The Devil's Daughter

Front matter

BY THE SAME AUTHOR Ob/ung paper, Price IJ THE WORLD ON WHEELS ' A prettily written little story of the experiment of five girls at being "New Women." Their return to common-sense and the breaking of their vows of celibacy are very nicely described.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 4 Exceedingly well told. There ought to be found plenty of readers for this up to-date little story.' — St James's Budget. BY VAL NIGHTINGALE Author of ' The World on Wheels' etc itonijon DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 1 8 Bouverie Street, Fleet Street, E.C. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE i. at the ball .... i ii. his satanic majesty . . 1 8 iii. the little waif . . .26 iv. at the club . . . .42 v. in the park . . . 50 vi. in the boudoir. . . -57 vii. the quarrel . . . .65 viii. the vision in the studio . . 74 ix. the duel . . . .85 x. diabline's love . . . .96 xl the good or the evil . . 101 xii. lady Jeffries' 'at home' . . 114 xiii. letters . . . . 1 29 xiv. the derby . . . .136 xv. the renunciation . . 1 49 xvi. the picnic on the river . . 1 55 xvii. a friend in need . . 1 69 xviii. ivy . . . . .177 xix. the sensation of the season. . 1 89 xx. the wedding ....

CONTENTS VIII l-AGE XXI. DIVERSION OF THOUGHT. . • 2I3 XXII. THE TEMPTATION . . .221 XXIII. DIABLINE'S PASSION . . .231 XXIV. BAD NEWS .... 242 XXV. REVENGE . . . . .252 XXVI. AFTERWARDS .... 264 XX VII. THE ENGLISH PAPERS . . .273 XXVIII. WANDERERS .... 284 XXIX. THE STORM .... 294

Epilogue

Chapter I At The Ball

What sins I have committed, worse than other men, I know not, to have been made the victim, as I was all along, of the supernatural agencies connected with Diabline Wilson. Yet I was inextricably mixed up with them from my very first meeting with her, and even now, after all I have suffered, I would not have it otherwise. To have known her intimately, as I did, was at all events a liberal education, and having been permitted to gain an insight into her real character, I can only say that she was more sinned against than sinning. Perhaps this is only faint praise after all, for even the A Devil, they say, is not so black as he is painted. We met at a ball, but at such a ball, given by a millionaire, and graced by Royalty itself. I cannot say if I had any real business to be there at all among those favoured ones of fortune, for I was only a humble individual, possessed of my fair share of looks, no doubt, but not of my fair share of money.

In short, I was Gerald Darlington, a portrait painter and dreamer of dreams — chiefly of fair women. I was making my way slowly and steadily in the world, thanks to my good connections, as much, if not more, as to my ability, I fear ; and this season, which was just beginning, inaugurated more or less by this very swagger ball, I had determined to work my way into Society as much as possible. ' The great thing when you want to get on in life is to push yourself forward all you can,' my great friend and adviser, Jack Clifford, said to me, ' and the richer the people you get to know, and the more influential, the better for your purpose.' In spite of these words of wisdom, a more unworldly person than Jack Clifford it is impossible to imagine, but from my boyhood I had always listened to him as to an oracle.

His father, like mine, was a country parson, and had the care of some hundred souls in the next village to ours. I had always cared for and looked up to Jack, but now there was a nearer tie between us, for the preceding Christmas I had become engaged to his pretty fascinating sister Ivy, justly con sidered to be the belle of our neighbour hood. Now dear little Ivy Clifford was in the country, no doubt wandering about among all the sweet - smelling flowers in the old fashioned Rectory garden, dreaming of me, and I was in the busy whirl of London life, striving to make a name for her to share, and an income large enough for two, and — well any possible contingencies of married life. I could hardly expect much from my father, good and kind though he was, as his living, like many others dependent upon glebe land and tithes, had considerably diminished of late years.

Moreover, I had four sisters, all married, with rising families of their own, and an elder brother endeavour ing to make his way sheep-farming in Aus tralia. I was the youngest, and my father's Benjamin. My party, which consisted of some con nections of mine, who had brought me on the strict understanding that I was a dancing man, had not arrived at the ball many minutes before my hostess, catching sight of me, bustled up and inquired if I should like a partner. She was a Mrs Flip, wife of an ex-brewer, who had made a million of money in successful speculations, and she was now raised up to a sphere unto which she was not born, although she was fond of declaring herself equal to any occasion. In fact, it was one of her favourite boasts that she felt more at home in the queen's drawing room than anywhere else.

