HIS ONE MISTAKE.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume XVIII, Issue 1702, 3 July 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

HIS ONE MISTAKE.

By BERTHA M- CLAY.

novelist

CHAPTER Xll.—(Costwced.) It was characteristic of her that she did not give one thought of the grandeur of the future; she never said to herself that if all went well she should one day be Lady Carsdale or Countess of Waldrove. She never remembered it; she never paid to herself that she should be mistress of Roseneath Abbey—that she should have jewels, carriages, horses, all that wealth could purchase and luxury invent ; she only thought of the time when she should win his love—when he should go to her and say: “ I married you, dear, for honor’s sake; I love yon for your own.” God speed the time, for she loved him very dearly —loved him so well it was hard to be parted from him. “ It was so strange,” she thought to herself, “ that he should never suspect her great love for him.” He never appeared to think that it was in the bounds of possibility for any love to enter into the matter. She would hope, and wait, and pray. “ Wives have prayed for many thing’,” she said. “It will not, surely, seem strange if one prays for her husband’s love.” Lord Carsdale felt inexpresibly thankful to leave Rudeswell and its associa’ions behind. He had done his duty—carried, it, perhaps, a little to excess; but then every man does that, or should do. The glow of satisfaction that comes from duties done was still warm within him, yet the relief was great. Ailie, in her way, was graceful and refined, beautiful and clever; she was ignorant of many things—the little niceties of etiquette, the great charm that arises from a perfect knowledge of society, were wanting; but she was never vulgar—her words and actions did not jar open him as Hettie’a did; besides which, he had really a good-tempered, kindly liking for her, as people often have for those whom they have saved from great dangers. The rest of the family were intolerable; it was certainly a relief to get a “-ay, to leave the gloomy atmosphere and return to the scenes long familiar to him. Every mile that he travelled brought him a deeper sense oi happiness and security. He was received with open arms at stately Roseneath. Lord Waldrove had peculiar ideas of his own ; one was that it was not wise to be too severe with young men; he fancied (hat treating them wijh kindly infinite merely said to nflhk “ Yon have been to Paris, then, my boy 7” “ Yee," was the reply ; “ and from Paris to Switzerland. I am very glad to be at home again; there ia no place like home.” The earl was delighted; to love home was a virtue in his eyes — one that covered many faults. '

44 Yota mother seemed to think it strange that you did not come straight back from the doctor 4 *; bat I told her, after a long spell of reading, yon would naturally require a little holiday. His conscience reproached him; a keen, ■hup pain almost stabbed him as he thought how he had deceived this indulgent, kindly lather; his lips quivered with pain. Then he said to himself it was all for honor, for honor’s sake; he had no cause for regret; before now, kings had given their crowns, men had poured out their lives like water for honor’s sake; he might easily bear the pain Of having deceived those who trusted him most and loved him best.

Roseneath has been for long years one of the most beautiful and celebrated mansions in England; there is no hook descriptive of English life in which a vigwtfe of liv-eneath does not find a place. It stands on the brow of a bill, and is said to look over three counties. The abbey itself existed before the reign of Henry the Eighth, who after destroying it as a religions house, beautiucd it, and soon after it came into the possession of the Waldroves. The great beauty of the place was tbs quantity of rose* that grew there. Through the lanes and the meadows the hedges were covered with wild roses; the walls of the abbey were covered by them; they climbed the windows, the towers, the turret ', beautiful rosea of every shade ; in the gardens they abounded : there were white roses and red, the lovely < tloirc <’e dij-.-, maiden's blush, musk roses, damask roses, and moss rosea; the air for miles arouud seemed to be perfumed by rosea. The abbey was a grand building, gothic in style, vith gloriously arched windows, with tall towers and fine gateways. The rooms were all lefty, large, and light, They were famished with the utmost magnificence, the Earl of Waldrove being one of the wealthiest peers in England.

