CHAPTER XLI.

Lenore sat in her dainty room, her long golden hair flooding her

white shoulders, her fair face reflected in the Venetian mirror with

its edging of antique work and trimming of lace. Not even a Venetian

mirror could have desired to hold a fairer picture; youth, beauty, and

happiness, smiled from its surface. The rich, delicately curved lips

smiled to-night, with an ineffable content, and serene satisfaction.

There was a latent gleam of triumph in the violet eyes, eloquent

of triumph and victory. She had conquered; the desire of her life

was nearly within her grasp; two days--forty-eight hours--more and

Leycester Wyndward would be hers. An ancient name, an historic title,

an immense estate were to be hers. To do her justice at this moment,

she thought neither of the title nor the estate; it was of the man, of

the man with his handsome face, and musical voice, and _debonnaire_

manner that she thought. If they had come and told her, there where she

sat, that it had been discovered that he was neither noble nor rich,

she would not have cared, it would not have mattered. It was the man,

it was Leycester himself, for whom she had plotted and schemed, and she

would have been content with him alone.

Even now, as she looked at the beautiful reflection in the mirror, it

was with no thought of her own beauty, all her thoughts were of him;

and the smile that crossed the red lips was called up by no spirit of

vanity, but by the thought that in forty-eight hours, the wish and the

desire of her life would be gratified.

In silence the maid brushed out the wealth of golden tresses, of which

she was almost as proud as the owner herself; she had heard a whisper

in the servants' hall, but it was not for her to speak. It was a rumor

that something had happened to Lord Leycester, that he had not returned

yet, and that one of the wild fits, with which all the household were

familiar, had seized him, and that he was off no one knew where.

It was not for her to speak, but she watched her beautiful mistress

covertly, and thought how quickly she could dispel the smile of

serenity which sat upon the fair face.

Quiet as the wedding was intended to be, there was necessarily some

stir; the society papers had got hold of it, and dilated upon it in

paragraphs, in which Lenore was spoken of as "our reigning beauty,"

and Leycester described as the son of a well-known peer, and a man of

fashion. Quite an army of upholsterers had been at work at the house

in Grosvenor Square, and another army of milliners and dressmakers

had been preparing the bride's _trousseau_. A pile of imperials and

portmanteaus stood in the dressing-room, each bearing the initials "I,"

with the coronet.

One or two of the Beauchamps, the present earl and a brother--together

with three young lady cousins, who were to act as bridesmaids--had been

invited, and were to arrive the following evening. Certainly there

must be some slight fuss, and Lenore, as she thought of Leycester's

absence, ascribed it to his dislike to the aforesaid fuss, and his

desire to escape from it.

The maid went at last, and Lenore, with a happy sigh, went to sleep.

At that time Leycester was pacing the beach at Carlyon, and Jasper

and poor Frank were lying dead. Surely if dreams come to warn one of

impending trouble, Lady Lenore should have dreamed to-night; but she

did not. She slept the night through without a break, and rose fresh

and beautiful, with only twenty-four hours between her and happiness.

But when she entered the breakfast-room, and met the pale, anxious face

of the countess, and the grave one of the earl, a sudden spasm of fear,

scarcely fear, but apprehension, fell upon her.

"What is the matter?" she asked, gliding to the countess, and kissing

her.

"Nothing--really nothing, dear," she said, attempting to speak lightly.

"Where is Leycester?" she asked.

"That is it," replied the countess, pouring out the coffee, and keeping

her eye fixed on the cup. "The foolish boy hasn't returned yet."

"Not returned?" echoed Lenore, and a faint flush came into her face.

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know, my dear Lenore, and I cannot find out. He didn't tell

you?"

Lenore shook her head, and fastened a flower in her dress with a hand

that quivered faintly.

"No. I did not ask him. I saw him go."

"Was he on foot, or riding?" asked the earl.

"On foot," said Lenore. "He was in his shooting clothes, and I thought

he was going for a walk on the hills."

The earl broke his piece of toast with a little irritable jerk.

"It is annoying," he said. "It is extremely inconsiderate of him,

extremely. To-day, of all others, he should have remained at home."

"He will be here presently," said Lenore, calmly.

The countess sighed.

"Nothing--of course nothing could have happened to him."

She merely made the suggestion in a suppressed, hushed, anxious voice.

Lenore laughed--actually laughed.

"Happened to him, to Leycester!" she said, with proud contempt. "What

could have happened to him? Leycester is not the sort of man to meet

with accidents. Pray do not be uneasy, dear; he will come in directly,

very tired, and very hungry, and laugh at us."

"I give him credit for better manners," said the earl, curtly.

