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BROWNIE’S TRIUMPH

By MRS. GEORGIE SHELDON

AUTHOR OF

“Nora,” “Trixy,” “Earle Wayne’s Nobility,” “Stella Rosevelt,” “Virgie’s Inheritance,” “His Heart’s Queen,” Etc.

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers New York

Copyright 1879, 1880, 1881, 1901

By STREET & SMITH

Renewal Granted to

Mrs. Georgie Sheldon Downs

1907

Brownie’s Triumph

BROWNIE’S TRIUMPH

CHAPTER I
AN ENCOUNTER

“Brownie! Brownie Douglas, wait a moment.”

Time—three o’clock in the afternoon of the 5th of September, 1876.

Place—vestibule of the Memorial Hall, at the World’s Centennial Exposition, Philadelphia, when all the world did literally flock to behold the great sights in that city of brotherly love.

The speaker of the above sentence was a young lady of about twenty, tall, slender, and of aristocratic bearing.

The person addressed was a bright little fairy, who looked not over sixteen, yet who in reality was two years older.

She turned quickly toward the aristocratic looking lady who had spoken.

“What is it, Aspasia? I have been waiting for you. Where have you been?” she asked, brightly.

“Oh, this is you, then? I thought that young lady just passing out was you—these linen dusters deceive one so.”

“You look heated and weary; will you not sit down and rest?” asked Brownie Douglas, regarding the flushed face of her friend with an amused look in her dark, bright eyes.

There was never a greater contrast than between those two young ladies.

One tall, fair, and languid, and dressed in the height of fashion; covered with jewels, laces, flowers, and furbelows, not to mention a three-quarters of a yard train, which, with the other fixings referred to, demanded so much of her attention that she could enjoy nothing of the wonders and beauties around her.

The other, petite and dainty; her glossy brown hair simply coiled at the back of her small head, which was crowned with a hat of dark straw, trimmed with a wreath of scarlet berries and shining dark green leaves. Her half-fitting linen ulster protected, while it did not wholly conceal her rich though simple dress of black silk, which just cleared the floor, and did not hide the “two mites of feet,” incased in their tiny French boots. A pair of gray silk gloves covered her little hands, and a simple linen collar was fastened at her delicate throat by a richly carved spray of coral, her only visible ornament.

“Are you ready to go on now?” she asked her friend, as she saw the frown upon her brow fade out, at being once more set in moving order.

“Yes, but— There! Oh, dear!”

Miss Douglas, who was about moving on, turned again at this cry of woe, and immediately a ripple of musical, irrepressible laughter broke from her scarlet lips.

There stood her friend in the act of gathering up her voluminous train, while directly behind her stood an unmistakable countryman, with one huge foot planted firmly upon the ruffles and plaitings of the beautiful skirt, securely pinning it to the floor, and making it optional with Miss Aspasia, either to go on and leave behind her that (to her) very important appendage, or wait until that herculean member should be removed.

The luckless, though innocent cause of this uncomfortable state of affairs, was gazing with wide eyes, and open mouth, at the figure of an Indian upon the trail opposite him, and wholly unconscious of the strong attachment which bound him to the fashionable belle.

“I beg your pardon,” said Miss Douglas, hastening to the rescue, “but will you please lift your foot?”

“Eh? What? Oh, ya-as,” ejaculated the clumsy, but good-natured fellow. “I declare, miss, I never saw so many wimmen a losin’ their clo’s off before. I hain’t ben nowhere to-day but somebody’s dress has ben tumblin’ off on ’em, and I’ve stepped on’t. I sh’d hev a fit if ’twar me, and I’m tarnal glad I wur born to a pair o’ breeches.”

Miss Huntington colored angrily, and murmured something about “such insufferable insolence,” whereupon the irrepressible countryman offered a piece of friendly advice.

“Grandm’th’r ’d tell ye to sew it on stronger to the bindin’—put on a button and make a buttonhole. That’s her way, and I don’t believe she ever lost her petticoat in her life.”

