The Senator's Favorite

CHAPTER XVII.
"HAD I BUT MET YOU FIRST."

 
"But cruel fate that shapes our ends,
Dark doom that poet love attends,
The fate unhappy Petrarch sung
In fair Italia's burning tongue;
Such fate as reckless tears apart
The tendrils of the breaking heart,
From every prop where it would twine,
That cruel fate, alas, is mine,
For love of you!"
 

—Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.

Lovers and poets rave of voices so dear and sweet that they can call one back almost from the borders of the grave.

Perhaps there is some little truth in those romantic ravings.

Precious Winans had been lying back as mute and still as some marble image of a dead maiden, but those frenzied caresses, those sobbing whispers, "My love! my darling!" sent the warm blood bounding sweetly through her veins once more and her eyes opened with a dazed expression.

She saw Lord Chester's face bent close to hers with actual tears in the splendid eyes, and her lips seemed to burn with his kisses. Wildly she struggled out of his arms.

"How dare you kiss me?" she half moaned, trying to be angry.

"Forgive me, Precious, I thought you were dead and it almost drove me mad. Do you not remember the dreadful rattler? I sucked the poison from the wound, but I must take you home at once and send for a physician, although I do not believe there can be any danger. Can you lean on me, dear child—little sister that is to be—and let me lead you to the house?"

His passion had changed to remorseful gentleness, and drawing her arm through his he conducted her to Earle and Norah, who were horrified at learning of the accident. Precious was taken to her room and a physician summoned.

But beyond the shock and fright Precious suffered no ill effects from the rattlesnake's venom. Lord Chester's measures had been quick and effectual, declared the village doctor.

But Precious kept her room all day, with Norah near at hand, and only came down at night when Earle begged her to sit awhile with Lord Chester while he went on an errand to the village.

Lord Chester was sitting on the long piazza, watching the beautiful moonlight as it silvered the landscape with its opal gleams.

He went to meet the girl, and placed her in a chair where the full flood of moonlight shone on her marvelous beauty. But he saw that she shrank and trembled at his nearness.

"You are angry with me," he said humbly, sorrowfully.

"I owe you my life for the second time. For that I must be grateful," she murmured faintly.

"Yet you despise me—because I dared—almost fearing you dead—to press one kiss on your lips."

"You had no right," she faltered, holding her golden head quite proudly; then, almost inaudibly: "You belong to Ethel."

There was ineffable sadness in the subdued voice—sadness and struggling pride. He whispered thrillingly:

"Yes, Precious, I am not forgetting your sister's claim. Before I saw you I loved her, but the moment I gazed on your face—ay, the mere sight of your portrait—turned my heart from her to you. No, let me speak, for I am not disloyal to Ethel. I mean to keep the troth I plighted her when I realized that my honor stood pledged to her. But to-day I was weak, wicked, if you will, for my heart o'er-leaped control when I met you again. In my love and grief I went mad over you. But will you forgive me? Will you let me keep that kiss as a precious memory in the long years when I shall see you no more? For, dear, I shall marry your sister and try to give her my heart. Our home will be far away, in another clime, and I shall pray Heaven that I never see your face again—the sweet face that lured me from queenly Ethel! But, oh, love, if I had met you first, ere the mournful river sang, 'Too late! too late!'" and turning quickly from her he went out into the shadows of the night.

CHAPTER XVIII.
A MADCAP'S PRANK

 
"They warned me that you were a terrible flirt,
And bade me beware of your wiles,
But rashly I thought to escape any hurt
'Neath the charms of your treacherous smiles.
No doubt it is sport honest love to betray—
And I dare say it adds to your fame;
Some day you'll repent and own that to play
With men's hearts is a dangerous game."
 

—J. Ashby Sterry.

While Lord Chester was fighting his hopeless passion alone out in the dusk and dew of the summer night, his friend Earle was undergoing in the village an experience not entirely dissimilar.

Aura Stanley was peeping through the parlor blinds, watching to see if her saucy rival next door had any callers. She murmured curiously:

"Ladybird must be having a party to-night, there are so many people going in—only they all seem to be men."

Curiosity overcame Aura's prudence, and stealing into the Conways' gate she hid herself in the screen of vines over the pretty bay window looking into the parlor.

She peered curiously through the lace curtains, and barely escaped betraying herself by a loud cry.

She beheld in the pretty little parlor thirteen young men—Ladybird's "baker's dozen" of lovers—some sitting, some standing, some conversing, but all with an uneasy air of expectancy.

