Originally Published: January 2, 1902
Genres: Romance
Dime Novel Bibliography: https://dimenovels.org/Item/671/Show
Gutenberg link: https://gutenberg.org/ebooks/74270
Chapters: 29
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
“AT LAST I HAVE MET MY FATE.”
“How ridiculously provoking you can be, Harold!”
“I do not think my remarks are ridiculous, Elaine.”
“Your society is decidedly unpleasant when your conversation takes this morbid strain,” replied Lady Elaine Seabright.
“I only asked you a natural question, darling,” said Sir Harold Annesley, an anxious light in his blue eyes. “I am your accepted lover—your future husband.”
“And in consequence, my life is to be made a burden to me!” the beautiful Elaine exclaimed, pettishly.
“Heaven forbid. Every moment of my waking thoughts shall be devoted to the happiness of my peerless darling!” He pressed her to him in sudden rapture.
“Harold, you foolish fellow, I wish that you were less demonstrative. The people on the lawn will see us. I am sure that Papa is looking this way!”
“No, no! We are safe in this bower of beauty,” laughed Sir Harold.
He pressed another kiss upon her ripe lips and thanked Heaven in his heart for the great gift of this girl’s love.
Two short months before, neither dreamt of the other’s existence. Sir Harold had just returned from an exploring expedition, and his name was mentioned in the papers. He was eulogized for his bravery in forcing a passage to some outlandish place in Africa, and at the risk of his life rescuing a well-meaning but foolish missionary. He had been away from home for five long years, and it was hoped that he would now stay in England for good. He represented a grand old line; he was young, handsome, and wealthy. With all these advantages, it is easy for a man to become popular anywhere.
Lady Elaine Seabright had read this item of news with languid interest and immediately forgot it. A week later it again recurred to her, for at the county ball she found herself being introduced to Sir Harold Annesley.
She thought that she had never before seen so perfect a man, and he remarked to his companion, Colonel Greyson, an hour later, that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world.
“Did I not tell you so, Mr. Skeptic?” laughed the colonel. “Lady Elaine has carried all hearts by storm from the hour she was launched upon society. She has had a score of lovers.”
Sir Harold sighed and echoed: “A score of lovers!”
“Yes; all hearts that beat in manly bosoms pay homage to the most beautiful girl in England. But she has come scathless out of the ordeal, and is free as air after two seasons.”
“I am glad of it,” replied Sir Harold; and Colonel Greyson smiled, meaningly.
“Why should you be glad?” he said. “Why should you be glad? A confirmed woman-hater! Beware, Sir Harold!”
The young baronet blushed.
“I am not ashamed to tell you, old friend, that with me it is love at first sight. I have never loved before; I have never breathed words of love into any woman’s ear. At last, I have met my fate.”
“Go in and win, my boy. You are worthy of any woman,” the colonel said; then he looked away, adding, “This pleasure is only tempered with one regret.”
“One regret, colonel? I do not understand you. Be frank with me, as you have ever been, my more than father.”
“Boy, are you not aware that your cousin Margaret loves you? I believe that she has worshiped you from her very childhood.”
A shade of annoyance passed over Sir Harold’s face, but it immediately brightened again.
“Of course, Margaret loves me in a cousinly—a sisterly way, but it is nothing more, colonel, I assure you. Besides, I could not marry Margaret Nugent if she were the only choice left to me. I believe that it is wrong for cousins to marry.”
Just then he caught sight of Lady Elaine, and he had eyes for none else.
“Come,” said Greyson, “we must not hide in this recess like a pair of conspirators. You are the lion of the evening, Sir Harold, and people will be inquiring for you.”
They left the conservatory, and a deep sigh, that was almost a sob, fluttered in the scented air. From behind a mass of sub-tropical plants emerged the figure of a woman—young and exquisitely beautiful—a woman with a face that would have sent Titian into ecstasies of delight. She was of medium height, and her form was outlined in graceful, rounded curves. There was not an angle or a movement to offend the eye of an artist. Her face was oval, her lips red and full, her eyes dark and luminous, her hair as black as the raven’s wing. Among the coils of these matchless tresses was a red rosebud; about her snowy throat a necklet of rubies, and her dress was of amber silk.
