"Is Edith going?" said Lady Ida as she joined them with her plumed hat in her hand. "I thought she never rode with us."
"She does when Amy begs her to, and I have a special message from her highness that Edith should join us, for it is too fine a day to paint or sing, is it not, Edith?" replied Arthur, turning to her with a smile.
She did not speak, but looked silently at Lady Ida as if asking leave, and when no answering sign was given, she answered gently, "Thank you, but I will not join you today. I can soon win Amy's consent and will enjoy the air and sunlight in the garden while you are gone."
Lord Percy watched the look and heard the low sigh that accompanied the reply and, turning to Lady Ida, said, "Will you not add your entreaties to mine, and we may win Miss Adelon's consent to go in spite of her refusal?"
"Oh, yes, if you desire it," she answered with a meaning smile.
"Where were my gallantry if I said no? Besides, it will just make up our number and none will have to ride alone," Lord Percy answered as he turned toward Edith.
"Go get your dress, child, and tell Amy to make haste," said Lady Ida, for his words reminded her that if Edith were not there, Arthur or Lord Arlington might join herself and Lord Percy, whom in her own mind she had fixed upon for her companion. "She graciously consented, and when Edith and Amy joined them, she was talking gaily to Lord Percy, who listened silently, while playing with the little flower.
"Here are the horses and our other squire,” said Arthur as the grooms and Lord Arlington appeared. “Now let us mount and be off. Are you going to try Selim again so soon, Ida?"
"No. I did not order him. How careless Robert is. It is too late to change now. What can we do? Edith, you might try him," said Lady Ida.
"I should hardly like to venture it. You would fear to ride him, would you not, Edith?" said Arthur kindly.
"Oh, no," she answered, laying her small hand gently on the proudly arched neck of the horse beside her. "Selim knows I trust to his good behavior and will not trouble me, I think."
"He were worse than a brute if he did," said Lord Arlington, who looked admiringly at her as she pushed the dark curls from her happy face, which looked so lovely in the shadow of the simple hat she wore.
"Lord Percy, I am waiting for you," said Lady Ida. "Let us be gone. It's growing late." Lord Percy helped her mount and turned to do the same for Edith, when Lord Arlington stepped by him, saying, "Nay, Percy, as Miss Adelon's squire, I claim this privilege and honor."
But Edith, placing her hand upon the saddle, sprang lightly up, saying as she turned her horse, "It can be no honor to aid me," and, with a bow of thanks for the help she had not accepted, she rode on and left Lord Arlington angry and disappointed at the failure of the little plan he had made to be her companion for the ride.
"She shall not be rid of me thus easily," he muttered. "Proud as she is, I'll win her yet." And he was soon beside her, watching with malicious pleasure while her color deepened and her dark eye fell as he whispered flattering words and looked the admiration that he felt.
"Do you see those clouds? Arthur, shall we not have a storm?" said Amy as she watched the sky fast growing dark with heavy clouds.
"Yes, we must seek some place of shelter. It will not last long, and we are too far from home now to return," said Arthur. "Percy, we must try to reach that old barn yonder, for the storm is gathering fast."
They rode swiftly on till, as they reached a turn in the narrow path, a large rock rose beside them, which Edith's horse refused to pass. They tried to lead him, but he started back and obstinately stood where he first stopped.
"Use your whip, Edith," cried Lady Ida. "You are detaining us all."
"Kindness is a better way than fear," said Edith as she threw the whip upon the ground and, gently calling him by name, smoothed his shining neck and urged him forward. As if quieted by the kind voice, he moved slowly on and was just passing by the dreaded rock when Lady Ida, who was just behind, impatient at the long delay and rendered more so by the drops that now began to fall, touched the fiery creature with her whip, saying sharply, "Go more quickly, Edith. We shall all be wet."
With a spring, the high-spirited horse dashed forward and was out of sight before they saw her danger.
"Stay with your sister, Arthur. I will stop him," cried Lord Percy and darted off, followed by Lord Arlington.
"She is still safe," exclaimed the latter as they caught sight of Selim and Edith sitting firmly in the saddle. "How splendidly she rides. She is a fearless girl."
Lord Percy did not speak, but kept his eye on the slender form before him and rode rapidly along.
"For heaven's sake, look, Percy, the path ends there. She must be thrown into the water or leap that high wall. What shall we do?" said Lord Arlington.
