Brownie's triumph

Contrary to her own and Brownie’s expectations, and somewhat to the disappointment of the latter, Lady Ruxley decided to return to West Malling the next afternoon. She had taken cold the night previous, and was not so well as usual, and thought she would feel better to be at home.

“I shall come soon, my darling,” Adrian had managed to whisper, as he handed Brownie into the carriage, and then stood wistfully watching it until it was out of sight.

Lady Ruxley reached home about five, where she found awaiting her a summons to Vallingham Hall.

Lady Randal was planning a musical soirée, to come off the following week, and requested her aunt to lend her Miss Dundas’ services for the occasion. She also stated that it would take three or four days’ practice to prepare for the occasion; meanwhile they were invited to make the Hall their home, she promising that her ladyship should have every comfort and attention, and be assigned rooms in as quiet a portion of the house as possible.

“It will do the child good; she has perked up wonderfully in the last two days by just going over to Dunforth Castle,” mused the old lady, who continued to marvel at the wondrous change in her usually sad companion.

Wholly unmindful of the aches and pains which had hurried her home from Dunforth Castle, she rang the bell a furious peal for her maid.

“Pack up a week’s supply of clothing, and have it ready by ten to-morrow. We go to Vallingham Hall for a seven days’ visit.”

With which command, she left the astonished Minnett and hobbled away to find Brownie and impart the news to her.

Brownie, as soon as she had removed her wrappings, repaired to the conservatory, and was greatly surprised when she heard Lady Ruxley’s cane come clinking over the tiled floor, supposing her to be snug in bed, and enjoying the delights of a rousing rum-sweat—her favorite remedy for colds and rheumatics.

“I thought I should find you here,” her ladyship said, as Brownie arose quickly and came forward to lead her to a chair. “You like birds and flowers, don’t you?” she added, keenly regarding the lovely, smiling face and sparkling eyes.

“Yes, my lady, I am exceedingly fond of them. But are you not imprudent to come here, where it is so damp, with your cold?” she asked, as she seated her and placed a hassock at her feet. She was ever tenderly mindful of her comfort.

“No, no, child; I’m all right now I am home again. I never feel well when I’m visiting—that is,” she hastened to add “in strange places. It did you good, though; you have more color, and look brighter.”

“Yes, I am much better than when I first came to West Malling,” Brownie admitted, with a conscious blush.

“Yes, the trip to the castle did you much good, undoubtedly,” persisted her ladyship, nodding and chuckling knowingly.

“It was a change, you know.”

“Yes, yes; that’s it. Young folks need change. I was a fool not to think of it before. I might have known that a young, bright thing like you would droop and pine, hived up with a croning old owl like me for company.”

“Pray, dear Lady Ruxley, do not talk so!” Brownie interrupted, eagerly, and much distressed at her words. “Indeed, I have been very happy with you—much more so than I was during the five months previous.”

“I know—I know all about it. You’re plucky, and you will not own it to me. But you’ve been lonely and sad. I’ve got eyes, and I can see for myself. You went away from here pale, sad and quiet; you come back rosy, happy, almost gay, and the life, music, and company up yonder was what you needed, and you shall have some more of it. I like to see folks bright and chipper about me.”

Brownie felt more and more guilty.

But her next words filled her with still deeper dismay.

“They’ve got a houseful of company, as usual, up at the Hall, and we go there, too, to-morrow, to stop a few days.”

“Indeed, Lady Ruxley, I hope you are not going on my account. I do not desire or need company, and I should really prefer to remain quietly here,” she said, in distress.

“Oh! I’ve got eyes—good ones, too, if they are old; besides, Lady Randal desires it. She is getting up a soirée, and desires your services as musician. She sent a note to-day, asking me.”

“But—but you are not well. Really, I think it would be best for neither of us to go.”

“Oh, I’m all right, and I’ve given Minnett orders to have everything in readiness by to-morrow at ten. You will please be ready by that time, too,” returned her ladyship, somewhat impatiently, who thought the young girl hesitated about going only on her account.

That settled it, of course.

Brownie could not refuse point-blank to go, but her heart grew faint within her at the thought of meeting the Coolidges, and particularly under an assumed name.

Of course, she could not avoid meeting them, and doubtless they would reveal all the past to both Lady Randal and Lady Ruxley.

They would tell their story about the jewels, and of that scene with Wilbur, and the way she had left their employ.

Yet what need had she to fear Isabel Coolidge, or, indeed, any one, now that she had Adrian to lean upon and protect her?

