Marion Arleigh's Penance Part 2

"I was saying to Allan yesterday how sorry I am that he ever came to Miss Carleton's. What do you think he said?"

"I cannot tell," replied Miss Arleigh, her beautiful young face flushing as she spoke.

"He said, ah! that he would rather love you unhappily than be blessed with the love of a queen; he would rather look upon your face once than gaze for years on the loveliest of all created women. How he worships you! Are all men of genius destined to love unhappily, I wonder?"

"Is he so very unhappy?" asked the young lady, sadly.

"Yes; I do not believe he knows what peace or rest is. He never sleeps or enjoys himself as other people do."

"Why not?" asked the girl, to whom this flattery was most sweet and pleasant.

"His life is one long thought of you. If you were poor, he would not mind; there would be some hope of winning you; he would not let any other barrier than riches stand before him--that is one that honorable men cannot climb."

"I do not see it," said Miss Arleigh.

"Because you do not know the world. You are so n.o.ble in mind yourself, you do not even understand want of n.o.bility in others. Do you not know that there are many people who would pretend to love you for the sake of your fortune?"

"I wish I had no fortune," said the young girl, wistfully. "How shall I know, Adelaide, when any one loves me for myself?"

"When they are, like Allan, willing to die rather than to own their love; willing to suffer everything and anything rather than be suspected of fortune-hunting."

"No one could suspect your brother Allan of that."

"No one who knows him. But, Miss Arleigh, what would your guardian, Lord Ridsdale, say--what would Miss Carleton say--if Allan went to them, as I know he wants to do, and asked permission to work for you, to try and win you? Listen to me--I am telling you the truth. They would not be content with insult, with dismissing him ignominiously, but they would mar his future. You do not know the power vested in the hands of the rich and mighty. An artist must court public opinion, and if one in the position of Lord Ridsdale was his determined enemy and foe, he could expect nothing but ruin."

"That is not fair," said the heiress, thoughtfully.

"Then again, if you were to tell Miss Carleton, she would dismiss my brother, she would complain of him, she would ruin him as completely as it was in human power to do so. The world is not generous; it is only n.o.ble souls that believe in n.o.ble souls. Such people as those would always persist in considering Allan a fortune-hunter and nothing more."

All of which arguments Miss Lyster intended to impress upon her pupil's mind, for this one great object of keeping Allan's wooing a secret. If that could be until Miss Arleigh was twenty-one, and then she could be persuaded into marrying him, their fortunes were made.

That was her chief object. She knew Miss Arleigh was naturally frank, open and candid; that she had an instinctive dislike of all underhand behavior; that she could never be induced to look with favor on anything mean; but if the romance and generous truth of her character could be played upon, they were safe.

She had the gift of eloquence, this woman who so cruelly betrayed her trust. She talked well, and the most subtle and clever of arguments came to her naturally. Her words had with them a charm and force that the young could not resist. Let those who misuse such talents remember they must answer to the Most High G.o.d for them. Adelaide Lyster used hers to betray a trust, that ought to have been held most sacred. She cared little how she influenced Marion's mind. She cared little what false notions, what false philosophy, what wrong ideas, she taught her, provided only she could win her interests, her liking and love for Allan.

CHAPTER IV.

Miss Carleton had been with her young ladies for a promenade--people less elegant would have said for a walk--Miss Carleton rejoiced in long words. "Young ladies, prepare for a promenade," was her daily formula.

They had just returned, and Miss Arleigh missed Adelaide Lyster.

"Why did not Miss Lyster go out with us today?" she asked of another governess.

"She complained of headache, and seemed quite out of spirits," was the reply.

Marion hastened to her; she was of a most loving disposition, this motherless girl--tender and kind of heart, and there was no one for her to love--no father, mother, sister or brother; she was very rich, but quite alone in the world. She hastened to Miss Lyster's room, and found that young lady completely prostrated by what she called a nervous headache.

"You have been crying, Adelaide," said Marion. "It's no use either denying it or turning your head so that I cannot see you. What is the matter?"

"I wish you had not come here, Marion. I did not want you to know my trouble."