The grounds around the r.bb-y were magnificent; the park, the pleasure- 'rounds, the terraces leading from the abbe-y m tbs -mooth lawn below, terraces on which the levelis-t flowers bloomed, while stately cedars shaded the lawn. The deep, clear waters o! the lake shone between the tree-; ar.’ltr- .1 iur browsed under the tall There were long ranges of conservator ic-, i-rneri.-;. hothouses— all kiuiG of nsr?-.-:,;.if .-il p.r-.ui.da, beautifully laid out- T.-.e trees »hj .■ surrounded Roseneath A'Aev w:k- a ?-nu*c in themselves; thrdr sgc -vs- r-t i rightly >r.cwa. but they Vim ;! :i . l.nd fl-u-i hj England. Some of the o ik trees wav larg-. enough and hollow enough to form small rooms. There, to this day, they show a

superb, massive oak, in which they declare King Charles slept more than once. The family matched the mansion ; they ware among the oldest and most conservative in the land. The present earl—Stephen, Lord Waldrove—was a good-tempered, easy, indulgent man, only firm and severe where his family honor was at stake—then he had no pity, no mercy; and Lucia, his wife, was, if possible, more uncompromising than himself. To them the earth and all that it contained had been made for the Waldroves; they considered themselves second only to royalty; they were proud to the proudest degree; either of them, father or mother, would rather have seen one of their children dead than married beneath them. In their children this exaggerated sense of honor existed, although it took with them a different shape. It was to this family, prouder than the proudest, that Vivian, Lord Carsdale, was to introduce the dancing-master’s daughter as his wife.

CHAPTER XIII.

A PROUD FAMHjV. The Countess of Waldrove sat alone in her beautiful morning-room—a room such as one seldom sees out of a dream or a The hangings were all of superb amber satin and white lace; a few rare crimson flowers, in beautiful jardiniers; a beautiful copy of the Venus de Milo, standing between curtains of amber brocade; a few pictures, each one a gem; a lovely face by Greuze, a Madonna by Raphael, a landscape by Claude, and one or two water-colors that the countess had finished most exquisitely herself; gems of art, exquisite pieces of Dresden ehina, a rare Wedgewood, beautiful little carvings in ivory, were scattered over the tables; books in rare and beautiful bindings. The Countess Lucia, Lady Waldrove, reclined on a couch of amber satin, toying negligently with a little King Charles spaniel that lay on a cushion by her side—the very picture of elegance and luxury; the atmosphere eeemed filled with it; one could not imagine vulgar oares presuming to enter here. Lady Waldrove was a tall, stately brunette. She had been exceedingly handsome in her youth ; even now she was considered one of the finest-looking women in the peerage. Lady Waldrove wore a morn-ing-dress of white muslin, with maize-colored ribbons; on her luxuriant hair she wore a morning-cap of rich Valenciennes lace; a cup of chocolate stood on a silver fray by her side. But the countess had little thought for her chocolate; she was thinking of, to her, the most important person in the whole world—Vivian, Lord Carsdale, heir of Roseneatb.

Tire door of the morning-room opened slowly, and a young pud entered, fall and dark, as were all the Carsdales. The countess bad a supreme contempt for lair people; to her idea, lair complexions and weak minds p-lways wont together. Lady Linda, tbs eldest of the Ladies Caradale, cautiously, almost timidly, entered her mother's presence. P-op're, as a rule, worn very fearful of disturbing her ladyship’s repose. She looked up quickly. “is’that yon, Linda? Come in; I was ju-t rending for you.” Lady Linda wont up to her mother, and ’rend ire; yvv," fully, she kissed the white, jswsilcu hands that lay on tha little King Charte* <1 g. It was seldom that Lady Waldr&vo’a daughters, unasked, kissed their mother's L'.re. •• Good-morning, dear mamma," said Lady Linda. •’ How is Floss ?“ To love Lady Wald rove was also to leva her dog Floss; the one could not be liked without the olher. “My deer Linds, I r.m not quite satisfied over Floss—ho has refused hia chicken this morning. Last night I sent the most tender piece of lamb outlet, but he turned away from it. Smithson says he eats too much, but Floss is ton refined for that.” The girl bent down and stroked the dog’s silken ears. “ I think, mamma, that perhaps a little exercise would restore your pet. .Snail I take him out in thn grounds? ” Lady Waldrove looked quite interested. “ You arc very amiable, Linda," she said. “ I should be quite plvMed; but that ia not what I wanted you for. jKmithson tolls mo your brother Vivian cans home quite late last night, and I want to see him. Will you tell him bo?” _ with pleasure. sister, it was certainly for Lady Linda. He always said that if his mother's training had left any nature in cither of them, it was certainly in Linda. Lady G#:ude moved, spoke, thought, and smiled by/ale. No matter what he or anyone else said, they were both of them charming, elegant, high-bred, amiable girls—excessively worldly, but that was the result of their training. They did thick of another world sometimes, for Lady Waldrove was always religious in the country—in town there was no time for it.