"What can they want, all together?" she mused curiously.

At that moment Ladybird entered and stood smiling among her guests.

Never had the bewitching little fairy looked more charming.

She wore a soft white gown in the empire style, her exquisite neck and arms half-bared and gleaming through ruffles of fine white lace.

At her waist was a bunch of white and purple lilacs, breathing the sweetness and freshness of the spring. Her only ornament was a light gold chain with a small heart-shaped locket.

Aura's jealous gaze, devouring her lovely, piquant rival, saw in the dainty dimpled hand a bundle of letters, at which she glanced smilingly as she spoke:

"How good and sweet of you all to come as my messenger asked you. But I know you're all wondering why I asked you to come at the same time."

A husky murmur came from several throats, and Aura saw that they were all getting secretly uneasy.

Ladybird continued in a demure little voice that trembled with repressed laughter, like the music of an unseen brook in leafy June:

"I am the laziest girl in the world, gentlemen—that is part of the explanation. To-day I received thirteen letters—one from each of you—and each begging for the favor of an immediate reply. Only think of the labor of writing so many answers on a warm spring day! So I thought it would be easier to reply to them personally."

Oh, the tremor of the demure voice, with its ripple of hushed laughter, the childish diablerie of the amber eyes beneath their long curling lashes of golden brown!

But there seemed to be a general uneasiness among her guests as they stood about, listening to the little siren.

She went on calmly, with lowered lids and a rising flush:

"I have here thirteen proposals of marriage—one from each of you. It is most flattering to me, for I esteem you all. You are all heroes except Mr. Winans," with a naughty bow in Earle's direction. "I like you all, but there is only one Ladybird, so twelve of you must be disappointed."

Aura Stanley, from her ambush, heard twelve distinct sighs, and shook with envious rage.

"The simpletons!" she muttered. "Why don't they go home? Can't they see that she is just turning them into ridicule to please her wicked vanity?"

But surprise and curiosity combined kept Ladybird's lovers standing like statues awaiting the end.

"I wish now that only one of you had jumped in the river to save me yesterday!" cried Ladybird wistfully. "Then I would have accepted the hero's offer. Now there's only one way out of my dilemma."

At their surprised looks the willful girl smiled entrancingly and murmured:

"You shall all draw lots for me. Mr. Gray, your hat, please. See, here are thirteen slips of paper—one with my name, and twelve blank. You may each draw one slip. Marriage is a lottery, I've often heard, so this may turn out as well as any."

It was ridiculous, farcical, but the mischievous elf seemed in such positive earnest that twelve of her adorers entered smilingly into the spirit of the novel lottery.

Not so with Earle Winans. He stood aloof, amazed, insulted, his eyes flashing.

"There remains only one slip," Ladybird said in a tremulous voice, and she looked at him.

Earle had drawn near to the door. He turned his angry eyes on her fair wistful face, and his glance expressed cold contempt.

"I beg your pardon. I decline," he said haughtily.

"As you please," she answered coolly, and turned over the remaining strip.

It bore her own name!

When Earle saw that he started forward as though to retract his rash words and win her yet.

But Ladybird had already turned her back on him, and shrugging her willful shoulders she laughed:

"The prize is left in the bottom, like the evils in Pandora's box."

"Ah, but the lottery wasn't fair, since Mr. Winans refused to draw. Let us try it over again!" cried Mark Gwinn eagerly.

"Very well," she answered lightly, but the mirth had gone out of her voice. It was low and tremulous, for Ladybird knew now she was vanquished by those grim sisters, the Fates.

They tried again, and the slip with her name fell to Jack Tennant.

"I am the most fortunate man in the whole world!" cried the winner with beaming eyes.

Ladybird laughed merrily and cried out quickly:

"But there is a condition attached to the prize that I forgot to mention at first. It is that you will have to wait ten years for me!"

"Ten years is an eternity!" he exclaimed remonstratingly.

"You think so?" she cried saucily. "Then I will not hold you bound to marry me."

"But I shall hold your promise, Ladybird, for I would wait twenty years for such a prize!" protested the young man gallantly.

Every one laughed except Earle Winans. He bowed coldly to his hostess and withdrew from the room.

The others followed quickly, and the last sound they heard was Ladybird's gay laughter as she cried out mockingly:

"I invite you all to my wedding with Mr. Tennant ten years hence!"