"Stand still and trust to her courage," said Lord Percy as he checked his horse. "Our calling will but frighten him the more."
The horse rushed on, but Edith, with a firm hand, drew the rein and, with a leap, he passed the wall. "Now ride for your life, and God grant we find her safe upon the other side," cried Lord Percy. They reached the wall and, hastily dismounting, they sprang over, and there they found Edith pale but safe, leaning beside her horse, whose fright seemed banished by the leap, for he stood panting and gentle as a lamb.
"Thank God you are safe, Miss Adelon," said Lord Percy as he took the bridle from her hand. "Selim has proved unworthy of your confidence by this."
"It was not Selim's fault," said Edith gently, while the color rose to her white cheek as she remembered Lady Ida's thoughtless action. "He has saved my life and I am grateful. Let us now return. Poor Amy will be fearing I am hurt."
"Thoughtful for all but yourself," said Lord Percy. "Will you ride back, Arlington, and bring them hither? The barn we were seeking is just here. We'll join you there."
Lord Arlington obeyed, and Edith turned to mount her quiet horse, when Lord Percy said with surprise, "You surely will not leap the wall again, Miss Adelon?"
"There is no other way. I cannot climb over so encumbered with my habit," answered Edith.
"Then you shall pass through. This part of the wall is loosely built and lower than the other." And with a strong hand, he rolled the heavy stones away and led her through.
"How is poor Selim to return?" she asked, looking kindly back as she passed the narrow path.
"He must return the way he came," replied Lord Percy.
"Nay, do not try it. He may stumble. 'Twas a fearful leap," cried Edith earnestly.
"Surely I may venture where Miss Adelon has been?" he answered with a smile and, a moment after, just as the rest of the party hastened up, he leaped the wall. "Why, Percy, are you trying to outdo Edith?" said young Hamilton. "Have we not had danger enough? Poor Ida is still faint with fright."
"She had a cause for fear. I had none" was Lord Percy's calm reply as, with a glance from Edith to Lady Ida, he led the way to the little shed. Lady Ida knew well what he meant but, too proud to ask forgiveness for the danger she had caused, looked coldly at Edith, hoped she was not hurt, and then stood Watching silently the heavy drops that fell around and pattered on the roof.
"Edith, the rain is falling on your hair. Come stand with us or put on your hat," said Amy as she saw her Standing by herself where the rain fell through the slattened roof.
"The hat is lost, but I do not mind the drops," she answered, moving farther from the sheltered corner where they stood.
Lord Percy turned from the doorway where he leaned and saw the only place for her to take was by Lord Arlington and, with a smile, he stood beside her and held his hat above her head, saying, "Will you accept the only shelter I can give? The damp drops falling on your hair will chill you."
As she looked up to thank him, she saw blood tipon his hand. "You have wounded yourself. How did it happen?" she asked.
"It is nothing but a scratch from the rough stones, and won in a good cause," he answered, smiling.
"But it was gained in moving them f
or me. It must be painful. Let me bind it with my handkerchief," she asked timidly.
"If you please, but 'tis not worth the trouble."
And as Edith stooped to place it on his hand, Amy saw a strange, bright smile rest upon his face as he looked upon her head, bent before him with the raindrops shining in her dark, disordered hair, which fell upon her shoulder.
"You can keep it as a love token, Percy," said Lord Arlington. "I should sincerely wish my arm were broken if I thought Miss Adelon would bind it up as carefully."
"Friends need no tokens to remember kind deeds by, and Miss Adelon has given me leave to number myself among her most sincere," replied Lord Percy as he saw her cheek grow crimson and the long lashes droop before the bold looks of Lord Arlington. "Do you see how finely it is clearing off? Our ride home will be delightful, as the rain is over. I'll go and see how our horses have fared."
"See what comes of gallantly turning your hat into a water bucket, Percy. You are as badly off now as Edith," said Arthur, laughing.
"Then we can sympathize in our misfortunes," replied Lord Percy gaily as she shook the water out and laid it down to dry, while he went to the tree where their horses had found shelter from the storm.
"Let us get home as quickly as we can," said Lady Ida, who had lost all pleasure in the ride.
"We need wait no longer, for here is our noble groom," said Arthur as Lord Percy led the horses to the door. "Why, Percy, you have changed the saddles. Who is to ride Selim home?"
