His Queen

Front matter

VOL. II, By ALICE FISHER AUTHOR OF "TOO BRIGHT TO LAST.' " By two wings a man is lifted up from things earthly, namely, by Simplicity and Purity." — Herbert. VOL. II. London : Henry S. King & Co., 65 Cornhill, & 12 Paternoster Row. [A 11 Rights reserved.} CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAP. PACE i. love's young dream . . . . . . . . I II. THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER 19 III. TOO LATE . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 IV. A WORD SPOKEN IN SEASON . . . . . . 53 V. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOAV OF DEATH . . 69 VI. THE LITTLE RIFT . . . . . . . . 84 VII. FACE TO FACE . . . . . . . . . . 95 VIII. SUCH SWEET SORROW . . . . . . . . 107 IX. LOVE'S MESSENGER . . . . . . . . 1 26 X. "FRIENDSHIP, LIKE LOVE, IS BUT A NAME " 145 XI. A FADED FLOWER . . . . . . . . 162 XII. HOPE DEFERRED CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XIII. love's HUMILITY 193 XIV.

THE SHADOW OF THE HAND . . . . . . 201 XV. " WISDOM CRIES OUT IN THE STREETS " . . 208 XVI. "MOTLEY'S THE ONLY WEAR".. .. .. 222 XVII. SIGNS AND TOKENS . . . . . . . . 229 XVIII. "'TIS YEARS SINCE LAST WE MET" .. .. 237 XIX. THE STORM 25

Chapter I

love's young dream. All that long weary driA-e, lengthened by blank ignorance and sickening doubt, the two girls never speak to one another. It is so dark that it is im possible for Bertha to see Ægeria's face, and the roads are so rough that Ægeria cannot hear the low sobs which are shaking Bertha's gentle bosom. Ægeria is just one of those women to whom another of sensitive feelings shrinks from offering sympathy. It is as well. After taking a great deal of pains, a shy sister probably only succeeds in doing what an outspoken rough man would ac complish in a few minutes' of frankly-uttered, homely pity, and Ægeria is an odd one to deal with eA-en at her happiest. All the comfort she wants in the world she has, VOL. II. I when Mark lifts her from the carriage in the dark and whispers, " Better, and wants you."

She is trembling so that she can hardly stand, and he puts his arm round her, and half carries her up the oaken staircase to her father's room. In all his life Mark Page has never liked Ægeria as well as he does now — he is so very sorry for her. As for poor little Bertha, she is left standing by herself in the hall neglected and disconsolate, with the chill night-breezes blowing on her through the door which Mark has left open, and a lamp in a condition whichthreatens each instant to envelope her in total darkness. It is a positi\-e relief to her when the impudent Spratton, that domestic in the whole establishment whom she regards with most fear, passing by, sees, pities her, and offers with a contemptuously affable smile to kindle a fire in the drawing-room for her benefit. She accepts his offer with humility and gratitude.

At these sensational epochs the right person is seldom in any house to be seen in the right place. The butler does the cook's work, and the page attends to the kitchen maid's department. It is to be supposed that the exchanging of offices with one another on these occasions of domestic calamity affords some strange species of relief. Bertha endeavours to enter a little into conversation with Spratton. " How is your master, Spratton ? Have you heard lately ? " Spratton answers with but a shake of the head ; he is not going to compromise himself by an opinion. She is indisposed to reflection, and so unwilling to be left alone, that she pursues her remarks. " When was he taken ill, Spratton ? He was quite well, was he not, when he returned from London?" "Eat his usual dinner, and smoked his reg'lar cigar afterwards, played ecarte with Sir Mark, and went to bed at eleven ;" and Spratton feels him self triumphant over Bertha's ignorance, yet coyly wishes the information he possesses to be gradually drawn from him.

" When was it ? " "Mr Adkins hisself takes his water this morning and unfastens his bed-curtains, and sees his face all drawed of one side, and he in no ways sensible. Such a row begins at once as you never heard HIS GUEEN. the like of in the house. Mr Adkins, he run one way, Miss Ingram another, and Sir Mark a giving orders quite quiet and masterful in the middle of them; and Mrs Stubbs, the house keeper, cryin' of her old eyes out." Bertha begins to feel rather ashamed of having talked so long to Spratton. The fire is alight, and she ungratefully waives him from the room. It is very cold, and she draws near to the fire and tries now all in silence to think. Remember she has, like Richard, been used to deal A-ery hardly with herself in the self-examin ation insisted on by her mother. Neither this brother nor sister were eA-er wont to gloss OA-er their misdoings, or to shroud them in a bewitching A-eil of romance ; they laid all in simple faith before the Searcher of hearts, content to bear the shame so as they might win the pardon.