They were gone, but Aura lingered, waiting to see what the whimsical little madcap would do next; no doubt, though, she would laugh at her victims.

But Ladybird staggered to a sofa and fell upon it with her face hidden on her arm. Then a low grieved sob broke the stillness of the room that had so lately echoed her mocking laughter.

She had humiliated Earle Winans, punished him as she had vowed to do in her childish resentment. But was the triumph sweet?

Aura thought not as she saw the white shoulders heaving with a storm of smothered sobs.

"She threw Earle's heart away, and now she is sorry," thought Aura, and fled back to her home somewhat comforted by the thought that all was over between Earle and Miss Conway. She would try to win him now herself while he was angry with the pretty coquette.

Earle was indeed very angry as he walked slowly toward his own home, leaving the twinkling village lights behind him in the distance.

He had received such a cruel shock that he could not tell whether he loved or hated Ladybird most.

With a heart full of love he had written to her that morning, asking leave to call that evening for the answer she had promised when he asked her to wear his ring.

She had answered with one simple little word: "Come."

"And I went for—what?" he growled furiously to himself; "to be made a fool of with a dozen other idiots—puppets that she pulled with a string!" and he gnashed his white teeth in rage.

But he knew that he had had his triumph, too. He had seen her quail momentarily at his proud refusal. He knew that she was wounded.

"She could not bend Earle Winans' proud spirit, and that will be a thorn in her pillow to-night," he laughed harshly.

He sat down inside the Rosemont grounds and bared his feverish brow to the cool, fragrant night. In the stillness a whip-poor-will called from a thicket in its eerie voice, and another replied so near at hand that he started with an uncanny thrill.

"I shall get the dismals if I stay here," rising impatiently. "Heigho! I wish I had never come to Rosemont, never met this romantic little maiden with her silly love-tests and her abominable coquetries! Well, I am done with her forever. But what would my friends all say if they knew that Earle Winans had been vanquished by a little village beauty? And how am I to keep it from Lord Chester?"

He flushed hotly out there in the dark, for he detested ridicule.

"I must swear Chester to secrecy," he decided. "Ah, how I wish I had never come down to Virginia! I'll leave here to-morrow, and go abroad again in a week. That is," with a start, "if I am alive to-morrow."

For he had suddenly remembered that at sunrise to-morrow he was to fight a duel with pistols with Jack Tennant, who had declined to apologize for his hasty blow at the picnic.

CHAPTER XIX.
"THE WOMAN I LOVED AND THE MAN THAT WAS ONCE MY MORTAL FOE!"

 
"What pulls at my heart so?
What tells me to roam?
What drags me and lures me
From chamber and home?"—Goethe.
 

Ladybird Conway, our little "April's lady," wept disconsolately some time upon the sofa after Aura Stanley had glided away. Her willful prank had not succeeded as she expected, and her young heart was very heavy.

"Oh, how could Earle treat me so coldly?" she sobbed. "I hate all the others—silly things. And I wouldn't marry Jack Tennant to save his life."

She heard the gate-latch click, then a masculine step on the porch, and started up in a flurry, dashing away her tears.

"It is Earle coming back to beg me not to have anything to do with Jack Tennant. Oh, I thought he would repent! I'll forgive the darling, of course, but—I'll be a little haughty just at first!" she thought, her spirits rising to the point of coquetry.

She stood up expectantly, a pretty dimpling smile on her rosy lips.

In another moment a man stood at the threshold of the open door—a tall handsome man past middle age, with many gray threads in his dark hair.

Ladybird looked at the intruder, then flew to his arms with a cry of delight:

"Dear papa, you have come at last!"

"At last, my pet!" and Bruce Conway hugged her with fervor, then drew her to a seat by him on the sofa.

"You have been well, my Ladybird, I see—you are blooming as a rose. And where is good Aunt Prue?"

"Oh, nodding in the dining-room, I expect. She always nods after tea, you know. Well, you have been away almost six weeks, you naughty papa."

"You have not missed me, I'm sure, for I find you sitting alone in the parlor, and as fine as a peacock, like a young lady expecting her beau. Were you?"

He pinched the blushing cheek and laughed mischievously as she affirmed:

"No, indeed!"

"Glad to hear it. I don't want any young fellow to carry you off from me for ages yet."

Miss Prudence Primrose entered presently and Bruce Conway rose with unaffected pleasure to greet this distant relative, a kindly old Quakeress that he had induced to come and live with Ladybird after he brought her home from her Virginia boarding-school.