He was angry and annoyed. As he had said to the countess before Lenore

came in, he had hoped and believed that Leycester had given up this

sort of boyish nonsense, and intended to act sensibly, as became a man

who had settled to marry.

There was a moment's pause while the earl buttered his toast, still

irritably; then Lady Wyndward said almost to herself--

"Perhaps Lilian knows?"

"No," said Lenore, quickly, "she does not, or she would have told me. I

saw her last night the last thing, and she did not know he was out. Do

not tell her."

The countess glanced at her gratefully.

"She would only be anxious and fret," said Lenore. "While I am not, and

shall not be," she added, with a smile. "I am not afraid that Leycester

has run away from me."

She looked up as she spoke, and flashed her beauty upon them, as it

were, and smiled, and the mother felt reassured. Certainly it did not

seem probable that any man would run away from her.

She herself felt no fear, not even when the morning grew to noon and

the noon to evening. She went about the house superintending the

packing of the multitudinous things, arranging the epergnes, playing

the piano even, and more than once the light air from the French opera

floated through the room.

Lord Beauchamp and the rest of the visitors were to arrive about seven,

just in time to dress for dinner, and the stir that had reigned in the

house grew accentuated as the time approached. Lenore went to her room

at six to dress; she meant to look her best to-night, as well indeed

as she meant to look on the following day; and her maid knew by the

attention which her mistress had paid to the wardrobe that every care

would be expected from her ministering hands. Just before she went to

her room she met the countess on the stairs; they had not seen very

much of each other during the day; there was a great deal to do, and

the countess, notwithstanding her rank, was a housekeeper in something

more than name.

"Lenore," she said, then stopped.

The beauty bent over from her position on a higher step and kissed her.

"I know, dear--he has not come yet. Well, he will be here by

dinner-time. Why are you so anxious? I am not."

And she laughed.

It certainly encouraged the countess, and she even called up a smile.

"What a strange girl you are, Lenore," she said. "One would have

thought that you, before all of us, would have been uneasy."

Lenore shook her head.

"No, dear; I feel--I feel that he will come. Now see if my prophecy

comes true."

And she went up the stairs, casting a serene and confident smile over

her shoulder.

"I will wear that last blue dress of Worth's, and the pearls," she said

to her maid, and the girl started. The dress had just arrived, and was

supposed to be reserved for future London triumphs.

"The last, my lady?"

Lenore nodded.

"Yes; I want to look my best to-night; and if I were not afraid of

being thought too pronounced, I would wear my diamonds."

The girl arranged the beautiful hair in its close curls of gold, and

fastened the famous pearls upon the white wrists and round the dainty

throat; and Lenore surveyed herself in the Venetian mirror. A smile of

satisfaction slowly lit up her face.

"Well?" she said, over her shoulder.

"Beautiful," breathed the girl, who was proud of her mistress's

loveliness. "Oh, beautiful, my lady! but isn't it a pity to wear it

to-night?"

Lenore shook her head.

"I would wear a better if I had it," she said, softly. "Now go

down-stairs, and tell me when Lord Leycester returns."

The girl stared and then smiled. After all then they had been worrying

themselves about nothing; her ladyship had received a message from him

and knew when to expect him! She went down and crowed over them in the

servants' hall, and watched for Lord Leycester.

Seven o'clock chimed from the stables, and the carriage that had been

sent to meet the guests returned. Lord Beauchamp was a tall, stately

old gentleman who hated traveling as he hated anything else that gave

him any trouble or inconvenience, and the rest were tired and dusty,

and generally pining for soap and water. The earl and countess met them

in the hall, and in the bustle and fuss Leycester was not missed.

"Do not hurry, Lord Beauchamp," said the poor countess. "We will make

the dinner half-past eight," and she wished in her heart that she could

postpone it altogether; for Leycester had not come.

"What shall we do--what shall we do?" she exclaimed, as the earl stood

at her dressing-room door with his coat in his hand.

"Do!" he retorted. "Go on without him. This comes of humoring an only

son till he develops into a lunatic. Poor Lenore! I pity her!" and he

went out frowning.

"He has not come, my lady!" murmured the maid, entering Lenore's room a

few minutes afterwards. "Lord Beauchamp's party have arrived, but Lord

Leycester has not come."

Lenore was standing by the open window, and she turned with a sudden

smile. The sound of horse's feet had struck upon her ear.

"Yes, he has," she said. "He is here now," and she closed the window

and sat down calmly.

Leycester rode into the courtyard on the horse that he had borrowed

from the doctor, and, throwing the bridle to a groom, ascended the

stone steps and made his way through the hall.

Excepting some of the servants, there was no one about, they had all

gone to their dressing-rooms, and he went up the stairs in silence and

uninterrupted. With bent head and dragging step, for the long vigil and

hours of excitement had told upon him, he stood before Lilian's room.