"I," replied Lord Percy, "if Miss Adelon will trust herself on my well-trained horse. He is very gentle. Do you fear it?" he asked as she paused before mounting.
"No, it was but your kindness in thinking of it," answered Edith as she took the offered hand.
He gently seated her, saying, "You promised me the right to serve you if I could, and this is but a little thing to win your gratitude, Miss Adelon," and, with a kind smile, he placed the bridle rightly for her.
Mounting Selim, he would have ridden beside her had not Lady Ida, who had seen the grateful look in Edith's gentle eyes and heard Lord Percy lower his voice, now called him, saying, "I am waiting for my cavalier. Lord Arlington takes care of Edith and will follow us, for without her hat she is looking quite disheveled and forlorn."
"Then I fear I am hardly a more suitable companion, Lady Ida, for my wet hat has lost all shape and must be left to dry," replied Lord Percy as he rode slowly forward.
"You can place it on your saddle and none will know but 'tis from choice and not necessity," said Lady Ida, who determined not to yield. "Besides," she added with a scornful laugh, "you are not such a Madge Wildfire as poor Edith is with her wet habit and disordered hair. I fear Lord Arlington will hardly like to act as escort to such a distracted-looking damsel."
"If all Madge Wildfires were as lovely as Miss Adelon, I'd gladly be her guard the wide world over," said Lord Arlington, who now rode close beside her. And as the fresh wind blew Edith's dark hair back, he looked at her pure, pale face and thought he had never seen a fairer one. As the memory of her courage, purity, and graceful beauty passed before him, he forgot that she was poor and humble and remembered only the selfish love he bore her. He lingered behind all the rest, stopped suddenly, and implored her to hear him and not to hastily reject the honor, wealth, and love he offered, but to let him hope that when she knew him better she would listen to his suit.
With blushing dignity, in few but simple words she thanked him for the honor he bestowed and kindly but decidedly refused his love. When he placed himself before her, passionately vowing she should remain till she had given another and a kinder answer, she repeated her refusal. Freeing her hand from his rude grasp, she touched her horse and, with a silent look of calm contempt, passed by and joined Amy and her brother, with the bright flush on her cheek and the indignant light still in her eye.
"Edith looking proud and Arlington angry; what can that forbode?" whispered Arthur to his sister as they rode through the park and saw how Edith urged her horse on, as if in haste to be alone, and how Lord Arlington rode close behind with a frown on his dark face and bitter smile upon his lips.
"I cannot tell, but he is bold and Edith is so pure and modest that such plainly shown admiration must displease her. Have you not seen her color when he looks so rudely at her? She never did before, though I have seen Lord Percy watch her long and often. Though she is poor, she is a woman and feels deeply when true courtesy and kindness are not shown her. Can you not speak to him, dear Arthur? I know she must dislike him and would be grateful to be freed from his admiration so disagreeably shown."
"No, Amy, I cannot speak to one so much older than myself and on such a subject. He will not stay much longer, and Edith can soon show by her manner if it is displeasing to her. I will do all I can to save her from annoyance, and Arlington will soon forget her in some other novelty."
And Edith, when dismounting, turned gladly from Lord Arlington and took the hand that Arthur kindly offered and thanked him with a smile, which vanished as she met her rejected suitor's eyes fixed jealously upon her.
And now Edith had another trial to grieve and worry her, for Lord Arlington, to vent his anger and his disappointed passion, seemed to delight in doing all that lay in his power to make her feel the jealous love he still cherished for her. By looks and words, while seemingly most courteous and kind, he pained and wounded her most deeply. Still, for Amy's sake, she tried to be gay and happy, and though Lady Ida had not kept her word and was as cold and scornful as before, she steadfastly refused to join in all the gaiety about her. Her voice was never heard, save when she sang for Amy and when Lady Ida's silent consent had first been won. She gladly sought her quiet chamber and would have asked no greater happiness than to be free for a while from Lord Arlington's looks of love and Lady Ida's unkind words. But Amy, little dreaming of the pain her loving friend was suffering for her sake alone, would have her always near and wondered daily why Edith was so silent and why she stole away when all were gayest round her.
