CHAPTER LV.

"MY QUEEN ROSE OF THE ROSEBUDS."

The Countess of Linleigh sat anxiously watching the fair face of Lady Doris. All was going on well at Linleigh. The gentle, stately countess was already half worshiped there. The earl considered himself the happiest of men. One conversation had both pleased and touched Lady Linleigh. When she had been at home some days she fancied Mattie looked grave and almost sad. She had been thinking seriously about the girl--whether it was advisable to ask her to remain with Lady Doris as friend and companion, or whether it would be better to permit her to return to Brackenside. The earl had spoken of their going to London in May, if they did so, could Mattie go with them? Would it not be rather cruel than kind to give her notions, or accustom her to a life which it would be impossible for her to lead?

The countess saw Mattie walking one morning in the early spring alone, with a most thoughtful look on her face, and she went to her.

"I have been looking for early violets," said Mattie, glancing with a smile at Lady Linleigh, "in that pretty little dell--Thorny Dell, Doris calls it. The air is filled with their fragrance, yet I cannot see them. At Brackenside, at this time, the woods are full of them."

The countess laughed.

"There is no place like Brackenside, is there, Mattie?"

"No," replied the girl, earnestly, "none--at least it seems so to me, because I love my home so very dearly."

Then Lady Linleigh placed her hand caressingly on the girl's shoulder.

"Mattie," she said, gently, "you were looking very sad and thoughtful a few minutes since. What were you thinking of?"

"Home--and Earle," was the frank reply.

Lady Linleigh was half startled.

"What about Earle?" she asked.

The brown eyes were raised wistfully to hers.

"Earle will be so unhappy, Lady Linleigh, without Doris. No one knows--no one can imagine how he loves her. I cannot think what his life is without her."

"But he will not be without her long," said the countess. "Did you not know that he was coming here in February?"

She saw a rose-colored flush underneath the brown skin; she saw a sudden warm light in the brown eye; and without a word, almost by instinct, the Countess of Linleigh guessed the girl's secret, and how dearly she loved Earle.

"Coming here!" repeated Mattie. "I am so glad!"

"So am I," added Lady Linleigh. "I have the highest opinion of your friend Earle."

She did not know how grateful those words were to the girl, who never heard Earle spoken of save as Doris' own peculiar property. "Her friend!" She could have blessed Lady Linleigh for it. The words seemed to have made that sweet spring sunshine brighter in some strange, vague way--the odor of the hidden violets and the sound of Earle's voice seemed to harmonize.

"And you yourself, Mattie," said the countess, more touched than she cared to own by that unconscious revelation--"would you be happier to remain here, or to go home? You shall decide for yourself, and do which you will."

"My place is home," was the simple reply. "I have seen my dear Doris happy. I shall always be able to picture to myself what her manner of life is like. I shall know that Earle is content, being with her; so that it seems to me now my place and my duty alike are at home."

"I think you are right, dear child," said the countess.

She had read the girl's secret rightly, and knew that, from henceforward, for Mattie Brace, there would be but one consolation, and that she would find in doing her duty.

"You would like, perhaps," she added, "to wait and welcome Earle?"

But Mattie remembered how many things he would require, what preparations would be necessary for a visit to Linleigh Court; and she divined, with the rapidity of thought natural to her, that she must go home and help Earle. Lady Linleigh was infinitely touched by the young girl's simplicity, her loving heart, her complete sacrifice. Even the earl wondered how it was that his wife showed such sincere affection for Mattie.

Mattie went away, and on this morning, some few days after her departure, Lady Linleigh sat anxiously watching the face of the beautiful Doris. Had she any heart, or was she a true Studleigh? The countess had been thinking of her all the morning, for at breakfast-time the earl, with a smile of happiness, had given her a letter, saying:

"This is from Earle; how he loves Doris. He is coming to-day."

Lady Linleigh's thoughts had flown back to the time when she sat with Doris in the conservatory at the Castle, and had argued so strongly with her on the point of love. She was disappointed, for the beautiful face did not brighten, no warmth came into the lovely eyes, when she heard the announcement of her lover's coming.

"Coming to-day, is he, papa?"

And Lady Linleigh, quick to judge, felt a sure conviction that the tie which bound Lady Doris to Earle Moray, gentleman and poet, was burdensome to her.

"Perhaps she is ambitious," thought the countess; "it may be that with her wealth and title she thinks a marriage with Earle beneath her." Again she felt somewhat reassured when she saw that Lady Doris took some pains to please her lover. He was to reach Linleigh in the evening.

When the dressing-bell rung, Lady Estelle hastened her toilet, in order that she might do what she was very fond of doing--spend a short time in Lady Doris' dressing-room. She loved to see the shining ripples of golden hair loose and unbound, she liked to watch the glorious face, and to see the graceful figure arrayed in dress of fitting splendor.

There were times when Lady Doris herself wondered at the great tenderness of the duke's daughter.

"As fate ordained me a step-mother," she would say to herself with a smile, "I cannot be sufficiently thankful that she likes me so well."