The truth looks ugly enough in Bertha's sight in all conscience. Believe me, no keener pang can be endured, no harder penance for past sin, than a searching in vestigation into the true cause of sorrow. The world and one's self have such a pretty tale to tell. How that poor darling is suffering acutely from the death of a father, the disgrace of a brother — what not ? Heaven help her. Yet probe even every obA-ious sorrow to the quick, and self is the nerve which beats so frantically at the touch, however gentle, of who would truly examine the wound ! This is the way Bertha lays facts before herself. The manner is old-fashioned ; forgive her, and blame if you will the school in which she has been reared. She is very unhappy — this is admitted ; now for the cause. Through the sorrow for Richard's grief, which the possibility of all wealth and gilded con solation cannot mitigate, through the sympathy for Ægeria weeping beside the father who may be dying, comes the strong ugly whisper which in poor Bertha's mouth frames itself into no better shaped a sentence than this, "She will marry Mark."

Yes, in that one minute, whilst Mark lifted Ægeria from the carriage forgetful of her presence, Bertha knew the truth; and Stoney hurst and Stoneyhurst's webs became in her eyes as the summer morning gossamer which the mid day sun dissolves. Mark would marry Ægeria. Not once but a hundred times during the last fortnight she had repeated these words to herself, had schooled herself to think the fact as harmless as the words. That he might do so, she had eA-en almost forced herself to pray, in spite of Stoney hurst ; and now — Was it yesterday, she asks herself, that she was a child, that a child's grief, a child's joys filled her thoughts and shook her breast ; alas, she sits there now a A_ery woman. It is strange the position in which she finds herself there, neither a relation nor a stranger, hardly a guest.

It is an age, before she hears Sir Mark's firm step resounding in the passage and opening one door after another in search of her. He finds her at last, and seemingly rather glad to find also with her a fire, sits down and rubs his hands, and rings the bell authoritatively before speaking a Avord. " Some hot water, Spratton, and brandy ; look sharp. Bertha, you had better haA-e something yourself — you look cold. Bring some sherry." Sir Mark is quite in his element in spite of that sad scene going on up-stairs ; I might almost say he is happy. "Well," he says after a while, " I've left your uncle rather better, — it's touch and go of course, — but Jones is here and we've done all we can, and I've telegraphed for Pletchley. He'll be here I dare say by the eight o'clock train." " Oh, I'm so glad ; poor dear uncle !

" He doesn't much notice this interruption, but goes on speaking more for his own satisfaction than hers. " I never saw a girl come out more beautifully than Ægeria does on this occasion. It's surprising how a true woman can alter in time of sickness." "Is she with her father now?" Bertha manages to ask. " She will remain throughout the night with him ; that is to say, she will if I allow her to do so. She is terribly exhausted already, I am afraid. Will you see presently if you can induce her to try and sleep, if it be for but a few hours." " I will try. Shall I go now ? " rising. " No, don't go at present ; she won't be likely to leave him yet, and there are one or two things I want to speak to you about." She obeys him tremblingly. Sir Mark speaks as one who has got a short story by rote and repeats it.

"You must have guessed, at any rate, though, poor girl, she has not heard herself, what it is that has brought on this attack of my poor uncle's. I don't exactly mean " — getting a little confused, for he is not a man of eloquence — " what has caused it, for it has been probably threatening for a long time, but what has been the finally exciting cause. This affair in which we are all more or less interested has gone against him. The eminent authorities, by whose decision we agreed to be bound, have pronounced in favour of this Will, and it is but a question of time when your brother will take possession of his rights. It has all been arranged as comfortably as it is possible for such an affair to be arranged. No publicity has been necessary, no injustice has been done to any one. The testator's views will in all respects have been carried out more effectually than he had any right to anticipate.

On what Mr Ffollett possesses of his own he and Ægeria will, I doubt not, be A'ery moderately comfortable afterwards. We will not discuss this, however, at present." Bertha is motionless. What shall she say ? Shall she make mockery of grief for Ægeria, who will gain what should make the loss of this trumpery place Shale but a nothing. Shale is all a matter of indifference to her ; to say truth, it is worse than nothing, as it turns out an incum brance. Sir Mark, who cannot enter deeply into that foolishest of mysteries, a woman's heart, walks up and down the room rather impatiently. He has expected her to speak ; also he would think better of her if she had endeavoured to minister in any way to either his comfort or Ægeria's, to proffer assistance in the nursing, to do, in fact, somewhat to A-indicate her title to that proud distinction, — man's helpmeet and consoler in time of trouble.