“He could not marry Margaret Nugent if she were the only choice left to him!” she murmured, her white hands tightly clinching themselves. “And is it for this I have loved and waited all these weary years? Oh, Harold! how can you be so cruel? You have been my ideal—my king! More precious than my hopes of heaven! And now—oh, God, I cannot stand it!”
She sank into the lounge that the gentlemen had just left, and covered her eyes with her hands, while her lovely bosom rose and fell with the bitter pangs of her emotion.
The merry strains of the waltz were maddening, and the laughter of the happy people in the brilliantly illuminated ballroom made only more apparent her own misery.
“He has met his fate in Lady Elaine Seabright, and I had thought him all my own!” she continued, inaudibly. “I have never liked my proud and haughty friend, and I now hate her with an undying hatred! She shall not take from me the man I love! If she does, I swear to fill her life with bitterness equal to that which I suffer now!”
Her eyes had grown black, and flashed gleams of fire; her tiny hands were clinched, and her beautiful form swelled with fury. In that brief space, Margaret Nugent had changed from a warm-tempered, imperious girl to a determined and revengeful woman.
Just then someone touched the keys of the piano, and sang the words of a song that haunted her forever:
“Alone in crowds to wander on
And feel that all the charm is gone,
While voices dear, and eyes beloved,
Shed round us once, where’er we roved—
This, this, the doom must be
Of all who’ve loved, and loved to see
The few bright things they thought would stay
Forever near them, die away.
Though fairer forms around us throng,
Their smiles to others all belong,
And want that charm that dwells alone
Round those the fond heart calls its own.
Where, where the sunny brow?
The long-known voice—where are they now?
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain—
The silence answers all too plain!
Oh! what is fancy’s magic worth,
If all her art cannot call forth
One bliss like those we felt of old
From lips now mute and eyes now cold?
No, no—her spell is vain—
As soon could she bring back again
Those eyes themselves from out the grave,
As ask again one bliss they gave.”
Margaret Nugent clutched at her heart, gasping: “I will not lose him—I will never give up my hero-king!”
Again the voice of the singer rose:
“Alone in crowds to wander on,
And feel that all the charm is gone.”
“I shall go mad!” murmured Margaret. “Can I get out into the moonlight unobserved? The cool air will soothe my throbbing brain.”
She looked back into the ballroom and saw Sir Harold Annesley talking to Lady Elaine Seabright. Lady Elaine’s flower-like face was turned up to him laughingly, and Margaret Nugent shivered.
She turned, and gliding from the conservatory, almost reeled into the vine-wreathed piazza beyond, clutching at the wall for support.
Even here she could not be alone, for a recumbent figure started up from a low seat, saying, in anxious tones:
“Dear Miss Margaret, are you faint? I have just come out myself to escape the heat. Can I get you a glass of water?”
“No, thank you, viscount,” replied Margaret. “I am already better—much better. The heat is stifling.”
“Would you prefer to be alone, Miss Margaret?” went on Viscount Rivington, “or will you stroll with me in the moonlight for a few minutes? It is lovely out here, and we shall not be missed now.”
He spoke with a tinge of bitterness in his tones. Margaret looked at him sharply.
“I understand—” she said, gently, yet with a thrill of satisfaction in her heart, “I understand. Lady Elaine is as capricious as usual; Lady Elaine seeks new worlds to conquer!”
He laughed bitterly.
“Sir Harold is the social lion tonight. Everyone bows to him,” he said, “but I will not have him come between me and the woman I worship, Miss Nugent!”
He turned suddenly upon her.
“You love your cousin—you love Sir Harold. Nay, how could I help but read your secret when my own heart is torn with jealous fears? I could curse the fate that brought him here tonight. Lady Elaine had promised to consider my suit; her father, the earl, was pleased to welcome me as a favored lover; but now I am extinguished!”
He glanced vengefully toward the gleaming windows just as two people in the room beyond paused to drink in the beauty of the moonlight. The brilliant lights behind them made every movement distinct.
“See!” Viscount Rivington whispered. “There they are, Miss Nugent—the woman I love and the man whom you covet. Are we to stand idly by while all that life holds dear drifts away?”
“No!” she said, and their eyes met. They understood each other.
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