With this brighter thought in her mind, she sought her own room to prepare for her absence and the approaching gayeties, which, after all, she began to anticipate with something of pleasure and interest.

Meanwhile, a very different scene was being enacted at Dunforth Castle.

As soon as Lady Ruxley’s carriage was driven from sight, Adrian Dredmond turned to his grandfather, saying, gravely:

“Can I have a private interview with you, sir?”

“Yes, yes, my boy, of course; come into my sanctum at once.”

He led the way to the luxuriously appointed library, where a cheerful fire in the grate toned the chill air to just the right temperature, and gave the lofty, beautiful room an appearance of homelike comfort.

“Well, now, what is it, Ad?” the old man asked, familiarly, as he threw himself into his easy-chair, and bent a look of pride upon the young lover’s handsome, animated face.

Adrian colored, but, coming to the point at once said:

“Sir, I desire your permission to marry.”

“Bless my soul, my boy! What’s this?” and he sat up and stared at his grandson for a moment, as if he had never thought of such a thing before in connection with him.

“Well, well,” he added the next; “you took me rather by surprise; that’s a fact; but, after all, you couldn’t please me better. Aha! that accounts for your hurry to get back to London, doesn’t it?”

“Yes—no,” replied Adrian, somewhat confused, and yet half-laughing at his grandfather’s comical surprise and ready acquiescence to his request.

“Yes—no,” repeated his lordship, with a merry twinkle in his eye; “that is rather a doubtful reply. But, seriously, Adrian, my boy, nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to see you settled in life; and I have no doubt but that the lady of your choice is in every way desirable.”

“She is, sir, a perfect lady, highly educated and accomplished, and there never was, in my opinion, a more beautiful Countess of Dunforth than she will make,” returned the ardent lover, who felt that everything was progressing finely.

“Yes, yes; that is always so with lovers. I remember——”

What he remembered he did not say, but his face grew wan and sad, as he suddenly checked himself.

Then he resumed, more gravely:

“The lady is of good birth, of course?”

“Yes, sir, excellent,” Adrian returned, recalling what his friend Gordon had said about Miss Mehetabel’s “family tree.” Then he added: “But misfortune of a very serious nature has deprived her during the last six or eight months of all her property, and death of her last friend.”

“That is bad, truly, my boy; but, then, you will have enough, and to spare, and I would be the last one to put anything in the way of your happiness for the lack of filthy lucre. You love the lady, of course?” and he searched the noble face that he loved so well.

“As my own life!” Adrian said, earnestly.

“Ah! you have been a sly dog to get so far as this and we never suspected it. Who is the fair inamorata?”

“You would not deem it anything out of the way, I presume, sir, if a lady of good birth should be reduced to the necessity of becoming a governess or a companion?” Adrian asked, ignoring the question, and determined to lay all the facts before his grandfather before telling his darling’s name.

“Zounds, Adrian! Has it been so bad as that in the case of your ladylove?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then the quicker you marry her, and relieve her dire necessity the better,” his lordship said, little thinking how he was committing himself.

“Thank you. Yes, sir, it came to that, as I told you some six or eight months ago.”

“But—what is this? Why, you were in America at that time,” and he began to fidget uneasily.

“Yes, sir; I met the lady in America.”

“Ah, ha!”

This time Lord Dunforth scowled disapprobation. He had the English prejudice against English nobility intermarrying with American plebeianism, so-called.

Adrian noticed his look, and his heart sank.

“My lord,” he said, “you have seen the lady, and acknowledged her loveliness. I heard you tell Sir Charles that she was very beautiful, and too much of a lady for the position which she occupies. I assure you, and I speak advisedly, that she is of good birth, and fitted in every way to be my wife. She is companion to Lady Ruxley. Have I still your permission to marry her?”

His lordship stared at his grandson in dismay.

“Miss Dundas, Adrian!” he exclaimed, aghast, his fine face flushing a deep crimson.

“Miss Douglas, my lord,” corrected Adrian, somewhat proudly.

His lordship did not notice the correction. His head was bent in deep thought, his brow was knotted, his lips compressed. At length, looking up, he said, with emotion:

“My boy, your happiness is of the greatest importance to me, and has always been my first consideration. I know what it is to love deeply, and the anguish which follows the loss of a loved one”—his voice quivered painfully. “But,” he added, “it is better to give up an unworthy love than to marry beneath you, and then repent of it when it is too late.”