Of course the one grand ultimatum was that the Ladies Carsdale should marry well; there seemed every prospect of it. Lady Gertrude had attracted the attention of Lord Rawdon, than whom no more promising peer ever lived. He had not, as the countess pompously phrased it, “declared himself,” but she felt quite sure that, sooner or later, he intended to propose for her daughter. The Ladies Carsdale were not precisely beautiful; as their brother always said they were 44 thoroughbred.” They were both tall, with fine dark eyes, and dark hair, richly colored faces, with very beautiful mouths. They were very elegant and accomplished, very proud, believing almost implicitly, as their parents did, that the world was made for the Wddroves. Neither of them could have loved or married an inferior in station.

The Lady Gertrude permitted herself to hkc Lord Rawdon because he was a most eligible match.

The countess bad a nearer and dearer hope etlii. That season in town the Duke of Claverdon had requested an introduction to the Lady Linda, and had seemed very much taken with her. He had danced, flirted, sung, rode, and driven with her; but the expected proposal had not followed. Now, to see Lady Linda Duchess of Claverdon was the wish nearest to her mother’s heart; that was one reason why she wanted to see her son. She thought that he could, with better grace than herself, ask the duke to Roseneath.

“ She would make a charming duchess," thought Lady Waldrove, as she watched her daughter. “ I hope Vivian will be able to suggest something.' 1

She did not profess to be a very fond mother; she seldom went into raptures over her children; but her heart beat fast and her fseo flu-hed when her handsome, lordly son entered the room. If she really loved anything on earth, it was Vivian; she idolized him; all her hope and ambition were centred on him; she thought him the most handsome, the moat clever, the most gifted of human 'King?; as £*r his future, her hopes over it were boandless as the deep sea. She looked round the world of women with dreamy eyes; wno was there good enough for him ?—a prin«>3 royal, perhaps, but few others. There one girl in England whom she ’nought beautiful enough, good enongh, and nch enough, to be her son’s wife, and that was the lovely young Lady Ethel Pierpont,

only daughter and heiress of Earl Pierpont, of Mount Pleasant and Falmouth Park. That was the match which, from every point of view, would have exactly suited her; but she was too wise to mention it. The Lady Ethel had but just reached her sixteenth year; there was no hurry. The greeting between mother and son was most kindly. He kissed his mother’s face without invitation, then sat down on the amber oouoh by her side, taking the King Charles on his knee.

“ Floss grows too stout, mother,” he said, laughingly. The countess sank back on the amber satin oouoh with a languid smile; she was always so unutterably happy when her son was near.