Having delivered himself of these pithy remarks, he moved away, and at this instant a suppressed laugh greeted Miss Brownie’s ear. Looking up, she caught two pairs of mirth-gleaming eyes fixed upon herself and her unfortunate companion.

Two young men were standing near, and had been amused witnesses of the comical scene just described.

On being discovered, one of them lifted his hat and bowed low to Miss Douglas, who flushed a rosy red as she returned it, and who would instantly have burst into gleeful laughter had it not been for doing violence to her companion’s feelings.

As it was, however, she linked her arm in Miss Huntington’s and turned quickly away, but not before she had caught the look of unmistakable admiration with which the other gentleman regarded her.

“Who is she?” he asked eagerly of his companion, after he had watched her out of sight.

“That full-rigged craft, with all her sail crowded on, is Miss Aspasia Huntington, a Baltimore belle and heiress——”

“And the other?” interrupted the first speaker, somewhat impatiently.

“Is—hold on to your ears, my boy—Miss Mehetabel Douglas, of Philadelphia,” was the startling announcement, accompanied with a smile of amusement.

“Thunder!”

“’Tis rather an imposing cognomen for such a dainty piece of flesh and blood, I admit.”

“Her parents ought to be choked for giving her such a name.”

“They are already defunct, and, I believe, in no way responsible for the obnoxious appellation.”

“How so?”

“Her father died before she was born, and her mother at her birth; so the poor little waif fell to the tender mercies of a maiden great-aunt on her father’s side, who immediately had her christened for herself, and proceeded forthwith to bring her up, after her own ideas, to inherit her million of money.”

“But the other one called her Brownie?”

“Yes; no one could ‘Mehetabel’ that sprite. Her nurse called her Brownie from the first, on account of her eyes, hair, and skin, for she was very dark as a child.”

“Showed her good taste—the name just suits her,” muttered the first speaker, absently.

“The little elf liked the pet name so well herself that she would never allow any one to call her anything else. I believe since she has grown up her schoolmates and a few of her gentlemen acquaintances, who do not feel familiar enough to address her so freely, shorten the obnoxious old maid title into ‘Meta.’”

“You seem to know all about her.”

“Yes, my sisters are intimate with, and very fond of her. As for myself, I always thought her a bewitching little fairy.”

“She has the sweetest and brightest face in the world,” was the enthusiastic reply.

“Ah, ha! Hard hit, aren’t you, Dredmond?”

“So hard that I should like another of the same kind. Will you introduce me?”

“Certainly, the first opportunity.”

“You say the old aunt is rich?”

“Immensely, and very aristocratic, too.”

“Aristocratic, is she? The little one herself seems to be simple enough; she put on no airs. How civilly she spoke to that countryman.”

“Oh, yes; she treats the rich and the poor alike. She has been very kind to some poor working girls whom I know, and yet she has a thus-far-and-no-farther way with her, when the occasion requires, which even your high blood could not overcome.”

“There’s fun in her, though; how her bright face dimpled and gleamed when that clown stood ballast for Miss Huntington. Douglas, I believe, was the name of the little one, was it not?”

“Yes.”

“It is a good one with us.”

“A good one! I guess it is, my boy. Why, Miss Mehetabel, the elder, claims to be a direct descendant from the Scottish nobility.”

“Aha! is that so?”

“Yes, indeed; but I warn you if you go there not to bring up the subject of genealogy, for once started upon that topic, there is no whoa until she brings up with an ancient queen.”

“Pshaw! you are talking gammon now,” returned the young man, impatiently.

“Indeed, I am not. I have seen the genealogical tree, and I assure you she has as good blood flowing in her veins as you have, notwithstanding she has been an inhabitant of plebian America for nearly half a century.”

“Well, well, Gordon, we won’t quarrel about their ancestry; there is beauty enough there, let alone blue blood.”

