Originally Published: July, 1906
Genres: Romance
Dime Novel Bibliography: https://dimenovels.org/Item/18598/Show
Gutenberg link: https://gutenberg.org/ebooks/74670
Chapters: 26
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE
“How on earth did you get up there?” And the speaker put his glass in his eye, and coolly surveyed the dainty figure perched on one of the branches of the huge elm, under which he was standing. “That is the last place I expected to find you.”
“I suppose so,” she answered composedly; for Lady Gwendolyn was never flustered or ill at ease under the most trying circumstances. “The fact is, I have had an unpleasant adventure.”
“Indeed; I am very sorry. But hadn’t you better let me help you down before we talk it over; unless you like your quarters so well that you are inclined to stay there, and, in that case, I will join you.”
“Nonsense, Colonel Dacre!” but she laughed, too. “What would Mrs. Grundy say to such an extraordinary tête-à-tête?”
“She would say that it had the merit of novelty; and, considering how tired one is of everything that has happened, and how bored at the thought of prospective repetitions, I consider that anyone who strikes out a new line for himself, and refuses to lag along in the old groove, deserves to be canonized.”
“Well, it is very nice when people will be a little original, certainly; but I am not sure that a woman dare get out of the old groove. Moreover, you men like pretty nonentities.”
“The deuce we do!” exclaimed Colonel Dacre. “Who told you that?”
“Nobody. One does not need telling things when one has eyes and ears. I have seen you dance as often as four times in one evening with Mrs. O’Hara.”
“Well?”
“Well,” echoed Lady Gwendolyn, with a superb sort of insolence, “is she clever?”
“No.”
“Refined?”
“No,” answered Colonel Dacre again.
“Or particularly good?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Then what is it that makes her the most popular woman in London?”
“Upon my word, I can’t tell you. I like her because I knew poor O’Hara.”
“And is it so pleasant to talk to her of your dead friend?” insinuated Lady Gwendolyn slyly.
“I never heard her mention her husband’s name in my life.”
“No? Really, you quite astonish me! Then you can’t like her for his sake—you must like her for her own. And I will tell you why, shall I?”
“I am all attention.”
“Well, she flatters you so skilfully that you don’t even know she is doing it, at the same time that you feel infinitely satisfied with yourself. I don’t mean you, individually, Colonel Dacre; but her acquaintances generally.”
“At any rate, no one can accuse you of a like fault, Lady Gwendolyn,” he said, with a faint smile, that showed pain as well as amusement.
“No; I am perfectly downright—too much so, Lady Teignmouth says; but then there is one thing I would scorn to do.”
“What is that?” And there was a certain eagerness in his gray eyes.
“I would scorn to trouble the peace of a happy ménage for the sake of gratifying my poor vanity.”
“And who does this thing?”
“You have a very poor memory, Colonel Dacre. Don’t you remember how well poor foolish Percy Gray got on with his wife, until—”
“Go on,” he urged.
“Well, until Mrs. O’Hara paid them a long visit in town, and then Percy began gradually to discover that Lady Maria was unsympathetic and dull, and could not satisfy a man of intellectual tastes. Perhaps Mrs. O’Hara meant no worse than to make herself agreeable to a convenient acquaintance, but the result was to separate the two.”
“I don’t think you are just, Lady Gwendolyn. What reason have you for laying their domestic differences at Mrs. O’Hara’s door?”
“Lady Maria made no mystery of it.”
“She was jealous of Mrs. O’Hara.”
“Possibly. I fancy I should have been in her place,” and Lady Gwendolyn’s eyes flashed fire. “If I had a husband, I should not exactly care for him to be always dancing attendance on a handsome widow, and making her presents of valuable jewels, especially when he bought these last with my money.”
“Did Lady Maria tell you that, too?”
“Indeed she did, and ‘albeit though not given to the melting mood,’ I cried with her, poor thing! ‘For,’ as she pathetically said, ‘we were so happy together, Percy and I until Mrs. O’Hara came to stay with us in town, and then she gave him such an exalted idea of himself that I could not please or satisfy him afterward.’”
There was a minute’s silence. Lady Gwendolyn was almost ashamed at the warmth she had shown, lest her motives should be misconstrued; and Colonel Dacre was meditating deeply. At last, he looked up and said:
“Why do you tell me all this, Lady Gwendolyn? You are not a spiteful woman naturally, and I know you to be incapable of jealousy. For these reasons, I am specially anxious to understand your meaning.”
“Can’t you guess?”
“No; unless you fancy I am in danger from Mrs. O’Hara’s attractions, and need warning.”
“I have been afraid so,” she said; and the wild-rose bloom of her soft cheeks deepened to a rich crimson. “And we have been friends so long, neighbors always, I could not bear to see you throw yourself away on a woman who was so infinitely unworthy of an honest man’s love.”
If Lady Gwendolyn had been near Colonel Dacre she would not have dared to speak so frankly. But her position, if ridiculous, had its advantages, for she was out of the range of his keen glances, and the tremulous leaves had the benefit of her frequent blushes. For over a month now she had been longing to tell him this, but the courage had only come today. She was quite obliged to Farmer Bates’ bull for having frightened her up into the tree, and she did not mean to descend just yet.
