Countess Vera 27

Countess Vera 27

"You will never forgive me, I know, for making myself a sensation and

a town talk, Lady Clive. By to-morrow all London will ring with my

secret. Oh, the pity and shame! But I will not disgrace you further. I

shall not remain your guest any longer. To-morrow I am going away."

 

Then Colonel Lockhart speaks for the first time.

 

"You must not let her go, Nella," he says, firmly.

 

"Why?" cries out Lady Vera, startled.

 

He hesitates a moment. Why should he imbue her mind with the doubts and

fears that fill his own? And she asks again:

 

"Why should I not go away, Colonel Lockhart?"

 

"Because you will need the protection of your friends," he answers,

gravely.

 

"Do you think I am afraid of my enemies?" she asks, drawing her slight

form proudly erect, and looking very brave and beautiful. "They may

hate me as they will, but I defy them to harm me!"

 

"It is not their hatred but their love you have to fear," he answers,

significantly.

 

"Love," she echoes, regarding him blankly.

 

"Leslie Noble's love, I mean," he answers, with an effort.

 

A low and mirthless laugh ripples over her lips.

 

"I think you have mistaken me," she answers, bitterly. "He had no love

for me. Ivy Cleveland held his heart. He only married me for pity's

sake."

 

"It may have been pity, then, but it is something deeper now," Colonel

Lockhart answers, gravely. "That man means to claim you, Lady Vera. I

read it in the glances he cast upon you."

 

"Claim me!" she repeats, bewildered.

 

"For his wife," he answers, bitterly, out of the pain of his heart.

 

She starts to her feet with a little frightened cry, and flies to Lady

Clive as if for protection.

 

"No, no, he would not dare!" she pants, wildly. "I hate and despise him

too much to speak to him, even! I defy him to claim me for his wife! I

would sooner die than belong to him! And he--oh, he would not wish it!

He loved Ivy, you know."

 

"Do not pin your faith to that fact, Lady Vera," the baronet interposes

gravely. "The lady, whom he claims for his wife now is many years older

than you; she is faded, simpering, ridiculous. If he ever loved her,

she must have made him rue that folly long since. Besides, she is not

his real wife, and you are. Do not forget your great attractions, Lady

Vera. You are young, beautiful, wealthy and titled. What more natural

than that Leslie Noble should be dazzled by your manifold charms, and

desire to claim you?"

 

She regards him with absolute horror in her lovely, white face.

 

"I would die before I would suffer him to even touch me!" she cries,

indignantly.

 

"Then you must not leave us, Lady Vera," Sir Harry answers, earnestly.

"With all the prestige of your rank and wealth you are so utterly alone

in the world that my heart yearns for you as if you were my sister or

my daughter. Stay with us and let us guard you from the traps your

enemies may set for you."

 

"Stay with us," re-echoes Lady Clive, warmly, and her brother's

speaking eyes reiterate the wish.

 

But Lady Vera's gaze turns from those eyes, too dearly loved for her

peace of mind, and her heart sinks heavily.

 

"I should not trouble your peace, Lady Vera," he says, hastily, as if

divining the thought in her mind. "I am going away."

 

"I cannot drive you from your sister's house," she answers, sadly.

 

He comes to her side and takes her hand gently in his strong, warm

clasp.

 

"Be reasonable, Vera," he says, like one speaking to a willful child.

"I am a man, young and strong, and capable of facing the world. You are

scarcely more than a child, and you need protection from the ills that

threaten your tender life. You will stay with Sir Harry and Nella while

I will go away. Of course we understand that we cannot go on meeting

each other daily as we have done. It would be too hard for both. It is

best that we part. That is what you wish yourself--is it not?"

 

"Yes, yes," she murmurs, faintly.

 

"That is best," he says, bravely. "I shall go, then; Nella will have my

address, and if you ever need a friend you will send for me--will you

not, Vera?"

 

She bows silently, and with sudden, irrepressible passion, he presses

her hand.

 

"Oh, Vera, I have lost you forever, I know," he says, brokenly,

"but--you will never allow Leslie Noble's claim, will you? You will

never belong to him, never love him?"