“Yes. But I think we have discussed the subject sufficiently. Shall we go over to Machinery Hall now?”

“Anywhere you choose; but stop! What have we here?”

Adrian Dredmond stooped and picked up the shining something upon which he had almost stepped as they turned to leave the place.

It proved to be a costly cuff button of black enamel and gold. Upon the face of it was a large D, studded with brilliants, while a tiny row of the same precious stones was set around the edge.

Turning it over, the young man discovered the word “Brownie” engraved in finest letters on the back.

“‘Ye gods and little fishes,’ Gordon! I’ve found a treasure!” and he held it up to view.

“Egad! that is so. That must have cost a cool hundred,” exclaimed Gordon, examining it critically, then added: “You are in luck, my boy. It is a good omen to find something belonging to one whom you admire.”

“Is it?”

“Yes; but I suppose torture would not compel you to give it up until you can put it into the owner’s own little hands,” and the young man laughed.

“You are right for once,” returned Dredmond, lightly, although with heightened color.

“It will give me a good excuse for seeking an introduction,” he added, as he carefully tucked the button into his vest pocket.

Again Gordon laughed.

“Mark my words, Dredmond, something unusual will come of your finding that trinket.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I don’t know—it is a sudden impression, perhaps, but I believe it will have an influence on your future.”

“You are superstitious,” replied Dredmond, with a little scornful curl of his handsome lips.

“If it should result in your carrying Miss Brownie Douglas off to the old country with you, there would be a buzzing about your ears, I can tell you; for not a few have their eye fixed already upon the dainty elf with her golden pile in prospect.”

“Are you among the number, Gordon?” asked his friend, with a keen glance at the young man.

“Not I, my boy; my star shines from another quarter,” Gordon replied, laughingly, though growing red in the face with the acknowledgment.

“I think then, my friend, you are getting up a little romance upon your own account, and without much of a foundation to begin with. If you were interested I should not wonder, but as there is no jealousy in the matter it seems a little singular that you should jump at conclusions thus. I fear, Gordon, I shall have to set you down as a masculine match-maker.”

“Call me what you like, but I confess that I think you and that little fairy would suit each other wonderfully well. She is just the right kind of a little woman to make a——”

“Hush, my boy; do not reveal my secrets here,” interrupted Adrian Dredmond, looking anxiously around.

“Well, well, come on then to Machinery Hall; but, Dredmond, I think you are over modest about some matters.”

“It is a failing which will never harm anybody,” the young man replied, smiling; then linking arms in a friendly way with his companion, they wended their way to view that wonder of modern achievements, the Corliss engine, and those countless other inventions of the human brain.

CHAPTER II
BROWNIE’S THOUGHTS

In a luxurious apartment of a modern house on Chestnut street, two hours after the incidents related in our first chapter, Miss Mehetabel Douglas, the senior, might have been seen sitting in a comfortable easy-chair, while Brownie sat upon an ottoman at her feet.

The former was a woman of about sixty-five years of age, with a delicate, high-bred face, surrounded by bands of soft, silvery hair. She had dark gray eyes, which always had a look in them as of some hope suddenly crushed out of her life, while a patient, gentle expression hovered about her thin, aristocratic lips.

Brownie had just been reading to her from “Patience Strong’s Outings,” and now they were talking it over together.

“Why is it, I wonder,” said Brownie, reflectively, “that so much sport is made of old maids?”

“I suppose because the theory prevails, that every old maid has failed to catch a husband, and is therefore a fit subject for ridicule,” Miss Mehetabel returned, a little gleam of amusement lighting up her sad eyes.

“Pshaw! I know any number of people, who are no more fit to be wives and mothers than so many children; and yet every one has managed to secure a husband, while there are plenty of ‘old maids’ in the world, so patiently living out their lonely lives, who would make such strong, helpful wives, such wise and tender mothers. Now, auntie, you would have made such a splendid wife for some good man; and you ought to have had at least a dozen children. What a charming household it would have been, for you would have governed so wisely and so well. I don’t believe nature ever intended you for an old maid.”