Colonel Dacre took a long time to digest her warning, but he spoke at last coolly enough.
“Thank you, Lady Gwendolyn; but though I don’t quite agree with you about Mrs. O’Hara, I would sooner shoot myself than marry her. My friend was a noble fellow and kept his counsel bravely to the end, but there was one thing that would always prevent me from falling in love with his widow.”
“What is that?”
“Because I should not like to stand in a dead man’s shoes, especially his. So, you see, I am safe, although Mrs. O’Hara has the double advantages of being a nonentity and a flatterer. Now will you let me help you down from your perch?”
“Wait just one minute. I want to ask you a very impertinent question first, if I may.”
“I grant you absolution beforehand,” he said, smiling, “on condition that you do not keep me in suspense.”
“I want to know,” she began hesitatingly, “whether if—supposing Mrs. O’Hara had not been your friend’s widow—”
“I should have cared for her?” put in the colonel, to help out her halting speech. “Is that what you mean?”
“Yes; I am so absurdly curious, and I have always wondered if—if—”
Here she came to a full stop in dire confusion, for she had been going to add, “if that is the sort of woman you would care for;” and suddenly perceived that this would not do at all.
“I’ll answer your question when you are on terra firma,” replied Colonel Dacre, dodging to catch a glimpse of the piquant face among the leaves; “this is what I call a conversation under difficulties. By the by, you forgot to tell me why you got up there at all.”
“Bates’ bull put its head over the railing and looked at my red cloak so viciously I dared not pass him. I had often climbed this tree with Reggie when I was a little girl and had managed to give Fraulein von Linder the slip, and so I thought I would try it again today, but a gown with a train is embarrassing.”
“I expect it is,” he answered, with a droll look in his handsome eyes. “I should be sorry to go about the world crippled by my clothes as you women do.”
“Oh, we don’t mind it, as a rule. One would rather suffer anything, you know, than be quite out of the fashion.”
“Would one, indeed?” he returned, in a tone of grave commiseration. “It seems to me that fashion is the greatest despot the world ever knew, but I am thankful to say it is only women who yield so servilely to its exactions.”
“Of course. One never hears, for instance, of men putting their necks into a vise, and having to turn their heads painfully for fear of accidents to the machinery. Still, if we did hear of such things, we should know it was only done for comfort, and respect them vastly for consulting their own ease before appearances.”
“I can’t argue with a lady so high above me,” retorted Colonel Dacre; and then he added, more seriously: “Indeed, Lady Gwendolyn, you ought to come down. I can see the Handley drag in the distance, and you know Sir Charles would tease your life out of you if he caught you in such a predicament as this.”
“I suppose he would, and therefore I must return to conventional life again. But you have no idea how pleasant it is up here; the air is so pure, and the leaves smell so sweet. I’ll get Teignmouth to arrange me a little place in one of his big trees, à la Robinson, so that I may retire there for contemplation and self-examination occasionally.”
“Or, rather, say to read your billets doux, and keep a close calculation as to the number of hearts you have broken,” said Colonel Dacre, with a sternness in his voice that showed this trifling, butterfly nature—as he believed it to be—angered as well as charmed him. “I fancy that would be nearer the truth.”
Without answering him, Lady Gwendolyn began to work her way slowly along the bough on which she had been seated. She found it a very different performance in cold blood from what it had been under the excitement of fear and felt herself tremble nervously.
She was terribly incommoded by her dress into the bargain. If Colonel Dacre had not been there she would have gathered her train over her arm, and let her ankles take their chance; but under the circumstances this would not have done, and she had to proceed circumspectly, as became the daughter of a hundred earls.
Knowing nothing of her difficulties, and seeing the Handley drag draw nearer and nearer, Colonel Dacre kept urging her on eagerly. Sir Charles was a great gossip, and it was quite as well he should not have an opportunity of making mischief out of Lady Gwendolyn’s escapade.
“You really must be quick,” he urged; “the horses are turning Borton corner.”
“But don’t you think I should pass unobserved if you were to get away from the tree?” observed Lady Gwendolyn timidly.
“Impossible. Your red cloak must have been a feature in the landscape for some time past. You had better leave it where it is, to account for what they have seen, and if you are very quick, we shall be able to hide ourselves before they get on high ground again.”
“That’s all very well, but—”
“Shall I give you a little help?”
“Not for worlds! I would rather stay here all night.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you are laughing at me in your sleeve. You did not see the bull’s great glaring eyes.”
“If you had made him a present of your cloak he would have been so taken up with his toy that you would have been able to make your escape in a legitimate way.”
“That’s all very well, but I really can’t afford to throw my clothes away in that fashion. I have come down to Teignmouth on purpose to economize, because I exceeded my allowance last year, and my brother had to help me through. Now he is married he has to pay his wife’s debts, and, of course, I am left out in the cold; so I am obliged to be horribly careful, you see. Teignmouth says I ought to make three hundred pounds a year do, but then you men never understand what heaps of things a woman wants.”