But the old lady did not quite approve of the wildness of the prankish girl, and when she was alone with Bruce that night she said:

"Ladybird is asleep by now, so I must tell thee that thee art spoiling thy daughter, Bruce. She is too pretty and willful for her own good."

Bruce Conway smiled in a graceful, indolent way he had.

"Oh, nonsense, Aunt Prue; there is no harm in being pretty, and she has always been an obedient child."

"But she is so young, Bruce, and she has lovers by the dozen. They call her the village belle. I don't like it."

"She's only amusing herself, the little wild bird. It's pleasant to be pretty and popular. I don't suppose she has an idea of marrying any of those dozen lovers," laughed Bruce carelessly.

"Yes, there's one—she says she likes him best of all; but I don't know if she means it, she is so teasing. His name is Earle Winans."

"Earle Winans!" and the languid, elegant gentleman started up, alert and eager. "Earle Winans!" he repeated.

"Yes, that is his name. His father is a great statesman, and his mother owns Rosemont. He is very rich, this young man, and very much in love with our Ladybird."

"Ah!" and he rose and crossed over to the window with his face averted. She thought him careless of the subject, but he was thinking excitedly:

"So our life-paths cross again after long years in this strange fashion! Her son in love with my daughter!"

He was stirred in a most subtle fashion.

Long years ago, when Mrs. Winans was a fair young girl, Bruce Conway had loved her with all the passion of his young manhood.

His young wife who had died had been Mrs. Winans' dearest friend.

How like a sequel of fate it seemed that their two children should love and wed!

The idea pleased Bruce Conway. It was a recompense for all the sufferings of the past; it was romantic to the last degree.

He did not rest well that night. The revival of the past made him restless and nervous. His sleep was haunted by restless dreams, and at daydawn he was awake after a most unrefreshing night.

Going out for a walk he soon stood by the side of the flowing river, his eyes fixed on the eastern sky now glowing with the rose and gold of dawn. Suddenly a shaft of fiery light pierced the horizon and the glorious orb of day appeared.

At that moment two pistol shots, fired simultaneously at some distance away, rang in his ears. He turned about quickly. At a little distance there was a thick grove of pines. He ran forebodingly to the spot.

Voices came to his ears. One said pityingly: "It is a fatal wound. Tennant, you had better fly."

Then the scene of a duel burst on Conway's sight.

Surgeons and seconds were grouped about in a green leafy glade. Upon the grass lay Earle Winans, his eyes closed, his face pale, blood spurting from his breast. He had fired into the air, but his adversary had not been so generous.

Within fifteen minutes a telegram went to Washington saying that Earle was very ill and wanted his father.

CHAPTER XX.
IN ANGER

 
"No, let me alone—'tis better so;
My way and yours are widely far apart.
Why should you stop to grieve about my woe,
And why should I not step across your heart?
A man's heart is a poor thing at the best,
And yours is no whit better than the rest.
Good-by, I say! This is the day's dim close;
Our love is no more worth than last year's rose."
 

The surgeon had pronounced that life still lingered, although he believed the wound to be a fatal one. But he added that to remove the young man to Rosemont, two miles away, would destroy the last lingering spark of life. He must be carried on a stretcher to the nearest house, then medical skill would do all that was possible.

While he talked he had extracted the bullet from Earle's breast and stanched the flow of blood. He looked up and saw a stranger by his side, a dark, elegant-looking man past middle age.

"Doctor Holdsworth, I am Bruce Conway, an old friend of the Winans family. My home is less than half a mile away, and almost the nearest to this spot. He can be taken there if you please," he said.

"Very well," the surgeon answered briefly, and accordingly Earle was carried gently to the cottage and installed in Bruce Conway's own room. Ladybird was still asleep, or she would have gone wild with the horror of seeing Earle carried into the house on a stretcher, and apparently dead.

She slept on through all the subdued noise and bustle, for she had been wakeful last night and sobbed herself to sleep at last, poor, willful child, so that when she awoke the sun rode high in the heavens, and Aunt Prue was tiptoeing about with a very important air.

She came to the bed, took Ladybird's little hands in hers and said, seriously and anxiously:

"Ladybird, I have bad news for thee, but thee must not scream out; thee must bear it very bravely and gently. A man lies wounded in thy father's chamber, and his life hangs on the slenderest thread. There was a duel at sunrise this morning between two of thy lovers, Jack Tennant and Earle Winans. One fired into the air, the other at his enemy's breast; one fled, the other your father brought here."

