrespect to my betrothed. This is my

roof, and every one beneath it shall respect her position. Let me add

that Vernon Ashley is staying at the station still, hoping that Miss

Craye will relent, and recall him to her side. If you need corroboration

of the truth, send for him here, and he will tell you how heartlessly

Miss Craye threw him over before she left Richmond," the young man

answered, indignantly; and Ela, unable to bear the fire of their

glances, rose, and hurried away to her room, while the others remained

silent, nursing bitter hatred to fever-heat in their hearts, the proud

Mrs. Ellsworth blaming Dainty most unjustly for her deserved

discomfiture, and registering a secret vow of deadly vengeance.