“Sir, the lady is not unworthy, and I shall never repent making her my wife,” Adrian said, indignantly; then continued, speaking rapidly: “I told you that she descended from a highly respectable family. They were English, too, and removed to America many years ago. They were very wealthy at that time, but a series of misfortunes deprived them of this. I learned this from my friend, Gordon, whom, you remember, I met two years ago in Germany. He vouched for her respectability, and told me he had seen the ‘family tree,’ and that they traced back their ancestry to the Scottish nobility.”

“But it must be very remote. Besides, she was born and reared in America, and has not a friend living, as you say, to prove her respectability, and all this would be very disagreeable to establish.”

“The fact that I have chosen her for my wife would be sufficient to establish her respectability without any questioning,” replied Adrian, proudly.

“But I want you to have an English wife, Adrian—one who will fill her position proudly and creditably.”

“I am as eager for that, my lord, as you can possibly be,” said the young man, with a quiet smile, as he thought how perfectly Brownie would reign in those grand old halls.

“How came she to be in England if she was so reduced in circumstances?”

“She came over as governess with a family, in the same steamer with myself.”

“How does it happen that they did not retain her—that she left them to be companion to a woman like Lady Ruxley?” demanded his lordship, his face beginning to grow stern and set.

Adrian colored vividly. He knew it did not sound well, but he was truth itself, and replied:

“She was ill-treated and insulted—in fact, was accused of taking that which did not belong to her.”

“Enough, sir! No person with any such record can ever become allied to my family!” burst forth Lord Dunforth, rising from his chair in wrath.

“But, sir, let me explain——”

“No, sir!” he thundered; “not another word! I am astonished and disappointed in you, Adrian, that you could so demean yourself as to desire to marry any one so far beneath you!”

“She is not beneath me,” began the indignant lover, hotly.

“Not another word, Adrian, if you please, on the subject, unless you wish to incur my stern displeasure. You, the future Earl of Dunforth, marry a person accused of theft! Never!” and he paced the floor, with angry strides.

Suddenly he wheeled upon his grandson, and demanded:

“May I ask, have you made proposals to this very estimable person?”

“I have, my lord.” The manly eyes blazed dangerously at this almost insulting question, while his hands worked nervously at the biting sarcasm of his grandfather’s words.

“Fool!”

“Sir!”

“You’re a fool, I say!”

The two men glared at each other furiously for a moment. Then Adrian, growing very pale, moved a step or two back, and said, in a quiet, though concentrated voice:

“Then I am to understand that you refuse your consent to my marrying?”

“I do, most emphatically refuse to allow you to marry any such doubtful person as Lady Ruxley’s companion appears to be. Shame upon you stooping so low!”

“Then, my Lord Dunforth, listen to me,” Adrian said, flushing angrily, and drawing his proud form to its fullest height. “I love this gentle girl with my whole heart; I have told her so, and I have asked her to be my wife. I am of age, and, sir, I shall marry her!”

Lord Dunforth suddenly wheeled about, and came forward with rapid strides.

The two proud men stood looking steadfastly into each other’s eyes for a moment, and each read there a determination never to yield.

“Then you are no longer a child of mine!” whispered the irate lord, hoarsely, his whole frame shaking from anger, disappointment, and mortification.

“Grandfather,” returned Adrian, sadly, “you know I love you, and would gladly do anything in reason to please you; but the happiness of two lives is at stake, and in this matter I must choose for myself.”

There was a note of quiet determination in his voice, albeit it was so sad, which told the other that he meant every word he uttered.

“Then choose for yourself,” he cried, almost beside himself with grief and mortified pride, “and choose beggary with your wife, for not one shilling from the Dunforth coffers shall you ever touch!”

“But I am not a beggar quite yet, my lord; I have my own income,” returned Adrian, proudly, yet smiling, in spite of himself, for his income was no mean one.

“Then leave me—begone!”

“Sir——”

“Not another word, unless you will yield to me!” shouted the earl.

“I cannot!”

“Then go! Marry your plebian beggar, and never darken Dunforth’s doors again!”

“Is that your ultimatum? Have you no sympathy nor mercy?” asked Adrian, growing very white about the mouth, though his eyes gleamed with a lurid light.

His lordship caught his breath hard at these questions. Who should have sympathy if not he? But he would not yield.

“It is my ultimatum. I have no sympathy with anything like that,” he said, yet the face of his own lost love arose before him at that moment like a phantom.

With an inclination of his haughty head, Adrian turned and left the room without another word.