“I have thought you long in coming, Vivian,” she said in her sweet low voice. “ I have been quite impatient to see you.” “ Very gentle impatience, mother," he replied, laughingly. “ And what has kept you away from me so long, my dear boy 7 ” she asked. “ I have been to France and Switzerland, mother,” he replied. Then he suddenly grew grave with a terrible gravity, for it flashed across him what he had done I He, the heir of this ancient house, the son of this royal woman, had married a dancing-master’s daughter 1 It flashed across him with a keenness of regret and pain that frightened him. At that moment the contrast between himself and Alice, husband and wife; the contrast between the two homes, Oeoil-street and Eosenesth Abbey ; the contrast between his father, the peer, and her father, the dancing-roaster—struck him with a sharp, keen fear. What had he done ? " What could there be in common between two such homes ? Beautiful as she was, could he ever bring Ailie to this stately, haughty mother of his. and say, “ This is my wile? ” He could imagine the calm scorn, the unspoken contempt in his mother’s eyes as he did so. Then be roused himself —it was for honor’s sake ; men died for honor, be had only lived. A sudden idea occurred to him—he would ask his mother what she thought of a parallel case ; then ho should understand better how to tell her when the time came. They talked for a few minutes on indifferent subjects; then he said; “ I heard a very strange story the other day, mother. I can give you no names—it was confidential, you understand.” “ My dear Vivian, names seldom interest me.” Unless they have tides,” he replied, laughingly. “ But hear the story, mother; I thought it tlrangs. A gentleman—l can answer for it that he was » gentleman—invites a young girl to go out with him for a day’s holiday ” “ How shocking 1" cried her ladyship, with scorn. “ Pray do not say ‘ gentleman,’ Vivian; no gentleman cold do such a thing.” “ Pray listen, mother. He did it—there was some reason given ; I forget what exactly. She was unhappy, and it was to give her one day's happiness.” “ Very imprudent,” said her ladyship, indifferently. " Yes, it was imprudent. Well, the end of the day’s pleasure was, they were too late for the return train, and the girl, living with strict relatives, would have been rained for life bad he not sacrificed himself and married her.

“ And what ?” cried her ladyship. “ Married her,” replied Lord Carsdale—- “ married her, to save her from blame and reproach.” “ How utterly absurd, Vivian 1 Pray do not repeat such a story; people will think you mad for retailing it. Mind 1 Floss does not like her ears pulled.” “ Then you do not see anything grand or heroic in such a marriage 7” he asked. “ Grand! heroic 1 I hardly understand how you can talk such nonsense. Common sense is better than heroism, and there is no common sense in that.”

41 No, there is not. But what should you think of the man who did it, mother?” 44 Think ?” said the Countess Waldrove. 44 1 am not addicted to harsh words, but in this case I must say the man was a simpleton for his pains. But never mind that foolish story, Vivian; I want to consult you about the D ike of Claverdon. I think you could ask him down for a week.” 41 Why do you want him here 7 ” asked Vivian. 41 My dftar boy, what ate you thinking of I 44 so my of Claverdon. She will have a good husband if she marries the duke.” 44 Yes,” said the countess; and you must not forget that if the duke marries Linda he will have a good wife.”

Lord Carsdale was struck again; they were children of one mother, Linda and himself; she was to marry a duke, and he had married the daughter of a dancing-master. 44 Of course,” said the countess, with proud humility. 44 1 know that the duke is a grand parti. I should like him to come while you are at home, Vivian; and we must have everything nice for him.” 44 Yea,” agreed Vivian, adding to himself: 44 This would be the worst time in the world to tell my mother the truth; even the duke might bo_ frightened away if he knew about the dancing-master. I must wait.” And wait be did.

CHAPTER XIV.

SISTER AND WIFE CONTRASTED. The “little affair" of the duke was most adroitly managed. Lord Garsdale wrote to him, saying that he had a few weeks atßoseneath before joining his regiment, and how much he would enjoy seeing him. The duke’s reply was such as filled Lady Waldrove’s heart with pleasure, and Lady Linda’s with hope.

The Duke of Claverdon was a prize worth securing; his rent-roll was enormous; coal mines had been found on one of his estates. Claverdon Manor was one of the finest estates in England; besides which the duke was the possessor of a charming seat in Kent, a valuable estate In North Wales, a beautiful sea-side residence in the Isle of Wight. The Claverdon stables held some of the finest hunters in England, the Claverdon jewels were famous, so that it the dark-eyed, lowvoioed Lady Linda could secure such a prize she was indeed a fortunate girl. The question was, would she secure him ? Would he continue at Roseneath those attentions ho had paid her when in London ? Lord Garsdale loved Lady Linda; she was very gentle, very affectionate; she was warm and true of heart; he relied greatly upon her, and now he was intensely interested for her. A girl so completely and thoroughly wellbred as the Lady Linda Garsdale only permits familiar acquaintance with the most eligible of men. Had his grace of Claverdon oeen poor or nameless, she wonld not have looked at him. Coming before her with all the prestige of rank, wealth, and position, she had found him imstible. The great ladies of the great world do not take love as the grand, serious passion more commonplace women believe it to be.

