"I do not care about it," with a stifled sigh. "We shall be awfully rich, Eva; but I suppose women like that sort of thing. I shall be able to buy you that diamond pendant now that you so admired."
"No, no; I do not want it; you give me too many presents. Tell me, Erle, does Miss Trafford come to see her mother, now she is ill?"
"Yes, of course; but I never see her," he answered so quickly that Evelyn looked at him in surprise. "I have not spoken to her once since Uncle Rolf"s death--the lawyers keep me so busy; and I never go into the sick-room unless I am specially invited."
"But poor Mrs. Trafford is better now."
"Yes; and Doctor Connor says that it will be better for her to be anywhere than at Belgrave House. We want to persuade her to go down to Hastings for the rest of the winter. When I see Miss Trafford, I mean to speak to her about it; but"--interrupting himself hurriedly--"never mind all that now; you told me in your letter that you wanted to speak to me particularly. What is it, Eva?" looking at her very kindly.
"Yes; I have long wanted to speak to you," she returned, dropping her eyes, and he could see that she was much agitated. "Erle, you must not misunderstand me; I am finding no fault with you. You are always good to me--no one could be kinder; but you are not treating me with perfect frankness."
"What do you mean?" he asked, astonished at this, for no suspicion of her meaning dawned upon him. "You have no fault to find with me.
Surely want of frankness is a fault?"
"Yes, but I think it is only your thought for me. You are so anxious that everything should be made smooth and bright for me, that you do not give me your full confidence, Erle"--pressing closer to him, and looking up in his face with her clear, loving eyes. "Do you think that I can love you so and not notice how changed you have been of late--how pale and care-worn? though you have tried to hide from me that you were unhappy."
He pulled his mustache nervously, but he could not answer her.
"How often I have watched for you," she continued, "when your poor uncle"s illness has detained you, and have seen you cross the square with your head bent and such a sad look on your face; and yet, when we meet, you have nothing for me but pleasant words, as though my presence had dispelled the cloud."
"And why not, Eva? do you think your bright face would not charm away any melancholy mood?" But she turned away as though not noticing the little compliment. He was always making these pretty speeches to her, but just now they jarred on her. It was truth--his whole confidence--that she wanted; and no amount of soft words could satisfy her.
"You are always good to me--always," she went on; "but you do not tell me all that is in your heart. When no one is speaking to you, I often see such a tired, hara.s.sed look on your face, and yet you will never tell me what is troubling you, dear; when we come together--when you make me your wife, will our life be always unclouded; am I to share none of your cares and perplexities then?"
He was silent; how was he to answer her?
"It would not be a true marriage," she continued, in a low, vehement tone, "if you did not think me worthy to share your thoughts. Erle, you are not treating me well; why do you not tell me frankly what makes you so unlike yourself. Can you look me in the face and tell me that you are perfectly happy and satisfied?"
"I am very fond of you; what makes you talk like this, Eva?" but his eyelids drooped uneasily, How was he to meet those candid eyes and tell her that he was happy--surely the lie would choke him--when he knew that he was utterly miserable.
"Erle," she said in a low voice, and her face became very pale, "you do not look at me, and somehow your manner frightens me; you are fond of me, you say--a few months ago you asked me to be your wife; can you take my hand now and tell me, as I understood you to tell me then, that I am dearer to you than any one else in the world?"
"You have no right to put such a question," he returned, angrily. "You have no right to doubt me. I have not deserved this, Eva."
"No right!" and now her face grew paler. "I think I have the right, Erle. You do not wish to answer the question; that is because some one has come between us. It is true, then, that there is some one dearer to you than I am?"
He hid his face in his hands. No, he could not lie to her. Was not Fay"s miserable exile a warning to him against marriage without confidence. He would have spared her if he could, but her love was too keen-eyed. He could not take her hand and perjure his soul with a lie; he loved her, but he could not tell her that she was the dearest thing in the world to him.
It all came out presently. He never knew how he told it, but the sad little story of his love for Fern Trafford got itself told at last.