A spasm of pain contracted the old lady’s brow, but she replied, quietly:

“Perhaps not; yet there is, doubtless, some wise reason for it. What would have become of you, dear, if I had had a large family of my own?”

“Oh, I should have only made up the baker’s dozen, and it seems such a pity that so much native talent should all be lavished upon one poor little waif like me,” Brownie said, with a little laugh.

“If I had had the number you assign me, dear, and they had all proved the blessing to me that you have been, I fear it would have been too much happiness for one human being; and yet——”

The old lady did not conclude her sentence, but heaved a deep sigh, while unshed tears stood in her beautiful eyes.

“Auntie, why were you an old maid? I don’t understand it—it must have been no one’s fault but your own.”

“My own fault, Brownie! You don’t know—child, you don’t know,” cried Miss Mehetabel, sharply, while a deep, dry sob, that was almost a groan, burst from her lips.

Brownie was startled at her deep emotion. She had spoken lightly, and with no thought that she was probing an old wound.

She sprang up quickly, and seeing the fair old face above her almost convulsed with agony, she twined her arms about her neck, saying, remorsefully:

“Auntie, dear, forgive me! Have I touched some hidden spring of sorrow? I would not have wounded you so for the world.”

“Dear child, would you like to read a sad page in an old woman’s history?”

“No, dear auntie, do not talk of anything that gives you pain. Forgive me for speaking in a way that should recall anything to distress you,” said the young girl, sadly.

“You did not think to pain me, and I am glad now that the conversation has taken this turn, for I would like you to know something of what my past has been.”

“Let us wait until some other time—you are tired and ought to rest now,” pleaded Brownie, recoiling from a revelation she believed would be painful.

“No, Brownie, something prompts me to tell you now, and I will obey the call. The book of my life is almost written, love, and it will do me no harm to review it once more before it is closed forever. I have borne my sorrow alone for forty-five years, and it seems as if it would do me good to breathe it to some one who would give me sympathy and remember it tenderly when I am gone.”

Brownie’s little hand fluttered down upon Miss Mehetabel’s lips, and the tears sprang to her eyes.

“Let us not talk about it, auntie; I don’t like you to speak about going away from me. I should be desolate without you, if I had ever so much money,” and the bright face wore a look of pain.

Miss Douglas drew the shining head down to her, and kissed the sweet lips.

“Well, well, so be it, though it must come sooner or later; but we will talk no more of it now. You are very precious to me, darling, and your love has been the only brightness of my life for the past eighteen years,” she said softly. “Go lock the door,” she added, after a moment, “so that we may be uninterrupted; then draw a chair beside me, and I’ll tell you how I came to be an old maid. It may be a lesson that will do you good.”

Brownie glided softly to the door and turned the key. Then she drew a low rocker and seated herself beside Miss Douglas, while a feeling of solemnity took possession of her, as she realized that a hidden page of life was about to be turned back for her to read.

CHAPTER III
THE AUNT’S STORY

“You know who the Douglases are?” began Miss Mehetabel, bracing herself up, with a look of pride.

“Oh, yes; you have always given me to understand that they belonged to a very honorable race.”

“An honorable race, indeed! Why, child, they are the descendants of a queen—a Scottish queen! Lady Margaret Douglas was the daughter of Queen Margaret Tudor, and back to her we can trace our ancestry. Never forget it, child—never forget that you are descended in a direct line from the royalty of Scotland.”

Brownie did not reply to her last remark, for it was a hobby with her proud kinswoman, and once thoroughly started on the subject, she knew the family tree would have to be brought out, and the wearisome task of tracing the Douglas race for three long centuries would have to be rehearsed. So she wisely held her peace.

“Yes, the descendant of a queen!” she repeated; “and many of our ancestors intermarried with the English nobility, so that to-day, Brownie Douglas, there runs no better blood in any veins than in yours and mine.