"Earle!" moaned the girl's white lips, and the brown eyes shut heavily, while the rose-tint fled the dimpled cheek. Aunt Prue thought she had fainted, but presently the girlish bosom began to heave beneath its soft white robe, and Ladybird sobbed:

"My heart is broken!"

"Dear, tell me, did thee have aught to do with this sad affair? Was it thy fault?"

"Oh, I don't know. I can't tell. Don't ask me anything, Auntie Prue. Let me lie here and die of remorse as I deserve!" sobbed Ladybird hysterically, for she knew nothing of the cause of the duel and feared that her own coquetry was at the bottom of it all.

No coaxing could prevail on her to rise, so presently Aunt Prue had to leave her there sobbing forlornly on her pillow.

"Perhaps her father can comfort her," thought the distressed old lady, and went in search of him.

But Bruce Conway had already gone on a mission of comfort.

Lord Chester asked him to carry the sad news up to Rosemont.

Conway performed his task as gently as he could, but Precious of course was greatly shocked.

When Conway saw her growing a little calmed under his entreaties he took leave and returned to the cottage, praying silently as he went that he might not find Earle dead as the physician foreboded.

He wished, too, to meet the Winans party when they arrived. A delicate plan had been maturing in his mind.

Earle was too low to be removed to Rosemont, and of course his relatives would be anxious to remain with him. Bruce Conway decided to give up the cottage to them and remove his own small family to a hotel.

But Senator Winans quickly vetoed the latter plan.

"We are grateful for your kind thoughtfulness, and will gladly accept your offer, but in return you must accept the hospitality of Rosemont for yourself and family," he said, and Conway knew that he was in grave earnest.

He did not refuse, for he saw that acceptance would be most proper and grateful.

Aunt Prue said that she would remain and help to nurse the invalid. There was plenty of room for Senator Winans, his wife and herself, with their servants. Miss Winans and Lord Chester could go with Bruce and Ladybird up to the great house.

Ethel was given only one glance at Earle's pallid, sleeping face, then they hurried her away with Lord Chester to Rosemont, Mr. Conway to follow later with his daughter. Mrs. Winans sent by Ethel a message for Norah to bring Precious to the cottage, then she turned her pale, grave face on her old friend.

"Lulu left a daughter, and you did not let me know. Was that kind?" she asked, gently reproachful.

He flushed and stammered:

"Mrs. Winans, forgive me. You were abroad when Lulu died and I did not have your exact address. I was very unhappy over the loss of my wife and I neglected my duty. I took the child to my good relative, Aunt Prue, and since then my life has been a restless one. My daughter has spent almost her whole life at boarding-school until now, when we hope to settle quietly here. I hope you will give Ladybird a little of the love you gave her gentle mother."

His voice trembled, and her tender eyes were dim with tears. She could not speak. But the surgeon had debarred her from Earle's side for awhile, and presently she went to seek Ladybird in her room.

Meanwhile Lord Chester and his betrothed, in the Rosemont carriage, followed by Hetty Wilkins in the wagon with the trunks, were en route for the great house.

Lord Chester had been amazed at the cold hauteur of Ethel when she met him at the station.

She had merely inclined her graceful dark head to him without a word, and kept her slender hand hanging down by her side.

In the carriage she preserved the same distant demeanor. Her pale face and proud eyes were turned away from him toward the window.

Lord Chester regarded her in surprise for several moments, then asked gently:

"Have I in any way offended you, dear Ethel?"

Then she turned her eyes on his face. They were angry and accusing, and her voice trembled with anger as she cried:

"Why did you leave Washington without informing me? Surely it was my right to know!"

"Surely, Ethel, but I hope that no blame can attach to me for not seeing you first, as a telegram summoned me in haste to your brother, and in order to catch the first train here I had to leave without sending you a line. But I wrote you yesterday, and had you not left Washington so soon this morning you would have received it ere this. I trust this explanation will acquit me in your eyes of all dereliction from duty."

His voice was cold, almost contemptuous, and his resentment of anger only stung the haughty beauty to further insolence.

"Your duty to me ranked before your courtesy to Earle," she replied perversely.

"When may I hope you will forgive me this time if I promise to wear my chains more slavishly in future?" he asked, with delicate sarcasm that stung deeply.

"You call your betrothal to me a chain! Perhaps you would like to be free of your fetters!" flashed the girl.