On this evening Lady Linleigh started with surprise. Accustomed as she was to the girl's beauty, it had never seemed to her so striking or so graceful. Lady Doris had indeed arrayed herself so as to charm the eyes of her lover.

A little cry of admiration came from Lady Estelle; it escaped her without her knowledge.

Lady Doris looked round with a blush and a smile, and nodded her graceful head.

"I am being poetical, Lady Linleigh," she said, laughingly. "Earle is a poet, and I am dressing in character, as a poet's bride, you see."

There was the least possible suspicion of mockery in her words and laughter, but looking at her, the countess could find no fault. The tall, graceful figure seemed to rise from clouds of rich white lace; the white, rounded arms were bare to the shoulder; the graceful neck was clasped by neither diamond nor pearl; on the white breast a diamond glittered like flame; the golden hair, with its shining waves, was beautifully arranged; the little ears were like pink sea-shells; a few green leaves were carelessly entwined in the golden hair--she looked like the very spirit of love, beauty and song.

"Then you _do_ care to please Earle?" said Lady Linleigh, as she kissed the fair face.

"Certainly," was the coquettish reply. "I have no thought of failing, either."

Even the earl stood and gazed for a few moments in mute admiration of his daughter's loveliness; then he shook his head, and said, gravely:

"There was no need for it, Doris--no need."

It was characteristic of this father and daughter that they understood each other perfectly; they were so much alike that the medium of words was not always required; they seemed to read each other's thoughts by instinct. While Lady Linleigh stood by, quite ignorant of her husband's meaning, Lady Doris understood it perfectly. It meant that Earle loved her already so dearly, there was no need for her to try to win more love from him.

The earl did not profess to be a man of sentiment. As a rule, he considered love a kind of weakness to which one was especially liable in youth, but this wondrous love of Earle Moray's impressed him greatly. He had decided to drive himself to the station to meet his young guest, to whom he desired to show all honor; then Lady Linleigh had said it would be less embarrassing for them to meet alone.

"What a fund of sentiment you have, Estelle," laughed the earl. "By all means, arrange a _tete-a-tete_ for them. My honest belief is that women never tire of love-stories."

He did not know how such speeches as these jarred upon the tender, sensitive heart of his wife. But Lady Linleigh was considerate.

"Doris," she said to the proud young beauty, "it is some time since you have seen Earle, and he will perhaps feel some restraint in my presence, and not talk to you as freely as he would in my absence; I will leave you to receive him."

And Doris laughed with some of the earl's half-contempt for sentiment.

Yet she owned to herself that she was really glad there was no one to see poor Earle's extravagant delight and wild worship of her.

In the burning intensity of his desire to see her, all other things were entirely lost. It never occurred to him that the Earl of Linleigh had purposely put himself to inconvenience to meet him at the railway station; he never gave even a passing thought to the grand carriage, the liveried servants, the magnificent mansion; he thought only of Doris--the birds sang of her, the wind whispered her name. Lord Linleigh smiled more than once as his remarks were unheard, his questions unanswered.

After all, there was something very beautiful, half-divine, in such love. He envied the young poet who felt it and the girl who was its object. He understood that all the glories of Linleigh were for the present quite lost on Earle.

When they reached the Court, the earl looked at the poet with a smile.

"If you were an ordinary visitor," he said, "I should suggest the dining-room and instant refreshment; but knowing you to be far away from all such earthly matters, I merely mention them. My daughter, the Lady Doris, is in the drawing-room there--will you join her?"

Earle had longed with the intensity of longing to see her again. His life had been one long fever, one fire of desire, one constant thought of her; yet, when he stood once more in her beautiful presence, he was mute, dumb. She smiled at him, and held out her white, jeweled hands to him.

"Earle," she said, and at the sound of her voice his whole soul seemed to wake up. "Earle," she repeated; and the next moment he held those white hands in his, he drew her to him, he kissed her face, her brow. It was pitiful to see a strong man's soul so bound down with a mighty love.

"Earle," she repeated a third time, "it is certainly an excellent thing that I do not wear chignons. How do young ladies manage, I wonder, with chignons and such a rapturous lover as you. Look at my flowers and dress; it is not, really, etiquette to kiss any young lady _en grande toilette_."

He only laughed at the mocking words. What cared he, when his arm was round her, and he looked into her face again.

"My darling," he said; "my queen rose of the rosebuds."

She laid her hand on his lips.

"That is Tennyson's poetry," she said, "not your own. Are you so very pleased to see me, Earle?"

"So pleased that I cannot find words--so pleased that the wonder to me is that I can bear so much happiness."

"If you think you are too happy, Earle, I can soon alter that state of things," she said, laughingly.

"You cannot alter yourself," he replied. "While you are what you are, and as you are, I must be the happiest of men--I cannot help it. Mattie told me that I should find you changed. Why, my darling, you are beautiful, graceful, noble as a queen. In all the wide world I am quite sure there is no one like you--none."