He is disappointed, too ; he had expected some thing different from the deft little fingers which had so controlled the gray yarn of Scotland. Hers was just the right figure, too, and obedient smile ; it pleased his fancy to imagine her bending over the sick bed and ministering to the infirmi ties of age ! Had it been Ægeria who sat there helpless, without manifesting sensibility by the shedding of even a single tear, Sir Mark would have felt mortified, perhaps, but not surprised. She was a strange girl, Ægeria, and repressed those feelings most often which men like to have shown to them openly. He would have excused Ægeria, he thinks. He feels inclined to speak sharply, and does not resist the inclination. " I'd go to bed if I were you ; it doesn't do much good, you know, sitting up here — and crying ;" for Bertha has now given way to that feminine luxury for resistance of which he blamed her a few minutes ago.

He thinks himr self a brute a minute after sor having spoken, but the words are gone, past recall. Bertha's tears flow yet faster, and she sobs out, "I'm very sorry, but I've never been used to illness in all my life, and I shouldn't like to in trude on Ægeria." She can see his lip curling under his thick moustache, but he only answers, " I say I think you had better go at once to bed. I will ring now for candles. Don't trouble about Ægeria, I will see after her." For all that he shakes her hand with seeming cordiality, Bertha knows that she has displeased him, and it is none the less hard to bear this dis pleasure of his, that it is, like most men's, A-ery unjust. She is too young to find comfort from the remembrance that they seldom punish women for graA-er faults, but mete out fullest of measure in return for trifling folly!

Bertha goes off miserably through the echoing, dreary passages to her room, and Sir Mark, having finished his brandy and water with the air of a man who has done his duty and is ready to do it again, betakes himself to the apartment where Ægeria watches by the bed-side of her father. He is asleep now peaceably, but she is sitting on the bed beside him, and in hers rests the hand which, at her coming, had instinctively grasped it, and which refuses even in sleep to relinquish its hold. As Mark knows, her position is to the last degree cramped, yet has she from the time he left her till now never eA-en attempted to change it. She is still in the same black velvet dress in which she has dined at the Poplars, but her long auburn hair has escaped from the pearl comb which held it, and falls in its sheeny length to her waist.

There is nothing much for Mark to do, so when he has fidgetted a little about the room noiselessly enough, he sits down and looks at her. Sir Mark, I would have you to understand, is not one of those rebellious men who quarrel with their bread and butter, and admire just nothing in the world so much as that which it has pleased Providence not to send them. He knows now that it is the right and proper thing for him to make Ægeria his wife. Had he ever hesitated, the time for deliberation is past and gone. Ægeria is no heiress, no jewel in whose purchase he must needs be mindful lest he finds a flaw; he had watched carefully in days gone by, and had been, I dare say, not without his mis givings as to the propriety of linking his fate with his cousin's. But the case is now altered. Rumour, as he had good reason to know, had connected his name with that of Miss Ffollett, and he had neither encouraged the whisper nor had he sought to contradict it in express terms.

It mattered httle, as he was aware, save to himself; the young heiress of Shale, by virtue of her position, had too many pretenders to her hand to make one more or less a matter of consequence to her socially. Had he chosen either to bide his own time, or never to find that time, all would have been as one as regarded Ægeria's worldly prospects. loa-e's young dream. 13 But something within him, which no true Englishman combats, tells him now is the time he must lay the good old name of which they ,are both proud, and the hand which, though rough, is stainless, at her feet all the more humbly than he would otherwise have done, that she will bring him no other portion save that of her beauty, which he had told himself ere now should be a woman's least attraction. His own mother, as he has been taught to believe, was a beauty.

He is in a measure proud of her and fond too, as he is indeed fond and proud of all things which appertain to him ; but he has no mind that Lady Page the younger shall in any way resemble her who faces him now at the board end. Consequently he has grown up in distrust of beauties, and on this eA-ening, when he has plainly put before himself the fact, that he contemplates in this fair woman his future wife, she could not have pleased him better than in displaying the homely graces she does, and to some extent justi fying to himself his choice. After he has sat there some time, Ægeria looks up at him and finds his eyes are fixed on her. Her father's illness has so taken her by surprise that she has not yet been sufficiently able to col lect her scattered senses to inquire its origin, and as she looks up into Mark's eyes she straightway forgets that visit to London of his and all meaner cares, and the world holds for her but two people, Mark and her father.