“Before I left the old country, dear, I mingled with the proudest circles of the land. I was presented at Court, and during a brilliant London season I was introduced to the young Lord of Dunforth, son of the fifth Lord of Firth.

“His name was Royal—they called him Roy—and he was rightly named, for he was fit to be a king!

“From the first hour of our meeting we loved each other, and we were betrothed, by the consent and approval of both his friends and my own, after an acquaintance of six months. Our marriage was to be delayed for a year, until Roy should complete his course at Oxford, when he would come in possession of a fine estate in Essex. We exchanged letters frequently, and the words he penned were like a feast to my soul. I have them now, every one, and they are all that I have left of the love, the glorious love, which I once fondly hoped would brighten my life to its end. In the same circle in which we moved, there was a very handsome girl, by the name of Lady Helen Capel. She belonged to a very wealthy and honorable family, and it was said that before Lord Dunforth was introduced to me he used to pay some attention to her. From the very first of my acquaintance with him she evinced an intense dislike toward me.

“Report said that she wanted to win him for herself, and I believe in my heart that was why she was so haughty and disagreeable whenever we met.

“Lord Dunforth finished his course at Oxford with great honor to himself, and preparations were began for our marriage, which was appointed to take place just before the Christmas holidays.

“One evening we attended a ball given by Helen Capel’s aunt, Lady Ruxley.

“On entering the ballroom I had given my card to Roy to fill out such sets as he wished for himself, and then as others were introduced to me, they put their names in the blanks that were left.

“Soon after, Charles Capel came up with a handsome but rather rakish-looking gentleman, whom he introduced as the Count de Lussan. Roy had left me for a few minutes to speak to some one he knew, or what followed never would have happened.

“The stranger immediately requested the pleasure of dancing with me, and I innocently assented, never for a moment dreaming that any one would be present in Lady Ruxley’s rooms with whom it would not be proper for me to dance.

“I gave him my card, and he put his name down against a waltz, while a peculiar smile curled his lips.

“Not many minutes after Helen Capel sauntered toward me, and sat down by my side.

“For the first time in her life she was gracious to me, and, bearing her no ill-will, I chatted freely with her for quite a while.

“‘Have you danced much?’ she asked, holding out her hand for my card.

“‘Several times,’ I returned, with a smile, as I gave it up to her.

“She ran her eyes hastily over the names, and I could see her scowl every time she read Roy’s. Then, suddenly looking up, she exclaimed, aghast:

“‘Why, Miss Douglas, will his lordship permit you to dance with the Count de Lussan?’

“The form of the question nettled me exceedingly, and I replied, somewhat haughtily:

“‘His lordship will permit me to dance with whomsoever I choose, Miss Capel.’

“She laughed a silvery, wicked laugh, and fixing her bold black eyes upon me, said, in an exasperated way:

“Pardon me, Miss Douglas, but I do not believe Lord Dunforth, who is very arbitrary when once his will is aroused, will permit his betrothed to dance with any one who bears the reputation which Count de Lussan bears.’

“‘But your own brother introduced me to him, Miss Capel!’ I exclaimed, indignantly.

“‘Charles? I’m astonished at him; but I presume the count asked him, and he did not like to refuse. Why, he is a notorious blackleg, and how he ever gained admission here, is more than I can tell.’

“I was startled at this intelligence, but I would not show it before her, nor yield one iota; and looking up at that moment, I saw Lord Dunforth and Count de Lussan both approaching me.

“Miss Capel remained by my side, evidently desirous of seeing the little game played out.

“The count reached me first, and bowing low, offered me his arm, saying his turn had come.

“I glanced nervously into my lover’s face as I hesitatingly took the count’s arm, fearing that all was not right, and my heart stood still, as I noted its expression of blank dismay and stern displeasure.

“He hastened forward, and taking my card, hastily scanned the names upon it, and his brow grew dark with wrath, as he read Count de Lussan’s against a waltz.