It was worthy of notice that in this awful coming back of his he went

to her first, as a matter of course, and knocking gently, went in.

It was dark, and the lamp was burning softly, but she, accustomed to

the dim light, saw plainly that something had happened.

"Leycester!" she exclaimed. "Why--how is this, dear? Where have you

been all day and all last night? You did not come to me and----" she

stopped as he sat down beside her and put his hand upon her head. The

hand was burning hot, his face was white and haggard and worn, and yet

in some way strangely peaceful, with a far-away, dreamy expression upon

it--"Leycester, where have you been?"

He bent and kissed her.

"Lil," he said, and there was a great peace in his voice though it was

weary and husky, "you will be a brave good girl while I tell you!"

"Ah, Leycester!" was all she murmured.

"Well, Lil, I have found her--I have got her back--my poor Stella."

Her hand closed on his, and her delicate face went white as ivory.

"Got her back!"

"Yes," he said, in low tones. "I have found out the mystery--no, not I.

It was solved for me by a mightier hand than any human one--by Death,

Lil."

"Death, Leycester! She is not dead! Oh, Stella--Stella!"

"Heaven forbid," he breathed. "No, no; she is alive, though fearfully

near death still. I left her lying white and still and weak as a broken

lily--my poor, sweet darling!--but she is alive, thank Heaven!--she is

alive! And now can you bear to hear what separated us, Lil?"

"Tell me," she said.

Sitting there, with her loving, sympathizing heart beating against

his, he told her the strange story. Sobs, low and moving, broke from

her as he told of the boy's death, and an awful chill fell on her as

he spoke as shortly as he could of the fate that had befallen Jasper

Adelstone; but when he came to speak of that short damning note that he

had found--that note in the hand-writing of Lenore, and hinted at her

share in the conspiracy--the gentle heart grew cold and terrified, and

she hid her face for a moment, then she looked up and clasped her hands

round his neck.

"Oh, Ley, Ley! deal gently with her! Forgive her! We all need

forgiveness! Forgive her; she did it out of her love for you, and has

suffered, and will suffer! Deal gently with her!"

He bit his lip, and his brow darkened.

"Ley, Ley!" the gentle creature pleaded, "think of her now waiting for

you, think of her who was to be your wife. She loved you. Ley, she

loves you still; and that will be her punishment! Ley, you will not be

hard with her!"

Her prayer prevailed; he drew a long breath.

"No, Lil," he said, in a low voice, "I will not be hard with her. But

as for love! True love does not stand by and see its beloved suffer

as I have suffered; not true love. There is a passion which men libel

by calling love--that is what she has borne for me. Love! Think of

her? Yes; I will think of her; but how am I to forget my beautiful,

suffering darling, lying so white and wan and broken," and he hid his

face in his hands. Presently he rose and kissed her.

"I am going to her," he said. "Do not fear! I have given you my word; I

will deal gently with her."

She let him go without another word, and he went straight to Lenore's

sitting-room, travel-stained and haggard, and unrefreshed.

The maid heard his knock, and opened the door, and passed out as he

entered and stood in the middle of the room. There was a faint rustle

in the adjoining room, and then she came floating toward him in all her

loveliness, the faint, ethereal blue making her white skin to shame the

rare and costly pearls. She was dazzling in her supreme loveliness,

and at any other time he would have been moved, but now it was as if

a deadly, venomous serpent, glorious in its scaly beauty, lay coiled

before him.

She came forward, her hands outstretched, her eyes glowing with a

passionate welcome, and then stopped. Not a word passed for a moment;

the two, she in all her costly attire and loveliness, he in his stained

cord suit and with his haggard face, confronted each other. She read

her doom at a glance, but the proud, haughty spirit did not quail.

"Well?" she said at last.

Chivalrous to the last, even in this moment, he pointed to a seat,

but she made a gesture of refusal and stood, her white hands clasped

tightly, her head erect, her eyes glowing. "Well? You have come back?"

"Yes, I have come back, Lady Lenore," he said, his voice dry and hoarse.

She smiled bitterly at the "lady."

"You are late," she said. "Was it worth while coming back?"

It was a proud and insolent question, but he bore with her.

"I came back for your sake," he said.

"For mine!" and she smiled incredulously. She could smile still, though

an icy hand was closing round her heart, and wringing the life blood

out of it.

"For yours. It was not fitting that you should hear from other lips

than mine that from this hour you and I are as far apart as pole from

pole."

She inclined her head.

"So be it. There is no appeal from such a sentence. But may I ask you

to explain; dare I venture so far?" and her lip curled.

"Do you think you dare?" he said, sternly.

She inclined her head, his sternness struck her like a blow.