 

"_Never_!" she answers, with all the pride of the Campbells flushing

her face and ringing in her voice.

 

"Thank you a thousand times," he exclaims. "Leslie Noble is not fit to

claim the treasure of your love, Vera. And now, tell me--you will stay

with Nella, will you not?"

 

She glances doubtfully at Lady Clive.

 

"I could not go into society, you know," she says. "I could not face

the world after--after that," and the burning crimson rushes into her

face.

 

"It shall be just as you please about that," her friend answers. "Only

say that you will remain with us, dear."

 

And Lady Vera answers:

 

"I will stay."

 

And then the first beams of the early summer dawn peep into the room in

wonder at their sad, white faces.

 

It has been hours since Lady Vera began the telling of the sad story

of her early life and her parents' bitter wrongs, and now, as she bids

them all a sad good-night, and goes to her room to rest, her heart is

breaking with the bitterness of her pain.

 

"Father," she murmurs, lifting her heavy eyes from her sleepless

pillow, "father, I have punished them for their sins, I have shamed

them in the eyes of all the world, but my own heart is broken."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVII.

 

 

"Vera, darling, Mr. Noble is in the library, and desires a private

interview with you. Here is his card. Shall I say that you will receive

him?"

 

It is several days after Mrs. Vernon's party, and Lady Clive comes

suddenly into the pink-hung _boudoir_ where the young countess is

listlessly reclining on a satin sofa with her white arms thrown up

carelessly above her head.

 

She looks like some beautiful picture, though her cheek is pale, her

lips sad, and slight, dark shadows are visible beneath her melancholy

eyes. All her beautiful dark-golden hair is arranged in a rich,

picturesque fashion on top of her head, and a few loose, curling

tendrils wander lovingly over the broad, white, polished forehead, on

which the slender, straight, black brows are so delicately outlined.

 

She wears an exquisite morning-dress of white muslin, profusely

trimmed with rich lace, and a rose-colored ribbon binds her slender

waist.

 

She starts up with a frightened cry at the words of Lady Clive.

 

"I will not see him! I will not exchange even one poor word with

him! How dare he have the audacity to come here?" she pants, growing

paler still with anger, and stamping her slippered foot on the bit of

pasteboard which she has cast indignantly upon the floor.

 

Lady Clive waits until her wrath has somewhat spent itself on the

innocent card, then argues, gently:

 

"I know it will be painful to you, Vera, but might it not be better,

just once, to receive him, and find out his business? You will

then know what course he means to adopt, and can govern yourself

accordingly."

 

Lady Vera pauses, irresolute. Her bosom heaves with quick, indignant

sighs, her dark eyes flash.

 

"You advise me to receive him--this man whom I hate and despise, Lady

Clive?" she says, wonderingly.

 

"For just once, Vera. And only _now_ that you may learn his intentions

and be on your guard against his machinations. After this time my doors

shall be closed against him as against a pestilence. But you need not

take my advice against your will, dear; use your own pleasure."

 

"You do not know how I dread to enter his presence," the girl cries,

with a shudder.

 

"Decline to see him, then," Lady Clive advises.

 

"No, I will bear it this once. I will receive him this time, but after

this, _never_!" Lady Vera answers, after a moment of painful thought.

 

"You decide well," Lady Clive comments, approvingly.

 

"He is in the library, you say," Lady Vera asks, with her hand upon the

door.

 

"Yes. Shall I accompany you, my dear, if you dread to go alone?"

 

"I am not afraid of Leslie Noble," the fair young countess answers,

dauntlessly. "I will face him alone."

 

She moves along the corridor with a free, proud step, glides down the

stairs, and flings open the library door with an unfaltering hand, and

her beautiful head held proudly, like a queen's, with defiance in her

dark and flashing eyes.

 

He is waiting for her there in the soft, semi-twilight of the luxurious

room, tall, and dark, and handsome, with eager admiration in his eyes

as they fall upon the lovely, queenly girl crowned with the dusky gold

of her luxuriant tresses.

 

She comes into the room, and he bows low and courteously before the

fair girl, who, but a few nights ago claimed him as her husband, but she does not even bend that haughty head.