“Bowing haughtily to my companion, he said, with compressed lips:

“‘Excuse me, but I must ask you to release this lady from her promise to dance with you.’

“The count’s eyes flashed fire, and his face grew crimson, as he answered, coldly:

“‘I cannot do so, my lord, except at the lady’s own request.’

“‘She does request it through me—by my desire,’ replied Lord Dunforth, sternly.

“‘Miss Douglas, do you command me to release you?’ asked the count, turning to me with that same disagreeable smile upon his lips that I had seen there when he had written his name against the waltz.

“‘Tell him yes, Meta. I cannot allow it, and will give you my reasons the first opportunity,’ whispered my lover, in pleading tones, in my ear.

“I was on the point of yielding. Oh, why was I so blind that I did not? I had half withdrawn my hand from the count’s arm, when I heard a low, mocking laugh near by.

“Glancing up, I saw Helen Capel watching every motion, catching every word and tone, a smile of mocking triumph on her handsome face.

“In an instant I remembered my boast to her, that ‘Lord Dunforth would permit me to dance with whomsoever I chose,’ and in that fatal moment I resolved to show her my power over him; that I had a will of my own.

“Lifting my head a trifle haughtily, I said:

“‘My lord, I have promised Count de Lussan that I will waltz with him, and I cannot break my word.’

“‘Meta, Meta, don’t do it!’ he begged, in a whisper.

“‘I must,’ I answered, coldly.

“‘I command you not!’ he said, in a tone which the count caught, and curled his lip in scorn.

“I bowed coldly, all the antagonism in my nature aroused by his command, then turning to my companion, I said:

“‘The music is inspiriting, count. I am ready,’ and encircling my waist with his arm, he whirled me into the midst of the giddy dancers.

“I had always loved to waltz; but, oh! how I have hated it since then. And this is the reason, dear, why I would never allow you to learn. It is not decent for young girls to be encircled in the arms of men of whom they know nothing.

“As we waltzed I became aware of strange, surprised glances following us; whispered words of censure greeted my ears, and a tremor of uneasiness took possession of me, which merged into absolute terror when I reached the spot where Lord Dunforth still stood.

“He was like a piece of statuary, his noble brow overcast, and his fine lips white and set as if in pain.

“Count de Lussan released me, thanking me for the great pleasure I had given him, and then moved away.

“My lover did not speak one word to me until the music struck up again, and the attention of the people around us was attracted in other directions.

“‘Will you oblige me by withdrawing from the company?’ he asked then.

“I arose at once and took his arm.

“‘Oh, Roy, what have I done?’ I exclaimed, in deep distress at his coldness, my heart thrilling with a terrible pain.

“‘You have disgraced yourself and me—the Count de Lussan is the lowest blackleg in London.’

“I lifted my eyes and searched my lover’s face after those, to me, words of doom. It was as inflexible as marble, not a gleam of love, kindness, or forgiveness. He was like a stern judge pronouncing sentence upon me, and the thought burst like lightning upon me, searing my very soul.

“I had lost him forever! and throwing out my hands toward him, I sank with a low moan of agony at his feet before he could even put forth an arm to save me.”

CHAPTER IV
THE LEGACY OF JEWELS

“In falling my head struck against the base of a pillar, cutting a severe gash in my forehead, which, with the blow, nearly cost me my life—there is the scar now, dear.”

The old lady lifted the silvery hair from her forehead, revealing a white seam about an inch in length.

Brownie reached over and pressed her red lips upon it. The act nearly unnerved Miss Mehetabel again.

“I was taken to a room in the house,” she went on, “put to bed, and a physician sent for, but it was hours before I recovered consciousness, and the doctor said I had had a marvelous escape.

“I lay for days listening, trying to catch the echo of Roy’s footsteps, and once or twice I fancied I heard it, and the deep, rich tones of his voice, asking some eager question. Then the sound would die away, and I thought my ears and my longing heart had deceived me, for he never came, and I was too proud and hurt to send for him.