Had the dnke raised his hat and ridden oway, Lady Linda wonld have sighed; she might even, in the darkness and silence of her own room, have shod a law tears, but she

would have welcomed the next most eligible man after the duke. Great ladies marry for position, for rank, for honor; if love goes with it, so mush the better; if not--well, the good things of this world give a delight all their own.

The duke was expected to arrive on Tuesday evening, about an hour before dinner, and Lord Carsdale awaited, with some anxiety, the entrance of his favorite sister into the drawing-room. She came in, looking very nice; her beautiful figure and sweet, refined face had a great oharm. She was beautifully dressed in pale amber silk that was almost covered with white laoe; a superb flloire de Dijon rose in her hair and one in her low bodice of her dress, there was a faint, sweet perfume hanging about her. Her movements were all so charmingly graceful, her voice so perfectly harmonious, her accent so refined, that Lord Carsdale was struck by her. He sighed involuntarily as he looked at her. Ah I if he had married such a wife as this, how proudly he might have brought, her home. He thought of poor, beautiful Ailie, and wondered that she and his sister belonged to the same world. He went up to his sister. “Come in tho conservatory with me, Liuda,” be said; “ I want to talk to you.” Even as he walked by her side he was thinking of the difference between the two. Hia sister’s walk had in it some of the free action, the free grace that distinguish Spanish ladies; it was a pleasure to watch her. He sighed again. Ailie was more beautiful—her face was a dream of loveliness. If she could but acquire this grace. “ Who taught you to walk bo well, Linda 7” he asked.

His sister looked up at him in wonder, “ Taught me to walk ?” she repeated. “ My nurse, I suppose.” “ Yes, of course; Ido not mean that. I mean how have you acquired that peculiar grace in walking so different to the manner of women of a lower class 7”

“ I had masters of deportment, of course; and Madame Ttegamier was very particular about our style of walking.” “ Then such a style is acquired,” he said; “it is not natural. Thank Heaven for that—others may learn it.”

The gentle face expressed great wonder, but Lady Linda asked no question, she made no remark.

“ Linda,” said Lord Carsdale, " I want to ask you one question. Tell me, do you really' like the Duke of 01averdon--rca% ?” “ Yes, I like him very much indeed,” she replied. “ Bat do you love him 7 ” She blushed—just the sweetest, faintest rose flush that ever covered a face.

“Love him?” she repeated. “What a question to ask me,” “It a very natural question,” he cried. “ Tell me, would you be his wife if he asked you ?" “ Yes, most certainly I would." “ You would be quite happy as his wife, Linda ? ”

“ Yes, quite happy, Vivian.’’ “ Shall you be disappointed,” ho continued, “ if he does not ask you to be his wife ? ” “I—yes, I think I shall,” she replied. “ But what strange questions you ask me.” “ Will it be the duke or the man that you will regret ? ” ha asked. And Lady Linda, after thinking for a moment, said ;

“ Both.” Then he was content; he resolved to do all in his power to aid in the wooing. The duke arrived; and Lord Carsdale, who watohed him closely, came to the conclusion that he did love bis sister, and that all would go well. During dinner the conversation turned upon one whom they had all known—Colonel Sefton—who had recently made himself famous by marrying an actress. The duke spoke warmly of it. “I have no patience,” he said, “with a man who commits a folly of that kind. No man ought ever to marry beneath him ; and if he does, he ought to descend to the level of the woman he marries. I have the greatest contempt for anything of the kind.” “Heaven help me, thenl” thought Lord Carsdale. “ What would he say if ha knew my story ? ” Lady Waldrove thought the duke the most sensible man she had ever met. In her clear, high-bred voice, she said : “ I quite agree in your ideas; I think nothing so dreadful as a metaUiance of that m ent classes composing it were so mixed by marriage." While Lord Carsdale, listening in silence, thought how more than fortunate it was that this stately circle of noble relations and friends knew nothing of his little escapade. “ And yet,” he said to himself, “ I am sure there was higher chivalry, higher honor, more royal generosity in marrying that girl than in leaving her to be turned adrift on the world. No one would have believed her innocent. I have been honorable after my own fashion,” he said; “ they can please themselves ; I have done what I thought right; they will do the same, I suppose.” But it made him thoughtful, more thoughtful than he had ever been in his life before.