"You have come to tell me, have you not?" she said. "Where have you

been?"

"I have come from Carlyon," he said.

"From whom?"

"From the girl from whom your base scheming separated me," he said,

sternly.

"Ah," she breathed, but her eyes opened with a wild stare. "You--you

have gone back to her?"

He waved his hand.

"Let there be no word of her between us," he said; "your lips shall not

profane her name."

She turned white and her hand went to her heart.

"Forgive me," he said, hoarsely. Had he not promised to deal gently

with her? "I have not come to utter reproaches--I came to shield you,

if that were possible."

"To shield!--from what?" she demanded, in a low murmur.

"From the consequences of your crime," he said. "What that is, I have

only learnt to-night; but for a chance accident the world would know

to-morrow that Lady Lenore Beauchamp had stooped so low as to become

the accomplice of Jasper Adelstone in a vile conspiracy."

She waved her hand.

"He dare not speak. I defy him!"

Leycester held up his hand.

"He is beyond your defiance," he said--"Jasper Adelstone is dead!"

She made a gesture of contemptuous indifference.

"What is that to me?" she said, hoarsely. "Why do you speak to me of

him or any other man? Is it not enough that I have failed? Have you

come to gloat over me? What is it that you want?"

He thrust his hand in his breast, and drew forth the note.

"I have come to restore this to you," he said. "I took it from the dead

man's bosom--took it to save your reputation. The story it told me I

have heard in fact from the lips of the girl you have plotted against

and wronged. It is at her bidding that I am here--here to save you from

scandal, and to cover if possible your retreat."

"At her's--at Stella Etheridge's?" she breathed, as though the name

would choke her.

He waved his hand.

"You will leave this house to-night. I have made all arrangements

necessary, and you will start in an hour's time."

She laughed discordantly.

"And if I say I will not?"

He looked at her sternly.

"Then I will tell the story to my mother and you shall hear your

dismissal from her lips. Choose!"

She dropped into a chair, and made a gesture of scorn.

"Tell whom you please," she said. "I am your affianced wife, my people

are under your roof at this moment; go to them and tell them that you

have deserted me for a low-born girl!"

He turned and strode to the door; but ere he had reached it the

reaction had come. With a low cry, she flew to him and sank at his

feet, her hands clasped on his arm, her face upturned with an awful

imploration.

"Leycester, Leycester! Do not leave me! Do not go! Leycester, I was

wrong, wicked, base, vile; but it was all for you--for you! Leycester,

listen to me! You will not go! Do not fling me from you! Look at me,

Leycester!"

He did look at her, lovely in her abandon and despair, and then averted

his eyes; it horrified him to see her so low and degraded.

"You will not look at me!" she wailed; "you will not! Oh, Heaven! am

I so changed? am I old, ugly, hideous? Leycester, you have called

me beautiful a hundred--a thousand times; and now you will not look

at me! You will leave me! You shall not; I will hold you like this

forever--forever! Ah!"--for he had made a movement to disengage

himself--"you will not hurt me! Yes; kill me, kill me here at your

feet! I would rather die so than live without you. I cannot, Leycester!

Listen, I love you; I love you twenty thousand times better than that

wretched girl can do! Leycester, I will give my life for you! See, I am

kneeling here at your feet! You will not spurn me, you cannot repel me!

Leycester! oh, my darling, my love! do what you will with me, but do

not spurn me! Oh, my love, my love!"

It was piteous, it was awful, to see and hear her, and the strong man

trembled and turned pale, but his heart was stone and ice toward her;

the white, wan face of his darling came between them, and made the

flushed, passion-distorted face at his feet seem hideous and repellant.

"Rise!" he said, sternly.

"No, no; I will not," she moaned. "I will die at your feet! Leycester,

you will kill me! I have lost all for your sake, pride and honor, and

now my fair name, for you cannot shield me; and you will thrust me

aside. Leycester, you cannot! you cannot! Oh, my love, my love, do not

spurn me from you!" and still on her knees, she bent her head upon his

arm, and poured a storm of passionate, broken kisses upon his hand.

That roused him. With an exclamation of abhorrence, he threw her grasp

off, and stood with his hand on the door.

She sprang to her feet, and, white and breathless, looked at him as if

she would read his soul; then throwing her hands above her head, she

fell to the ground.

He stood for a moment or two bending over her, thinking her senseless,

but it was simply mental and physical exhaustion, and when he strode to

the bell, she opened her eyes and held up her hand to stop him.

"No," she murmured. "Let no one see me. Go now. Go!"

He went to the door, and she rose and supported herself against a chair.

"Good-bye, Leycester," she said. "I have lost you--and all! All!"

It was the last words he heard her utter for many and many a year.