As no one had ever seen her there, no one could contradict this statement. ' We are rather short of gentlemen, I am afraid,' she remarked to me rather breathlessly, ' so a good-looking young fellow like you must do your duty.' ' I will certainly do my best,' I said, bowing courteously, as I thought how much I should like to be asked to make a portrait of the good lady, in spite of her large pro portions and rubicund complexion. I even found myself wondering how much she would pay me, and which features I would tone down. Quite unconscious of my sordid reckonings, Mrs Flip led me up to a group of girls, and I found myself introduced to several, and inscribing hieroglyphics on their programmes. Of course I soon found myself in hopeless confusion over Miss Pale Blue and Silver, Miss White and Roses, Miss Pink and others, whose description I had made a wild guess at, but I managed, like many another hapless youth, to scramble through it without serious disaster.

I danced with one or two very bored girls with very little to say for themselves, and then with a very juvenile specimen of the .renus woman, whose naive remarks were amusing for a little while. She had been brought up at a convent, and this was her first peep at the world. She had made up her mind to enjoy herself to the utmost, and I think she succeeded, for I passed her a good many times afterwards careering round the ballroom with an Eton boy who ought to have been at school and in bed. Then I found my next was with a very masculine young woman, who informed me quite defiantly that she had ridden between thirty and forty miles that day on her bicycle, and that she was frightened of nothing in the world except vermin. ' I hope you do not consider men among that category,' I said, with a laugh at my own wit.

She treated my flippancy with the utmost scorn, merely informing me in tones of ice that she wished to be left alone after the fatigues of the day, as she was tired out. At that moment my hostess again singled me out, saying in her kindly unctuous voice : ' Here is a compliment to your handsome face, Mr—' ' Darlington,' I interposed. ' Oh, yes. Well, Mr Darlington, the American heiress, Miss Wilson, who every body is running after, wishes to be introduced to you. Now mind you are discreet and only dance once with her, and then make way for your betters like a modest young man,' she added, elephantinely playful. ' I will endeavour to do all that you wish,' I murmured, feeling that indeed I was in luck's way. I was only just beginning to learn that good looks are nearly as important for a man with his way to make in the world as to a woman.

I had always been told by my sisters that I was just good-looking enough to pass in a crowd with a good big shove, but I now began to think I was good for a little more than that after all. True, I knew I had brown hair with just a suspicion of curliness about it, clear cut features which I had inherited from my father, a sunburnt face, and firm muscular limbs which I owed tc the thoroughly English education I had received. 'Miss Wilson — Mr Darlington.' The introduction was over, and I found myself bowing to the strangest-looking and yet most wonderfully beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I was an artist, be it remembered, and had studied lovely women, both sentient and on canvas, ever since boy hood. For a moment, as her sombre yet brilliant eyes looked into mine, my brain reeled, and I was struck momentarily dumb.

Thus must Anthony have felt when first his eyes were gladdened by the sight of Cleopatra in her glorious beauty, or Paris when his bewildered brain was called upon to make his judgment, and yet the next second, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, I was faintly conscious of being almost disgusted, as with the egotism of a man I thought, ' Surely no pure-minded maiden should gaze into a fellow's eyes, as if to read his very soul at the first introduction.' Then came the remembrance that she was an American, which, of course, accounted for anything out of the common. AI THE BALL 9 I cleared my throat and found my tongue at last. ' May I have the pleasure of a dance with you, Miss Wilson ? ' ' Certainly you can,' she said, her face lighting up into a smile, and in a rich mellow voice which instinctively made one think of Paganini's rendering of a symphony on a violin.

Obeying my hostess's orders, and seeing hardly any spaces on the girl's programme, I only inscribed my name once. ' You may have another,' she said coolly, as I returned her card. A little startled, I wrote my name again. ' May I have the pleasure of taking you into supper later on in the evening ? ' I asked, rendered bold by her graciousness. 'Oh yes, certainly,' she said, without the slightest hesitation. The young heiress danced exquisitely. With her it was verily the poetry of motion, the animation of her youth seemed to over flow spontaneously in harmonious move ments. Her graceful, yielding form, the faint scent from her waving chestnut hair, her weird thrilling eyes, as they looked into mine, fairly intoxicated me into a kind of delirium before that waltz was over. Then I led her out into the grounds which were almost dreamlike in the beauty of coloured lights interspersed amongst the trees, illumin ated fountains, and alcoves of Chinese lanterns, scarcely knowing where I was. ' That waltz was simply divine,' I said, panting. 'Or the reverse,' she replied with a short laugh, as she flung herself into one of two easy chairs, placed temptingly together.

