CHAPTER LXXV.

"HEAVEN SAVE EARLE!"

"August at last," said Lady Linleigh; "it is the first to-day. Not long now, Doris, until the tenth."

"No; not long," was the reply.

"Everything is ready and waiting at Hyde House," continued the countess; "the whole of your _trousseau_ is ready, and a more magnificent one was never designed."

"I am more than satisfied with it," said the young beauty, "What time will Mattie Brace be here, Lady Linleigh?"

"About noon. I shall send the carriage to the station."

"I will drive my pretty ponies," said Doris, eagerly. "I have only used them once since papa gave them to me. She will be so pleased if I meet her."

"It is well thought of, my dear," said Lady Estelle. "Doris, do you know what I have done?"

"No, something kind and nice, like yourself; I know by the sound of your voice."

"I have ordered a very nice little _trousseau_ for Mattie--dresses that will not be unsuited to her at home, yet will do for her to wear here. I shall be so lonely when you are gone that I thought of asking her to remain here. I shall miss you so much, Doris."

"And I shall miss you, dear Lady Linleigh. I never thought when you came home to my father's house, that I should learn to love you so dearly."

Lady Linleigh clasped her arms round the girl's neck.

"Tell me one thing," she said, caressingly; "do you think I have been as kind to you as your own mother would have been?"

"I do not think, dear Lady Linleigh; I am quite sure," she replied.

"It is an odd fancy of mine," said the countess, with a wistful smile, "but I have always been so fond of children. I have such a longing to hear a child call me mother. Doris--you will have left me in ten days. Will you kiss me, and say, 'Heaven bless you, my own mother?'"

"Of course I will. Heaven bless you, my own dear mother; you have been one to me. You have helped me in every little trouble and perplexity; you have been kind to me, without ceasing. Why, Lady Linleigh, your face is wet with tears!"

"Is it, darling? I feel your going away so much. But we must not remain talking here. If you wish to drive to the station, it is high time the ponies were brought round, and I myself wish to see that everything is as she will like it in Mattie's room."

The warmer days of the golden summer had passed away rapidly; it was the first of August, and the marriage was to be on the tenth. So great and entire had been the secrecy preserved, that no creature in that vast establishment knew anything at all about it, the servants and every one else thought that Mattie was simply coming for her yearly visit; but that the wedding of their young lady was on the _tapis_, no one for a moment suspected.

Lord Vivianne had not made a very long stay at Linleigh Court; matters were not very pleasant for him there. Lady Linleigh seemed suddenly to have grown very observant, and he found but few opportunities of speaking to Doris. After his impassioned, violent words on that evening, she had made no answer; the rapture and tenderness had all died from her face--a hard, fixed look came in her eyes.

"Let the worst come now," she said; "it will serve him right."

She pleaded and prayed no more; and it was well for him that he could not read the thoughts that were in her mind. He poured out such a torrent of passionate words she heard none of them. After a time she said:

"I think we have been out quite long enough, Lord Vivianne: we will return, if you please."

When they reached the lawn again, where the ladies, with their attendant cavaliers, were enjoying the fair, sweet night, he suddenly took her right hand, and kissed it.

"I shall hope to make this mine, one day," he said.

She snatched it from him with sudden violence, and it struck the trunk of a tree with such terrible force that he thought she had broken it.

"I will cut my hand off," she said, "if you touch it again."

He was startled by her vehemence.

"You do indeed hate me, Dora," he said, sadly.

"I do, indeed," was the reply.

And then they saw Lady Linleigh walking across the lawn to them.

"My dear Doris," her ladyship cried, "what is the matter, darling? See! you have a great stain of blood on your dress--and your hand! What has happened?"

She took the white hand, with its purple, bleeding bruise, into her own.

"What is the matter, Doris? Lord Vivianne, what is the matter?"

She saw that he looked dreadfully distressed.

"Dear Lady Linleigh, it is nothing," said Lady Doris, quickly, fearing that he would speak. "I was resting against the gate there, and I thought something was on my hand, a snake crawled over it--a horrible, slimy snake--and in my hurry, I bruised it against the gate--that is all."

"But," said the countess, perplexedly, "Lord Vivianne was with you."

"Oh, yes, he was there!"

"I was there, Lady Linleigh, and I am terribly distressed over the accident, but Lady Studleigh was too quick for me, before I could assure her that there was nothing the matter, she had flung her hand so violently that I thought she had broken it. There was no snake."

"There could not be," said the countess. "I have never heard of any snakes at Linleigh. Give me your hand, child. What a terrible bruise!"

The countess took her injured hand and gently bound it, little dreaming how it had been hurt.