"But I must know it," and the girl's arms were clasped around her. She stooped down and kissed the treacherous face. "I must know it," she continued, impetuously; "when I say must, Adelaide, I mean it."

"I dare not tell you--I cannot tell you, Miss Arleigh. It would have been well for my brother had he never seen your face."

"You have heard from him, then--it is about him?" and the fair face flushed.

"Yes, it is about him. I have had a letter from him this morning. He says that he must give up his appointment here and go abroad--that he cannot bear the torture of seeing you; and if he does go abroad, I shall never see him again."

The lips that had been caressing her quivered slightly.

"He is all I have in the world," continued the governess; "the only gleam of light or love in my troubled life. Oh, Marion! if he goes from me--goes to hide his sorrow and his love where I shall never see him again--what will become of me? I am in despair. The very thought of it breaks my heart."

And Miss Lyster sobbed as though she meant every word of it. The heiress bent over her.

"What can I do to help you? I am so sorry, Adelaide."

"There is only one thing you could do," replied the other, "and I dare not even mention it. My brother must die. Oh, fatal hour in which he ever saw the beauty of that face!"

"Tell me what the one thing is, Adelaide. If it is possible, I will do it."

"I dare not mention it. It is useless to name it. Men like my brother throw their genius, their life and love, under the feet of girls like you; but they meet with no return."

"Tell me what it is," repeated the other, her generous heart touched by the thought of receiving so much and giving so little.

"If you would but consent to see him--I know you will not, but it is the only means of saving him--if you expressed but the faintest shadow of a wish, he would stay; I know he would."

Marion hesitated.

"How can I interfere?" she said. "How can I express any such wish to him?"

"I knew you would not. That is why I did not care to tell you my trouble. Why should you--so rich, so happy, so beautiful--why should you interest yourself in the fate of people like us? My brother is a genius, not a lord."

"I wish," cried the girl, impatiently, "that you would not be always talking to me about my riches. I cannot help them. You make me wretched.

It is not because I am rich that I hesitate--how absurd you are, Adelaide!--but because your brother is a stranger to me, and I have no right to interfere in his life."

"Is that all? I fancied you considered him so far beneath you. Genius is G.o.dlike, but it is not money. Ah, Marion, if that be all, save him!

Save him! He is all I have in the world! He is so young, so sensitive, so clever, so proud, you could influence him with half a word. If you said to him, 'Stay,' he would remain, though kings and emperors should summon him. Will you see him, and say that one word, Marion, for my sake?"

It was very pleasant to know that one word from her could influence the life of this great unknown genius; very pleasant to believe that she was loved so dearly, so entirely, that even an emperor could not take the man who worshiped her from her side. It seems weak that she should so easily believe. Insight gives one a false estimate of her character; but there are many things to be considered before judging her. She was romantic in the highest degree; she was all idealty and poetry. She had no idea of the realities of life; she had the vaguest possible idea that there was wickedness in the world, but that ever deceit or treachery should come near her was an idea that never entered her romantic mind.

She was too old to be at school; had her mother been living, she would have been removed from there. She would have had friends and admirers, her love and affection would have found proper objects, and the great calamity of her life would have been averted. Heaven help and guide any foolish, romantic girl left without the guidance of mother or friend!

She thought nothing of the impropriety of meeting the young artist unknown to any one. She remembered only the romance of it--a genius, a handsome young genius was dying for love of her, for her sake; he was going away, to leave home, friends and country, going to die in exile, simply for love of her; to lay down all the brilliant hopes of his life, to give up all his dreams, all his plans, because he found her so fair he could no longer live in her presence. Before she made any further remark she began to think whether any of her favorite heroines had ever been in this delightful situation, and how it was best to behave with a genius dying for her. She could not remember, but she knew there were innumerable instances of queens having loved their subjects--to wit, the stately Elizabeth and Ess.e.x. She, in the eyes of this poor artist and his sister, was a queen--it would not hurt her to stoop from her high estate. She turned her fair, troubled face to the astute woman by her side.

"Even if I could do him any good by seeing him," she said, "how could it be managed?"