Then as I calmed down I took stock of her. She was a finely developed girl, though a great deal younger than she appeared to be (I afterwards found out that her age at that time was barely nineteen), rather above the medium height, and very graceful, with arms and neck as white as alabaster, a perfect complexion like many other American girls when in their first youth, and clear-cut features. But it was her eyes which struck the observer beyond everything else, whether full of passionate languor or mystical rapture, eyes whose colour and depth it was impos sible to fathom, sometimes brilliant and flashing, at others sombre and even sad. Surely she was one of those women fashioned for men's undoing, I thought, as I looked at her, so altogether different was she from the ordinary girl one is accustomed to meet in society.

She was in a dress of some soft white material, and here and there all over it flashed a diamond, some really magnificent ones being fastened into her bright chestnut hair. Like many other beautiful girls, her manner struck me as slightly indolent and voluptuous, and she was not a great talker. Indeed, it was hard to credit that she hailed from America. Her accent might have been an English girl's in its purity and freshness, in fact, she had not one Yankeeism, if I may be forgiven the term, and the ordinary topics of the day did not seem to interest her. I attempted gossip, plays, books, the higher education of women, the great cause of female emancipation, and in despair, bicycling, but I did not succeed in arousing her interest in any of these things. She had only just come to England, she said, so had not as yet seen any new plays, she did not believe in overmuch education for either sex, and she had not yet taken to a bicycle. ' I am not sufficiently weak enough to go in for a thing because everybody else does,' she said, with a ring of scorn in her voice. ' I pride myself on being original, although no doubt I am in reality thoroughly imbued with some of the crazes of the present day.' ' No doubt, we most of us are more or less often without realising it.

Do you go in, like most of the young ladies of to-day, for self-examination ? ' I asked, curious to learn what this beautiful creature did think about. ' No, I don't think I do, for I consider introspection one of the most morbid of our modern idiosyncrasies.' I nodded assent. ' This young girl is no fool,' I thought. ' Are you an artist ? ' she asked suddenly. ' Well, yes, I do a little that way,' I answered, quite startled at her penetration, ' but whatever made you ask that question ? ' To tell the truth I was quite piqued that she should have guessed so easily at my pro fession, for I had always flattered myself that I was singularly free from the usual vagaries pertaining to the artistic temperament. ' Perhaps I will tell you another time what put the idea into my head. Now please take me back to the ball-room, and do not forget to come and look for me when you want some supper.' ' I hope you will not forget, in the mean time, that you have promised me the honour of taking you in.' ' Oh, no, you need not be afraid that I shall forget and go in with anyone else,' she said impressively, ' I never forget.' Then she shot one more brilliant glance at me from those strange eyes of hers, and with a bow I left her on a seat.

What I did until the time came for me to hunt for this bewildering girl again I can DAUGH TER 14 hardly remember, but at last my probation was over, and I was once more at liberty to seek her. She had just finished a polka, and her partner was vigorously fanning her. ' Do you recollect promising to come into supper with me, Miss Wilson ? May I have the pleasure now ? ' I asked boldly, taking her away from her admiring partner, a young sprig of nobility, with a tiny moustache, and a great opinion of himself, who glared at me through an eyeglass which would keep dropping. Mr and Mrs Flip were giving this ball at a large place they had hired for the occasion, a few miles outside London, in preference to their own house in Mayfair, where their receptions generally took place. Mrs Flip took care to inform her guests that it was principally on account of the young people, who always preferred grounds even to stair cases. ' They like to feel as if they were in Fairy land, it makes it all so much more romantic,' she told her husband.

She was quite right, poor Mrs Flip generally was right except in the way of H's, the effect of this ball was perfect, and as for the supper it was a banquet, a little overdone, perhaps, but that is a fault in the right direction. Many a giver of balls learns eventually to agree with our ancestors in considering them the worst form of social pleasure. And for them, so it is. What with the time consumed in preparation, the anxious thought it entails, the extravagance of the costume, the late hours, the exhaus tion of strength, health, and the languor and ennui which is sure to follow on the suc ceeding day, the hostess's life, like that of the policeman in Gilbert and Sullivan's operetta, is not a happy one. Though my partner would have nothing but a roll and some champagne for her own supper, she persuaded me to allay my own pangs of hunger and thirst, by making quite a feast.