After that Lord Vivianne had been very much subdued. Such an excess of hatred startled him; he could not realize it, he was half alarmed at the violence of the passion he had evoked; still no idea of yielding came to him. As he watched her, day after day, her beauty, her grace, grew more and more enchanting to him. It was not so much love as madness that possessed him; lie would not have relinquished his hold or have given her up to have saved his life.

During the remainder of his stay the countess kept keen, unwavering watch over him, but he had learned his lesson after what he had seen. How little she recked of physical pain, how careless she was of herself. He dared not venture to tease her; he felt that she was quite capable of committing murder if he drove her too far; he contented himself by saying to her when he was going:

"It is understood between us, then, Lady Studleigh, that I return on the twentieth of August for your decision."

"It is quite understood," she replied, with calm dignity.

"I hope it will be a favorable one to me, and I hope my reception will be kinder next time than it has been this."

"You will always be welcomed according to your deserts," she replied.

"I hope, above all, the poor, bruised hand will be better when I come again," he said, with a meaning smile, "and that you will not find any more snakes in those beautiful moon-lit grounds."

"It will be as well for the snakes to keep away," she said.

When he went, the little current of gayety that had come with him died away all together. Lady Linleigh was relieved when he had gone; without knowing what to suspect, she suspected something; she felt like some one walking on the brink of a volcano; but when he was gone, and a few days had passed without anything happening, she felt relieved. She had not forgotten the incident of the bruised hand; although everything else might be fancy, that was not. When Lord Vivianne bade the earl good-bye, he said:

"I have enjoyed my visit very much, Lord Linleigh; so much that if I should return by the same route about the end of August, I shall beg permission to repeat it."

The earl most cordially assured him that he would be welcome.

And so the bright summer days had worn away. To Lady Doris each one brought a fresh sensation of relief. The tenth was drawing near. Lord Vivianne was still in utter and profound ignorance of all that was transpiring. She would be married and away when he came back; how she enjoyed the thought of his discomfiture. She laughed aloud as she thought of his impotent anger.

"He may do as he likes then," she said; "I shall be Earle's wife. My fortune will be settled on me, and I shall defy him; if he tells his story then, he will not find many to believe him; Earle will not believe anything against his wife, I am sure. I must bribe some respectable family to say that I lived with them as governess in Florence. I shall conquer the difficulty when I am once married to Earle."

This was her one haven of refuge, her rock, her safe harbor from all storms; the end which she so ardently desired to gain; the one great object in life that she proposed for herself; it seemed to her all must be well then. She had written to Mattie asking her to come to Linleigh on the first of August: but so desirous was she of keeping her own secret, that she had not told her what for, and she did not tell her until they were driving in the pretty pony carriage back to the court; then she was so eager to tell her story, that she did not notice how pale the brown face had grown, or how the dark eyes looked full of unshed tears.

"So you have sent for me, Doris, to be your bridesmaid," said Mattie; "you, who might have some of the noblest and highest ladies in the land?"

"There would be none that I love like you, Mattie. We were sisters for years, you know."

Then Mattie was silent for a little time. She said to herself at first, that if she had known why Doris wanted her, she would not have gone, she would rather have done anything, have suffered anything than seen Earle married. Then she reproached herself for being selfish, and tried to throw all her heart and soul into her sister's plans.

Lady Doris wondered why Mattie suddenly kissed her face, and said:

"Heaven bless you, my darling; I hope you will be very happy. I should think, Doris, that you are the happiest girl in all the world."

"Yes," said Doris, "I think I am;" and she added to herself, bitterly, "Would to Heaven I were!"

The countess was more than kind to Mattie; in her own mind she was always thinking how to pay back to Mark Brace's daughter the kindness they had shown Doris. When the two young girls stood together in Lady Doris' dressing-room, she drew off her driving-gloves and laid them on the table; then for the first time Mattie saw the terrible bruise on the white hand; she bent down to look at it.

"What have you done to your pretty hand, Doris?" she asked. "What a frightful bruise!"

"I knocked it against something," was the vague reply. But Mattie saw the burning flush on her sister's face.

"What a pity. Now you will be married with a black, dreadful looking bruise on your hand. That will not get well in ten days."

"Sometimes I think it will never get well at all, Mattie," said Lady Doris, "it has been done some weeks already; I forget how long."

Mattie kissed the dark skin, and Lady Doris shuddered as she remembered whose lips had rested on that hand before.

"When is Earle coming?" she asked, and Lady Doris answered:

"On the eighth, he cannot leave London before, you have no idea what a famous man he is becoming Mattie."

She was glad to hear it; yet the old familiar prayer rose to her lips. Without knowing why, she said to herself: "Heaven save Earle!"