Arthur kindly strove to save her from all neglect and coldness but, as host of his hospitable home, he was seldom near her and knew little of the trials that she bore. Lord Percy silently looked on, and in each heart before him read a different tale: Lady Ida's pride and selfishness; Lord Arlington's ungenerous love; Amy's innocence and childlike joy; and her brother's frank good nature and his happy-hearted wish to make all gay around him. All these he saw, but the heart he studied the most earnestly and that each day grew more beautiful to him was Edith's. Amid the trials she so silently was bearing still grew the gratitude and love she bore to those around her and still lay the deep, longing wish for tenderness and true affection, which none ever guessed and none ever sought to give.
Yet he who was daily near her and who so often found a place within her thoughts now became her friend, seeking by unseen acts of silent kindness to make life more pleasant to her. While thus employed, the friendship and the generous pity were fast deepening into the truest reverence and most holy love for one who bore so meekly all the sorrows that must try a gentle heart and was so rich in pure and sinless feelings and so beautiful in all a woman's noblest gifts.
CHAPTER
VIII
EDITH SAT READING IN THE PLEASANT garden, with flowers blooming round her and green leaves rustling overhead, when Louis, the young page, stood beside her, saying timidly, "Miss Adelon, there is a poor sick stranger at old Martha's cottage who needs help and care, and I made bold to come to you, for no one gives such aid and comfort to the sorrowful and suffering. He is old and looks like one who had known better days. I will gladly guide you if you will but go."
"I will," said Edith, and they soon were hastening toward the cottage where he lay.
"I told old Martha you would come," said Louis. "I will wait out here for you. New faces seem to trouble him, and he will see you best alone."
Edith entered, and the kind old dame told all she asked about the suffering stranger. "My husband found him
lying by the roadside and brought the poor man home. He was suffering for rest and food but is much better now, though sadly weak, and some great sin or sorrow seems to haunt him night and day. He is grateful for the little we can do but seems impatient to be gone and finish something that he says must be performed ere he can die in peace. He is sitting up now. Come and see him, dear Miss Adelon; your words will surely comfort him." And speaking thus, she led the way into a small, neat room, where in an armchair sat a man whose pale and haggard face seemed marked with care and trouble more than age. He turned quickly as they entered and gazed earnestly upon Edith as she stood beside him, while old Martha said, "This is the kind young lady whom I told you of. She visits all the poor and suffering, and her kind, gentle words will cheer and comfort. I must go to my work, and you will talk best when alone."
"How can I serve you? Do not fear to tell me, for I most gladly will supply whatever you most need," said Edith gently as the old woman left them.
"Can you give me back my happiness and peace of mind and make me the honest man I was?" said the old man sadly. "No, no, you cannot give me this, and I need nothing else to save me from despair. Stay. Tell me what your name is," he cried suddenly in a hollow voice as Edith put aside the veil she wore.
"My name is Adelon," said Edith, smiling at his sudden question, but she started as he seized her dress, saying wildly, "Was that your father's name? Who were your parents? Tell me, I implore you. Are they living?"
"No," she answered, wondering at his strange request. "I have no parents. My father I have never known. My mother died long years ago in Italy."
"And were you born there? Nay, do not fear me," said the old man, seeing her shrink back as he bent eagerly to catch her answer. "You little know the fear and joy you have roused within me. Pardon my wild words and tell me, I entreat you, all you know about your home and parents, and let me, if I may, atone for my great sin."
Edith, startled by his trembling earnestness, sat down beside him and replied, "My father, as I told you, I have never known, and all I can remember of my childhood is that, with my mother, I dwelt in a poor and humble home with few joys but her love and no friends but a kind old peasant, who generously shared his little all with us and cheered my mother's dying hour by promising to love her orphan child, and faithfully he kept his word. My mother's gentle heart was broken by some sorrow that I never knew, and when I wept in bitter grief upon her grave and prayed to rest there with her, the kind friend to whose care she gave me cheered my childish sorrow. In his humble home calm, happy years went by till death left me all alone once more, and then I was placed with others in the orphans' home. There, in the tenth year of my life, a happy change took place. One day, while singing in the garden a sweet song that my mother taught me, a stranger heard it and, pitying my friendless lot, took the poor Italian child to his own lovely home in England, and there she has grown up and still cherishes a tender gratitude for all this kindness and the care that cheered her lonely life. That stranger was Lord Hamilton, and he died several years ago and with his last words blessed me for the little I could do to show my love and left me as a charge to be still cared for and protected. I have told you all. Now, answer me. Why did you ask so strange a question from one whom you never saw till now?"
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