With her own fair fingers she filled up my glass, three, four — I cannot remember how many times — with sparkling champagne, until I laughingly had to implore her to desist. Just as we were leaving the su pper- DAUGHTER room she looked into mine, with her large mysterious eyes, and said in a low voice : ' Some day you will paint me, Mr Darling ton. Will you drink to the success of the portrait ? ' 'Certainly,' I said, laughing cheerfully. If I could make a good picture of this beautiful American heiress, who was bound to be the rage of the coming London season, my fortune would be made, orders from others would come flocking in, and I should become famous, were the thoughts that chased through my brain. Whatever happened I must not offend her, so once more I raised a glass of my host's champagne to my lips, and to please her, drank, as she wished, to the success of her portrait.

I believe my head was as strong as that of most young men, who have now and then stopped at their clubs until one or two in the morning, imbibing whiskeys and sodas ad lib., while they played billiards or cards, so I had no fears as to the results of Mr Flip's fiz, which, though excessively good, was certainly potent. A T THE BALL 17 I remember hoping that one or two younger men I knew, who had to be at their offices before ten in the morning, would not be beguiled into imbibing too freely. My reverie was broken in upon by my com panion. ' Let us go into the grounds and try to get cool,' she said, ' it is suffocating in here.' Without another word I gave her my arm and led her to a cunningly devised shady nook, screened from all eyes. She did not seem at all displeased at my audacity, but on the contrary she again smiled at me in her enigmatical way.

I was in the seventh heaven of delight, I already saw my fortune made, and the whole world at my feet. No more struggles with the fickle jade, for after this, one and all would be vying with each other to implore me to paint their portraits. In time, perhaps, I might even become the president of the Royal Academy. I was very young, and, strong headed as I fancied myself, the potent fumes of Mr Flip's champagne were mounting to my brain. B

' You will paint my portrait, then ? ' she asked in her rich contralto voice, which still reminded me of certain notes on a violin, those notes that only a real musician can bring out of his instrument. ' With the greatest pleasure, there is nothing I should like so much,' I responded cordially. ' Since our last dance together, Mr Darling ton, I have been talking to Lady Conyers, and she tells me that you are one of the rising portrait painters of the day.' ' She is very good to speak so well of me,' I remarked, ' I painted her daughter, who married a friend of mine and went away to India last month.' ' When will you paint me ? ' ' There is no time like the present, I shall be only too charmed to paint you whenever you like, the sooner the better. Where are you stopping, Miss Wilson, or would you prefer to give me a sitting at my studio ? ' ' Oh, well, I must consider that, for I suppose I must be careful not to shock the proprieties too much.

I am stopping with Sir William and Lady Jeffries for the season. My adopted parents, Mr and Mrs Jonathan T. Wilson of New York, advertised for someone who would take me into their home life, and introduce me into the best English society, as they had set their hearts on my having at least one season in London. Rich Americans are so sought after now by the English nobility, that, with my beauty and talents, they fancy I shall have no difficulty in being made a duchess.' The girl talked just as if it were someone else's points she was notifying. I could hardly bring myself to believe she could be discussing her own charms. In fact I was so taken aback that I could only murmur my acquiescence, and she continued quickly. ' The Jeffries answered their advertisement, so here I am, such a bad lot that even my adopted parents, longsuffering as they have always been, despaired of me.' ' And yet Miss Wilson, if you are, as you say, a bad lot, it must be entirely the fault of your bringing up.

The influences by which we are surrounded have everything to do with forming our characters.' ' Not altogether,' she said, rather wearily, ' whoever had brought me up, I should still be as I am now.' ' My father is a parson, you know, Miss Wilson,' I said slowly, 'and as it happens, the very last sermon I heard him preach was on that subject. In order to illustrate it, he told us a story. He said there was once a great painter, (perhaps being a painter myself is what caused the tale to make such an impression on my mind), and this great artist wished to paint a picture and call it " Inno cence;" well, he wandered out to try and find a subject for this, and when he had searched for some time, he found a little child with rosy cheeks, fair, curly hair, and guileless, blue eyes, and he said to himself, ' " That is the only real type of innocence," and he forthwith proceeded to paint the lovely little child. ' When the picture was finished, all the world was in raptures over it, and after some time the artist determined to paint a com panion picture to the one which had made his fortune, and to call it "Guilt."

Well, for years he sought a suitable model for his masterpiece, but in vain, he was never quite satisfied. Though he visited prisons and reformatories he saw no face so utterly bad that it was suitable for his purpose. ' At last one day, however, twenty years after he had painted the picture of innocence, he was walking in the prison yard, on one of his visits to the Governor, when he chanced to see two convicts chained together. At one of these he looked many times. ' "At last," he cried out to his friend the Governor, "there is the face which I can paint as " Guilt ; " and he spoke truly, the man's face was as villainous as a face can very well be. ' Some hours afterwards he spoke with him. '"Why," cried the convict, "you are the gentleman who painted my portrait when I was a little boy, and called it " Innocence;" and innocent I still might be if I had been differently brought up ; but my mother died, and I was taught to lie and steal, and now there is hardly a crime I have not committed.

