Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall Part 44

There! you know how I feel toward your English-French-Scottish beauty.

Curse the mongrel--" She halted before the ugly word she was about to use; but her eyes were like glowing embers, and her cheeks were flushed by the heat of anger.

"Did you not promise me, Dorothy, that you would not again allow yourself to become jealous of Queen Mary?" I asked.

"Yes, I promised, but I cannot prevent the jealousy, and I do not intend to try. I hate her, and I love to hate her."

"Why should you hate her?" I asked. "If John remains true to you, there is certainly no cause for you to hate any one. If he should be untrue to you, you should hate him."

"Hate him?" she exclaimed. "That, indeed, is pretty reasoning. If he should be untrue to me, I should of course hate her. I could not hate him.

I did not make myself love him. I would never have been so great a fool as to bring that pain upon myself intentionally. I suppose no girl would deliberately make herself love a man and bring into her heart so great an agony. I feel toward John as I do, because I must; and I hate your Scottish mongrel because I must. I tell you, Malcolm, when she comes to Rutland, if I hear of her trying any of her wanton tricks on John there will be trouble--mark my words!"

"I ask you to promise me this, Dorothy: that you will do nothing concerning John and Queen Mary without first speaking to me."

She paced across the room angrily. "I promise you nothing, Malcolm, save that I shall not allow that woman to come between John and me. That I promise you, on my oath."

Dorothy continued to shed her luminous smiles on Leicester, though she was careful not to shine in the queen's presence. My lord was dazzled by the smiles, and continually sought opportunities to bask in their dangerous light. As a result of this smiling and basking the great London heart-breaker was soon helplessly caught in the toils of Doll, the country maiden. She played him as an angler plays a trout. The most experienced court coquette could not have done the part better than did this girl, whose knowledge of the subject was wholly intuitive, for her life had all been spent amid the green hills and groves of Derbyshire. She so managed the affair that her father should see enough of Leicester's preference to keep alive in Sir George's mind the hope for the "Leicester possibility."

Those words had become with her a phrase slyly to play upon.

One afternoon when the sun was graciously warm and bright, I induced Madge to walk with me upon the terrace, that I might for a few moments feel the touch of her hand and hear her whispered words. We took a seat by a large holly bush, which effectually concealed us from view. We had been there but a few moments when we heard footsteps approaching. Looking between the branches of the holly bush I saw Dorothy and Leicester coming toward us from the north end of the terrace. Dorothy's eyes were cast down demurely, and her head hung in the att.i.tude of a shy, modest girl, who listens timidly to words that are music in her ears. Never have I seen an att.i.tude more indicative of the receptive mood than that which Dorothy a.s.sumed toward Leicester.

"Ah," thought I, "poor John has given his heart and has risked his life for the sake of Doll, and Doll is a miserable coquette."

But there was conduct still more objectionable to come from Dorothy.

Unconscious of our presence, Leicester said, "My fair beauty, my Venus, here is a settle under this holly bush, well hidden from prying eyes. It invites us. Will you sit here with me for one happy moment, and give me a taste of Paradise?"

"I fear I should not sit with you, my lord, however much I--may--may wish to do so. My father or the queen might observe us." The black lashes fell upon the fair cheek, and the red golden head with its crown of glory hung forward convincingly.

"You false jade," thought I.

"I ask for but one moment," pleaded Leicester. "The queen sleeps at this time after dinner, and perhaps your father would not object if you were to grant this little favor to the first n.o.bleman of the realm."

"You do not know my father, my lord. He is very strict regarding my conduct," murmured the drooping head.

"I ask for but one little moment," continued the earl, "in which to tell you that you have filled my heart with adoration and love."

"I should not listen to you, my lord. Were I mindful of my happiness, I should return to the Hall at once," said the drooping lashes and hanging head.

"You lying wench," thought I. By that time I was thoroughly angered.

"Only one little moment on the settle," pleaded Leicester, "that I may speak to you that which I wish so ardently to say."

"Can you not speak while we walk, my lord?" asked Dorothy.

I felt a bitter desire to curse the girl.

"It is difficult for me to speak while we walk," said Leicester, cautiously taking the girl's hand; so she permitted him to lead her to the settle under the holly bush, on the opposite side of which Madge and I were sitting.

The earl retained the hand for a moment after he and Dorothy were seated, but she gently drew it away and moved a little distance from his Lordship.

Still, her eyes were drooped, her head hung low, and her bosom actually heaved as if with emotion.

"I will tell John of your shamelessness," I said to myself. "He shall feel no more heartaches for you--you wanton huzzy."

Then Leicester poured forth his pa.s.sion most eloquently. Poesy, verse, and rhetoric all came to help him in his wooing. Now and then the girl would respond to his ardor with "Please, my lord," or "I pray you, my lord," and when he would try to take her hand she would say, "I beg you, my lord, do not." But Leicester evidently thought that the "do not" meant "do," for soon he began to steal his arm about her waist, and she was so slow in stopping him that I thought she was going to submit. She, however, arose gently to her feet and said:--

"My lord, I must return to the Hall. I may not longer remain here with you."

The earl caught her hand and endeavored to kiss it, but she adroitly prevented him, and stepping out into the path, started slowly toward the Hall. She turned her head slightly toward Leicester in a mute but eloquent invitation, and he quickly followed her.

I watched the pair walk up the terrace. They descended the steps to the garden, and from thence they entered the Hall by way of the porch.

"Was it not very wicked in Dorothy to listen to such words from Leicester?" asked Madge. "I do not at all understand her."

Madge, of course, knew only a part of what had happened, and a very small part at that, for she had not seen Dorothy. Madge and I returned to the Hall, and we went at once to Dorothy's room, hoping to see her, and intending to tell her our opinion of the shameless manner in which she had acted.

Dorothy was in her room alone when we entered. She clapped her hands, ran to the door, bolted it, and bounded back toward us.

"I have the greatest news to tell you," she cried laughingly,--"the greatest news and the greatest sport of which you ever heard. My lord Leicester is in love with me."

"Indeed, that is very fine," I responded; but my irony met its usual fate.

She did not see it.

"Yes," continued Dorothy, br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with mirth, "you should have heard him pleading with me a few moments since upon the terrace."

"We did hear him," said Madge.

"You heard him? Where? How?" Her eyes were wide with wonder.

"We were on the opposite side of the holly bush from you," I answered. "We heard him and we saw you."

"Did you? Good. I am glad of it," said Dorothy.

"Yes, we saw and we heard all, and we think that your conduct was shameless," I responded severely.

"Shameless?" demanded Dorothy. "Now pray tell me what I did or said that was shameless.".

I was at a loss to define the wrong in her conduct, for it had been of an intangible quality which in itself was nothing, but notwithstanding meant a great deal.

"You permitted him to hold your hand," I said, trying to fix on something real with which to accuse her.

"I did nothing of the sort," said Dorothy, laughingly. "He caught my hand several times, but I withdrew it from him"

I knew she spoke the truth regarding her hand, so I tried again.

"You--you hung your head and kept your eyes cast down, and you looked--"

"Oh, I hung my head, I cast down my eyes, and I looked?" she answered, laughing heartily. "Pray let me ask you, Master Fault-finder, for what use else are heads and eyes made?"

I was not prepared to say that the uses to which Dorothy had put her head and eyes were not some of the purposes for which they were created. They are good purposes, too, I admit, although I would not have conceded as much to Dorothy. I knew the girl would soon wheedle me into her way of thinking, so I took a bold stand and said:--