“Exactly,” groaned her listener. “A man must have ten thousand pounds nowadays before he can afford the luxury of a wife, and then he’s ruined half the time. But pray look where you are going, Lady Gwendolyn. I am sure that branch on which you are stepping is rotten and unsafe.”
“It bore me before.”
“And, therefore, is less likely to do so again. I can hear it crack now—for mercy’s sake step back!” he shouted, in a frightened tone.
She seemed to enjoy his alarm and laughed defiantly. She desired nothing better than to make him suffer a little; and she saw, by his anxious face, that he was suffering now—from a nervous dread of witnessing some catastrophe, no doubt. She put her other foot onto the rotten branch. He was watching her with his heart in his eyes; but he saw that his warning had been a mistake, and was silent now, hoping she would try to redeem her error if she were left to herself.
And so she did, but it was too late. The bough gave a loud creak, then broke off suddenly, and Lady Gwendolyn fell in a brilliant heap at Colonel Dacre’s feet.
The red cloak, her pretty summer hat, and her long black hair were all in such a tangle together that he could not find her face at first, and even when he did he was afraid to look, lest the fatal beauty, which had been the curse of so many, was all spoiled and disfigured. An unholy thought sped through him, that, if it were so, there would be none to dispute with him the treasure he coveted. But he chased this away with contumely.
With a quick but reluctant hand, he swept away the shining masses of her hair and looked at her anxiously. She was as white as a lily; but if there was no more harm done than what he saw, she would break many more hearts yet—his own maybe among the rest.
He bent his lips almost to her ear; inhaling, with passionate delight, the faint perfume that pervaded her dress.
So far it had been a wonderful privilege to hold her hand for a few seconds in his; and now he might have touched her creamy cheek with his lips had he been so minded, and no one would have been the wiser, for the Handley wagonette had gone by, and there was not a living soul in sight.
It was a great temptation, for he had loved this girl secretly, madly, entirely, for two long years, and had suffered tortures of jealousy and hopelessness meanwhile.
If she would only come to herself! He did not think she could be much injured, as she had not fallen from any great height, but still, she did not open her eyes, and he was so totally inexperienced in fainting fits, that her perfect immovability frightened him.
He almost wished now that he had hailed the Handley people as they went by, although he was so jealously glad to have her all to himself. He wondered what he ought to do. He had heard of eau de Cologne being an excellent thing under the circumstance, but then he did not carry it about with him. He put his hand in his pocket mechanically as the idea occurred to him, and came upon his silver hunting-flask. His face brightened at once. He was sure he had also heard of brandy as a remedy, and what a merciful thing he had some by him. He supposed it was to be applied externally, like the eau de Cologne. Going down on his knees beside the insensible figure, he moistened his handkerchief with the spirit, and then bathed Lady Gwendolyn’s forehead and nostrils; and whether it was that brandy so applied really was a good thing, or that the fainting fits was ending naturally, the girl’s white eyelids began to twinkle, and suddenly she looked up at him with a languidly mysterious smile.
He stooped over her tenderly.
“Are you better, Lady Gwendolyn?”
“Have I been ill, then?” she asked.
“Oh, dear, no!” he answered cheerfully, having always understood that you must keep your patient’s spirits up. “Just a little faintness, that was all. Nothing of the smallest consequence.”
“How do you know that?” she returned. “I believe I have broken my leg.”
“Oh! pray, don’t say that. You only fell from a very short distance, after all, and your feet were not doubled under you, or anything of that sort. You don’t feel any pain, do you?”
Lady Gwendolyn shook her dark, disheveled head in a despondent way.
“That is what I do feel, and I am sure I could not walk home.”
“I never dreamed of your doing such a thing. If you don’t mind waiting here—”
She interrupted him with a cry of dismay.
“So close to Bates’ bull?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said penitently and then stood pulling at his mustache—a way he had when puzzled or annoyed.
At last, he added hesitatingly:
“My house is close here, and if you would not mind my carrying you there, Mrs. Whittaker, the housekeeper, would be able to attend to you until the doctor came. I cannot think of any better plan at this moment; and, of course, I shall not enter the Hall until I have fetched Lady Teignmouth. It is ridiculous to trouble about conventionalities at such a time, Lady Gwendolyn when the least neglect or delay might cause you to be a cripple for life. Are you not of my opinion?”
“Quite,” she replied, with a strange gleam as of suppressed triumph in her beautiful eyes. “Only that I am afraid you will find that the burden laid upon you is heavier than you can bear.”
“We shall see,” he said, lifting her in his stalwart arms as easily as if she had been a child. “Would you mind putting your arm round my shoulder, just to steady yourself?”
Lady Gwendolyn obeyed him with the simplicity that is always such perfect breeding; and when Colonel Dacre looked down at the creamy cheek resting on his shoulder and felt the warm coil of her arm round his neck, he could hardly resist the mad temptation to press her against his heart, and tell her again and again how he loved her—so passionately that he would have deemed the world well lost for her sweet sake.
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