My story is one of disgrace and vice and cowardice." ' It was only too true, Miss Wilson, upon that fair page men had left their blots of sin, until the innocent boy grew into the hardened criminal.' I paused and looked at my companion, expecting her to be convinced. 'That is a pretty story,' she said half mockingly, ' and very prettily told, but nothing would ever have made me any different. As a little child I could never have sat for " Innocence," and if you do not believe me, go and ask my adopted parents if I am not speaking the truth. Do you know the Jeffries ? ' she asked suddenly. ' As it happens I know the son, Tommy Jeffries, who is now at Oxford, very well indeed, and his mother, Lady Jeffries slightly. Tommy's debts at Oxford have to be paid, so no doubt she is very glad to have you,' I remarked. ' She is a woman who would sell her very soul for money,' the girl said almost fiercely, ' I have not been there a week yet, but I have found that out.' ' You must not judge her hardly,' I said, ' for we are all more or less tarred by the same brush nowadays.

We are not all heir esses, and we must live somehow, you know.' ' I don't think you are like that,' she whispered, laying her hand on mine, and looking into my face. What a self-possessed young man, with all his wits about him, would have done under these circumstances, I cannot pretend to say. I can only answer for myself; the fumes of Mr Flip's champagne were mounting to my brain, and her mysterious eyes held me as if by a spell, when a sudden blaze of splendour seemed to bear down upon us, and nearly blinded me by its radiance, I only saw, or thought I saw, a tall figure in black, half emerge from this bright light, while a weird, sepulchral voice cried : ' Diabline ! Diabline, beware ! love is not for you. Do not give way to it, or the severest penalty will be yours.' The hand which had been laid so gently on mine seemed to tighten into a feverish clutch, and to burn mine as if it had been made of fire. ' Father be merciful, father have mercy,' she shrieked. ' I know not mercy,' came the answer from what now seemed absolute unearthly blackness. ' I am a woman,' she wailed. 'You are my daughter, Diabline.' I can recall no more.

I do not know if I fainted, or what happened after that, but when I began to come to, I felt like the victim in the dentist's chair after a dose of chloroform or gas. The girl was standing looking at me. ' What is the matter with you, Mr Darling ton ? ' she asked coldly, ' I am afraid your supper has been rather too much for you.' With a strong effort I pulled myself together. ' I am all right now, anyway,' I replied, quite calmly. Then I offered her my arm and led her back to the house, wondering vaguely what it all meant. The spirit world, after all, is so close to us if we only realised it, but we are mostly so unconscious of it and so slow to believe even what we see. Although actually bordering on it, we have no faith, and therefore so little insight. Before I relinquished the girl's arm I turned to her and said slowly, ' What is your Christian name, Miss Wilson ? ' ' Diabline,' she answered.

Chapter III The Little Waif

Mr and Mrs Jonathan T. Wilson of New York had been married for ten years, and they would have been a perfectly happy couple if it had not been for a great and lasting trouble, which overtook them in the seventh year of their wedded bliss, as if to prove to them that none of God's creatures are in tended to have everything they desire. They had two little boys, upon whom they lavished all their care and attention — two clever, amusing, precocious little American boys, in whom the fond parents were wrapt up, and in whom all their hopes for the future were centred. The Wilsons were rich, and therefore their babies were denied nothing which money could procure them. Every care was lavished upon them, and for every petty childish ailment the most eminent physicians were called in. But Death, that great leveller, who makes no distinction be tween rich and poor, great or small, stalked down upon them, and carried away with him these two little favourites of fortune.

There was an epidemic raging in New York, and before Mrs Wilson, who was not very well herself at the time, could remove her treasures, they were stricken down with it through the carelessness of the nurse, and in less than two days both were dead. Neither money, care, nor the prayers of the agonised parents could save the little ones' lives any more than if they had been paupers who nobody troubled about. It is hardly too much to say that Mr and Mrs Jonathan T. Wilson never quite recovered from this shock. As a matter of course they went into society again, and smiled and looked pleased at the right moment, and Mr Jonathan T. Wilson went on piling up gold, but no more children were born to them, and many a time and oft, as they passed their beautiful empty nurseries, DAUGHTER their hearts ached with a cruel longing which seemed as if it would never be satisfied.