For the first time he noticed how rigid the laws of caste were—how proud and reserved his own people were, after all. Easy, free, and kind with their equals, gracious and generous to their dependents, cold, proud, and reserved to their inferiors.

As he had journeyed home, after that rash, hasty marriage of his, he had thought many things. One was that he would boldly declare and avow what he had done; after all he had a perfect right to please himself. No one eould disinherit him; he would go home and tell them of his marriage, and he would ask—this is what made him shudder, now that he remembered it—he would ask if Ailie might remain with them at Roseneath while he was abroad with his regiment. She would then—being so quick and so clever—she would catch their tone and manner—she would adopt their language and habits—she would imitate them and grow like them, with all their charm of grace and refinement. That bad been his first idea; now he shuddered at it; what was more, he felt quite certain that if the proud Duke of Claverdon had any idea that there was snob a ruestillitiTicc m the family, he would never marry his sister Linda. He thanked Heaven now that he had said nothing about it; now he vowed to himself that he would keep his secret while he lived. They should never laugh at him and call him Don Quixote—he would keep hie Quixotism to himself. And yet all his sympathies were with them; he thought as they thought, he spoke as they spoke, he despised low marriages in others ; he said to himself that the motive of his marriage redeemed It andmade it noble. He had married for honor’s sake—the honor of a woman; they married to add to their own honor, their own rank and position. " I am the noblest Roman of them all,” he said to himself, ‘ though I have married a dancing-master’s daughter.

He saw no way now of declaring his marriage. Pot himself, he might bear his mother’s seem, his sister’s well-bred wonder, his father’s hot anger, the contempt of his friends, but if he avowed his marriage he

Uvt-n that th.i cVr.o would never marry Linda. That proudest of men would never marry the sister-in-law of a dancing-master's daughter. Ic would put an end to his mother’s hope for the girla, for, disguise it as ho would, there was something ridiculous attached to the idea, A dancing master’s daughter and the son of an earl I He wished thet honest John Derwent had been an artist, a musician, anything except just what he was. For Linda’s sake and for Gertrude’s sake, he must keep his secret, at least until they were married and settled. So he was silent, and the story of that hasty, reckless marriage was not told. As the time passed mi he understood better what he had done—it came home very clearly to him one morning, Tho earl, his father, had purchased for him a new hunter, a magnificent animal, and he sent for his eon to the stables to inspect it. ‘‘Sea, Vivian,” said Lord Waldrove; “I hope you will be pleased with Saladin. I have been some time in choosing him for you—l was determined that you should have a good one.

Lord Carsdale expressed his pleasure and delight. “I have been three months in deciding over Saladin,” said the earl; “ I have seen some fine horses, but I had resolved on having the best for you. Then," he added, laughingly, “ there is a moral in that for you, Vivian. If I have spent three months in choosing a horse, how long should you spend in choosing a wife ?” Lord Carsdale looked very uncomfortable. “That I can hardly toll,” he said; “it would all depend on whether it was a case of love at first sight or not.” The earl laid his hand kindly on the young man’s shoulder; he looked almost wistfully into the handsome face. lam only jesting, Vivian,” he said. “Of course, some time or other you will marry— I hope so; but I have faith in you. I know your choice will be one that will please us and honor yourself. I wish every father in England had as much faith in his son as I have in you. The young lord kissed his father’s hand. Those kind, trusting words were hard to hear; if it had not been the thought of his sister’s marriage he would in that moment have told the truth about his own. (To be continued.)