And great as her love for the latter is, she must be forgiven if all anxiety for him fades before the beams of the first unutterable bliss she has known. Yes, through all the bright years gone, through all the dark years to come, Ægeria Ffollett has never known, and never will know, the happiness she holds as it were in her hand this night. Mark Page loves her. He has admired her, laughed at her sauciness, alternately petted and scolded her from childhood upwards, for he is a good fifteen years her senior, but his eyes have never told her the same story that they do this night. Yes, he loves her ; she knows it, and is satisfied ; and he thinks she knows it, and is satisfied also. As he sits there watching with her, he lays his own hand gently on her disengaged one, and whispers, "You have been here too long, you must let me take your place."

" I cannot ; it will disturb him." " No, let me take him so, and lay him down ; you see he is sleeping still. One moment, and I will send you away." She walks with him to the fire-place, which is old-fashioned and high above her head, and leans down her head beneath it, and by the fire-light Mark sees the glistening of tears. It does not occur to him that, but a quarter of an hour before, he has rebuked somewhat harshly a mild exhibition of a similar weakness. So are men ever inconsistent ! He hesitates one moment, and then putting his arm round her he draws the little loftily-borne head to his shoulder and bids her weep there at her will. She hardly tries to free herself, but he hears a little whisper of " Forgive my tears ; I know you hate them." " It's enough to make me shed them myself to know I can do nothing to stop yours.'' " I'm not often so foolish, am I ?

I suppose I'm tired." "Tired, of course you are, and don't think I grudge you one tear. But I want you to answer me one question ; will you promise ? " Sir Mark grows quite timid, and as he asks this last question his A'oice sinks to a whisper. The tone of the whisper he receives in return is en couraging, " I'll try." "Does my presence here giA-e you comfort, Ægeria? Answer me, darling." He bends his head down closely over hers, but can catch no faintest sound save one other low sob, which somehow or other induces him, bend ing still lower, to turn with his other hand the lovely face upwards till it reaches his own, and to kiss the perfect lips, which will not speak. And she stands there for a minute or more, happy in such happiness as earth can give. Then she draws herself away from him not proudly nor in wrath, but with a meekness of maiden-modesty which sets in Mark's eyes the last crown on her imperial beauty.

No more words are spoken, and he waits whilst she bends for an instant over her sleeping father, then opens the door for her Avith a courteous bow, and making no farther detaining effort sees her glide down the corridor in her murky dress into the darkness. And then he prepares for his night's Avatch in an orderly manner and with due regard both for the comfort of himself and patient, and few, to see him deep in the arrangement of the physic bottles, and the preparation of beef-tea, could have imagined him actuated by such unpractical feelings as had animated him but a few minutes since. There is method at any rate in his madness ! Is it a frightful dream, or is it a reality, that Bertha, waking from her first troubled sleep to wards the cold hours of the morning, feels herself clasped by some one she sees by the pale lamp light to be a white-robed figure, and knows Ægeria's voice, which says in tones Bertha can neA-er forget, " Bertha, he loves me ; I am his."

It may have been a dream, no more, because for other words she waits long and vainly. Through the night, till the morning dawns grayly and unhealthily, Bertha struggles, wrestles in prayer. Whilst it is yet early she rises and looks out — the park is all of a steam with the blinding rain, the trees are rocking with a De '' VOL. II. cember gale, and outside she sees no sign of living creature. She wraps herself in a water proof mantle and steals quickly through the house, unbolts a side door, and finds herself far out in the road unobserved. It is a long, long walk to Bowline Station, but a fierce excitement carries her OA'er the ground more rapidly than she Could have conceiA'ed pos sible. The Telegraph Office is just open, and an hour afterwards Richard Fanshawe is spelling over the words " Come directly ; you are wanted urgently." Bertha finds the walk home longer, and she knows now that the spirit of evil triumphs, and that within her heart he has his day. J9

Chapter II. The Green-eyed Monster

" Does it rain, Ingram ? I hear a pattering of something against the window." " Rain ; I should think it did ! old wives and pikestaves." " Not the former, I hope ; there's nothing in the world worse, not even old men." "Miss Yellowskin got a fine drenching this morning anyway, and serve her right too. What a young lady like her's got to go prancing off at six o'clock on a cold December morning in this here sleet and rain, and be out mostly three hours, is more than I can tell you." "What's all this about, my dear Professor Downright ? You don't allude to my cousin Miss Fanshawe, I do hope." "Just you turn your head towards the light this minute. What's come over you? You've never called me by that name nor had that there yellow light in your eyes this two months or more. Lor, it does me good to see it."