Poor Erle, he whose heart was so pitiful that he forbore to tread on the insect in his path, now found himself compelled to hurt--perhaps wound fatally--the girl who had given him her heart.
Evelyn heard him silently to the end. The small white hands were crushed together in her lap, and her face grew white and set as she listened; but when he had finished, and sat there looking so downcast, so ashamed, so unlike himself, her clear, unfaltering voice made him raise his eyes in astonishment. "I thank you for this confidence; if--if--" and here her lips quivered, "we had been married, and you had told me then, I think it would have broken my heart; but now--it is better now."
"And you can forgive me, dear; you can be sorry for me? Oh, Eva! if you will only trust me, all may yet be well. I shall be happier now you know the truth."
"There is nothing to forgive," she answered, quickly; "it is no fault of yours, my poor Erle, and you were always good to me--no," as he tried to interrupt her, "we will not talk of it any more to-day; my head aches, and of course it has upset me. I want to think over what you have said. It seems"--and here she caught her breath--"as though I can hardly believe it. Will you go away now, dear, and come to me to-morrow? To-morrow we shall see how far we can trust each other."
"I must go away if you send me," he answered, humbly; and then he got up and walked to the door. He had never felt more wretched in his life. She had not reproached him, but all the color and life had gone out of her face. She had spoken so mildly, so gently to him. Would she forgive him, and would everything be as though this had never happened? "Oh, Erle, will you not wish me good-bye?" and then for a moment the poor girl felt as though her heart were breaking. Was she nothing to him after all?
At her words Erle quickly retraced his steps. "Forgive me, Eva," he said, and there were tears in his eyes; "I am not myself, you know; all this takes it out of a man." And then he stooped over her as though to take her in his arms.
For an instant she shrunk from him; then she lifted up her face and kissed him. "Good-bye, Erle," she said, "good-bye, my darling. No one will ever love you as I have loved you." And then, as he looked at her wistfully, she released herself and quietly left the room, and no one saw Evelyn Selby again that night.
The following afternoon Fern stood by the window, looking out on the white, snowy road sparkling with wintery sunlight. Her little black bonnet lay on the table beside her, and the carriage that had brought her from Belgrave House had just driven away from the door. Erle had given special orders that it was to be at Miss Trafford"s service, and every morning the handsome bays and powdered footman drew a youthful crowd round the side door of Mrs. Watkins"s. Sometimes Fern entered the carriage alone, but very often her little sister was with her.
Fluff reveled in those drives; her quaint remarks and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns often brought a smile to Fern"s sad lips.
Those visits to Belgrave House were very trying to the girl. Mrs.
Trafford used to sigh as she watched her changing color and absent looks. A door closing in the distance, the sound of a footstep in the corridor, made her falter and turn pale. But she need not have feared; Erle never once crossed her path. She would hear his voice sometimes, but they never once came face to face. Only one day Fern saw a shadow cross the hall window as she got into the carriage, and felt with a beating heart that Erle was watching her.
That very morning her mother had been speaking to her of Erle"s generosity; indeed the subject could not be avoided. "He wanted me to take half his fortune," Mrs. Trafford had said, with some emotion; "he is bitterly disappointed at the smallness of the sum I named; do you think I am right to take anything, Fern? My darling, it is for your sake, and because I have no more strength for work, and I feel I can no longer endure privation for my children."
"I think you are right, mother; it would not be kind to refuse," Fern returned, quietly; and then she tried to feel some interest in the plans Mrs. Trafford was making for the future. They would go down to Hastings for the rest of the winter--Fern had never seen the sea--and then they would look out for some pretty cottage in the country where they could keep poultry and bees, and perhaps a cow, and Fern and she could teach in the village school, and make themselves very busy; and the mother"s pale face twitched as she drew this little picture, for there was no responsive light in the soft gray eyes, and the frank, beautiful mouth was silent.