“At last one day my maid brought me in a little note.

“I saw and recognized the handwriting as soon as she opened the door.

“‘Give it to me, quick!’ I cried, my heart bounding at the sight of it.

“With trembling fingers I tore it open and read these cold, formal words:

“‘Will Miss Douglas kindly favor me with an interview, if she is strong enough to endure it? and oblige,

“‘Royal Dunforth.’

“I nearly shrieked at the icy words—my nerves were still unstrung, and they hurt me as nothing else had ever done before.

“Was he coming to blame me—to charge me with the disgrace I had brought upon him and myself, and then cast me off forever? Had I sinned past all forgiveness? I asked myself again and again.

“I seized a pencil and wrote:

“‘Yes, come at once, if you can forgive your repentant

“‘Meta.’

“I folded and enclosed it in an envelope, without sealing it, and giving it to a maid, told her to carry it down to Lord Dunforth, who, she said, was awaiting an answer.

“I did wrong to send him a written reply. I ought to have gone to him, even if I had been obliged to crawl upon my hands and knees to do so; but I was weak—I had not yet left my room, was able only to sit up for an hour or two at a time, and I thought, of course, he could come to me. I never dreamed of treachery.”

“Treachery, auntie!” exclaimed Brownie, who was intensely interested in the sad tale.

“Ah, treachery, child, as you will soon see, and I might have known it, too, had my wits been about me.

“The maid came back almost immediately.

“I looked up in surprise as she entered.

“‘Why are you back so soon?’ I demanded.

“‘I met Miss Helen on the stairs,’ she answered, ‘and she told me Lord Dunforth was in the drawing-room, and she would take the note to him.’”

“I could not say anything, but I did not like it even then; I did not like Helen Capel to be the bearer of any message from me to my lover. I liked her far less since the ball than I had ever done before, for I believed she had tried to make all this trouble for me. I had refused to see her during my sickness, although she had called a number of times, and had also sent me beautiful flowers.

“I lay two hours, listening for my loved one’s tread on the stairs. I had not a doubt but that he would obey my message and come to me. But at last I heard gay voices in the hall, then his deep, rich tones gravely saying ‘good-morning’ to some one, after which came the sound of closing doors, and I knew he had gone.

“With a heart like lead, I bade the maid go down and ask Miss Capel if she had given Lord Dunforth my message.

“She came back, saying that Miss Capel said, ‘Certainly, she had given his lordship the message.’

“Then it came to me that I had made a condition in my note—I had said if he could forgive me, to come to me.

“He could not forgive me, therefore he would not come, and, without even a word of farewell, he had left me forever.

“I cannot tell all that I suffered, Brownie. I know I raved against the injustice of Heaven in permitting such sorrow to come upon me, and in shutting out the light of my life from me. I cursed Helen Capel, her brother, and the Count de Lussan for their part in the drama; but most of all, I cursed myself for having allowed myself to become their dupe.

“I insisted at once upon returning to my own home, where I was again prostrated, and for another long month lay sick and weak, and praying to die; and thus my wedding day passed. Oh, who can tell the blackness of despair which came over me as that day came and went. I was to have been a happy wife, proud and blessed in the love of a noble man. Instead, I was a heart-broken girl, wailing out my life in loneliness. A homeless beggar in the street was not more wretched than I.

“Another month went by, and I was at length thought able to ride out; and one day my father took me out to Richmond Park, where we spent an hour or two driving about.

“On our return, when about two miles from the city, I saw Lord Dunforth’s elegant carriage, with its span of black horses, approaching. He was driving himself, and a lady whom I did not know sat by his side.

“With my brain on fire, and my heart quivering with pain, I sat like a statue, watching his every movement, noting his every expression.

“He gave a sudden start, which I could see shook his whole frame, while an expression of pain passed over his features. His face grew pale as my own, and he leaned forward with an eager look in his eyes, as if about to speak. Oh, if I had only smiled, if I had but spoken one word, all would have been well even then; but I did not, and drawing himself erect again, he inclined his head with haughty grace, and was gone.