" You're not crying, I trust ? I shan't speak another word till you've done." "I've done now mostly." " How's papa ? " "Never mind your pa, he's doing well enough. It is never along of your pa that you're looking like that. Oh, my dear, my dear, you and Master Richard haven't made it up with one another, have you ? " " Richard ? Me ? No. I wish you wouldn't put his name even near mine. Oh, Ingram, I'm so happy." " H'm, I know that without ever need of your telling me. I want to know why. It's never along of Sir Mark ? Oh, don't tell me that." " Why not, Ingram ? Haven't / told you a hundred times there is no one in the world can make me glad or sorry but him ? " " And he has made you glad ? Curses on him, and his solemn, long-bearded face." " Hush, hush ! How dare you ? Do you for get you aren't even yet forgiven entirely for what you did not so long ago.

You're on your best behaA-iour, mind. You ought to be glad to see me happy. Ah, Ingram, to-day I can forgive you or any one, I'm so happy. Do you know, last night, when I had taken off my gown, I slipped into Bertha's room, and laid my head beside hers, and whispered that he was mine." " My word, that was a nice bit of news to sleep upon anyway. I'd have given her a bit of breath ing space too, if I'd been you ; 'twould have come soon enough in the morning." "I couldn't help it, Ingram. I felt bound to do it, as you say ; and moreover, I didn't do it unkindly, but because I was just yearning to tell some other woman of it." "You might ha' rung your bell, and yearned to me. Purr you never so loud, there's a goodish bit of the tiger cat about you, Miss 'Geria." "Will she be so sorry, then, do you think, for Richard ?

It was very thoughtless of me ; I see that now." "To be sorry for one's own self is about all one has time for in this here bothering world. Come to weeping for others, you haA-en't many troubles of your own on hand. I expect Miss Fanshawe's got what's about enough for her." " Do you mean ? — " Lord bless you, haven't you seen it all along as she fancied Sir Mark ? I knowed it all along, and knowed also as she and you were as jealous of one another as you could stick together. And though I'd liefer for she'd marry him, and you Master Richard, I couldn't abide to see the httle chit a setting of her cap at him, and him never taking no more notice of her than the man in the moon." " A httle traitress! and yet, as you say, Ingram,! don't beheve he ever did take much notice of her." "Spoke to her affable now and then, as he would to a child.

I've seed with my own eyes her fetch his gloves, and he'd scarce look up nor thank her, but she all of a glow— up to her washed out goose eyes." "You don't call her brother's eyes washed-out, Ingram ? " " No ; nor I shouldn't have minded her eyes, if she hadn't a set them against yours, my beauty. And yet with all that she's ready to love you if you'd let her, I do beheve." " She hates me as much now, Ingram, as ever she loved me before." " Well, my lass, I won't say as she hasn't reason to. Why ever you should ha' been born to take all the light out of hers and Mr Richard's hfe is more than I can tell." " I was going to say I don't care, but I won't say that. I swore the other night I would never forgive Richard, but hate him to the bitter end, and his sister for his sake, but I cannot. Ah, I think if always I had been as happy as I am to day, I should have been a better girl, Ingram.

LoA'e, and charity, and forgiveness all seem easy enough now ; and I feel so sorry for those who have not what I haA-e, that the injury they have done me must be very deadly for them not to be forgiven." She is silent for some time, bathed in a de licious flood of tender memories. Presently she says, "I suppose I ought to get up, and yet I don't feel inclined to do so, Ingram. I don't see how I can meet either her or him ; and yet it would be so affected not to do it, that I will. Now tell me what you think Miss Fanshawe went out for this morning," Ægeria inquires with the languid, half-interest of those whom happiness makes selfish. "From inquiries as IVe made, I've reason to believe that she was seen in the direction of Bowline Station." " Goodness ! you don't mean it ? Gone to in quire about the trains perhaps ?

I cannot, after all, help wishing it were with the purpose of shortly making use of them. I don't want to see her now-, Ingram." " If you ask me what I think, I'll tell you. I think she went to telegraph to Master Richard." " Dear me, I hope not ; not that I A'ery much care though. I shall make Sir Mark speak to him now. How do I look, Professor, this morning ? " " Better than ev-er you looked in your hfe. I like you in them plain dresses." " And so does he, that's why I put it on. Now I'll glance at myself before I go down. I think after all / do look nice." She is entering the dining-room door Avith a little tray in her hand on which is her father's breakfast when Sir Mark sees her first this morning. She is indeed beautiful. A brighter colour than usual flushes her cheek ; but what he values it more than anything is the dewy-veiled lash which hides the brilliant eyes.