"Yes, mother," she at last answered, throwing her arms round her mother"s neck; "and I will spend my whole life in taking care of you."
She was thinking over this conversation now, as she looked out at the snow, when her attention was attracted by a private brougham, with a coronet on the panel, that stopped before Mrs. Watkins"s, and the next moment a tall girl, very quietly dressed, entered the house.
Fern"s heart beat quickly. Was it possible that it could be Miss Selby? But before she could ask herself the question, there was a light tap at the door, and the girl had entered, and was holding out both her hands to Fern.
"Miss Trafford, will you forgive this intrusion? But I feel as though we knew each other without any introduction. I am Evelyn Selby; I dare say you have heard my name from"--with a pause--"Mr. Huntingdon."
"Oh, yes, I have heard of you," returned Fern, with a sudden blush.
This was Erle"s future wife, then--this girl with the tall graceful figure and pale high-bred face that, in spite of its unusual paleness, looked very beautiful in Fern"s eyes. Ah, no wonder he loved her!
Those clear brown eyes were very candid and true. There could be no comparison between them--none!
She had little idea that Evelyn was saying to herself, "What a sweet face! Erle never told me how lovely she was. Oh, my darling, how could you help it? but you shall not be unhappy any longer!"
"Of course I knew who it was," went on Fern, gently; "you are the Miss Selby whom Mr. Erle is to marry. It is very kind of you to come and see me."
Oh, the bitter flush that pa.s.sed over Evelyn"s face; but she only smiled faintly. "Do you know, it is you who have to do me a kindness.
It is such a lovely afternoon, and you are alone. I want you to put on that bonnet again and have a drive with me; the park is delicious, and we could have our talk all the same. No, you must not refuse," as Fern colored and hesitated at this unexpected request; "do me this little favor--it is the first I have ever asked you." And Fern yielded.
That drive seemed like a dream to Fern. The setting sun was shining between the bare trees in the park, and giving rosy flushes to the snow. Now and then a golden aisle seemed to open; there was a gleam of blue ice in the distance. Miss Selby talked very quietly, chiefly of Mr. Huntingdon"s death and Mrs. Trafford"s sudden failure of strength.
But as the sunset tints faded and the gray light of evening began to veil everything, and the gas-lights twinkled, and the horses" feet rang out on the frozen road, Evelyn leaned back wearily in her place and relapsed into silence. Either the task she had set herself was harder than she thought, or her courage was failing; but the brave lips were quivering sadly in the dusk.
But as the carriage stopped, she suddenly roused herself. "Ah, are we here?" she said, with a little shiver; "I did not think we should be home so soon." Then turning to the perplexed Fern, she took her hand gently. "You must have some tea with me, and then the brougham shall take you back;" and, without listening to her frightened remonstrance, she conducted her through a large, brilliantly lighted hall and down a narrow corridor, while one of the servants preceded them and threw open a door of a small room, bright with fire-light and lamp-light, where a pretty tea-table was already set.
Fern did not hear the whispered order that Miss Selby gave to the servant, and both question and reply were equally lost on her. "Do not say I have any one with me," she said, as the man was about to leave the room; and then she coaxed Fern to take off her bonnet, and poured her out some tea, and told her that she looked pale and tired. "But you must have a long rest; and, as Aunt Adela is out, you need not be afraid that you will have to talk to strangers. This is my private sanctum, and only my special friends come here."
"I ought to be going home," replied Fern, uneasily; for the thought had suddenly occurred to her that Erle might come and find her there, and then what would he think. As this doubt crossed her mind, she saw Miss Selby knit her brow with a sudden expression of pain; and the next moment those light ringing footsteps, that Fern often heard in her dreams, sounded in the corridor.
Fern put down her cup and rose; "I must go now," she said, unsteadily.
But as she stretched out her hand for her bonnet, Erle was already in the room, and was looking from one pale face to the other in undisguised amazement.
"Miss Trafford!" he exclaimed, as though he could not believe his eyes; but Evelyn quietly went up to him and laid her hand on his arm.