“Many times I longed to write him a line, begging him to come to me, if only for an hour, that I might hear him say he forgave me; many times I had the pen in my hand to do so, but pride whispered, ‘you are sick and feeble, it is his place to come to you, not yours to beg his presence;’ and so we, who to-day might have been united and loving, were parted forever.

“My parents decided soon after to take me abroad, as the physician said my health would never improve unless I had some change, and we set sail for the United States early in May.

“In July, after our arrival here, they both sickened and died very suddenly, and I was left alone a stranger in a strange country.

“I could not return to England, where I had suffered and lost so much, and I could not remain here alone. Accordingly, I wrote to my brother, begging him to take his family and come to me. I had often heard him say he would like to live in America. I commissioned him to settle the estate, as far as I was concerned, to the best of his ability, and bring me the proceeds when he came.

“To my great comfort, he consented to my request, and in October arrived in New York with his wife and child—their son, who was your father, Brownie.

“We decided to make our home in this city, having spent some time in traveling, and finding no other place we liked so well; and here they lived until God called them, and here I have lived ever since.

“Five years after our arrival we heard that Lord Dunforth had married Helen Capel’s cousin, Lady Leonie Herford, and just three months later I learned that but for Miss Capel’s treachery I might have been his wife.”

“Oh, auntie! only just three months after his marriage!” exclaimed Brownie, in deep distress.

“Yes, dear, those three months were all that stood between me and my future happiness; but what matters it if it had been but a day, or an hour even, if it were that much too late?

“I found out that Miss Capel never gave that note of mine to Lord Dunforth, but told him instead that I utterly refused to see him then and ever after.

“When he met me driving afterward, and I did not even recognize him, but sat so cold and indifferent, he was confirmed in the truth of her statement. I was told that it was a terrible blow to him, for he loved me, and would have made me his wife notwithstanding all that had passed. He left England almost immediately after we sailed for America, and did not return until a year before his marriage.”

“Who told you all this, auntie?”

“A friend of his lordship told my brother, who met him while he was traveling in this country. He did not know the truth of the matter regarding the note I sent, until brother told him, and I do not suppose Lord Dunforth knows to this day of Helen Capel’s treachery, or that she was the cause of our separation.

“Now, darling,” concluded Miss Mehetabel, with a little tremulous smile which was sadder than tears, “you know the reason why I am an old maid.”

“Did Miss Capel ever marry?” Brownie asked.

“Yes, the year following Lord Dunforth’s marriage; but I have forgotten the name of her husband.”

“If you had discovered her treachery before his marriage would you have sought a reconciliation?”

“Certainly, dear, for I know that he loved me with a love as true and strong as my own for him, and this makes me think to caution you, never to let pride stand in the way of your happiness. If I had hushed the voice of pride, and written his lordship to come to me, when I so longed to do so, all would have been well even then.”

“I should like to have known Lord Dunforth, auntie—I mean I should like to see the man whom you would choose,” the young girl said, musingly, and not heeding the advice just given.

In after months she remembered it.

A look of keen pain swept over the old lady’s face, but she had fully recovered her self-possession now.

“Go and bring me a little ebony box, dear, which you will find in the third drawer of my dressing-case,” she said.

Brownie arose to obey, and soon returned, bringing a beautiful casket about twelve inches square and eight deep. It was inlaid with pearl and gold, in lovely designs, and was quite heavy for anything so small.

Miss Mehetabel took a delicate chain from her neck, to which was attached a tiny golden key.

Her hand shook as with the palsy, as she inserted the key in its lock.

“This has not been opened for forty years, my child, and I feel as if I were about to look upon the dead,” she said, in a voice that shook, despite her efforts to control it.

“Don’t open it now, then, Aunt Meta. I cannot bear you to live over this sorrow for me,” Brownie answered, a feeling of awe stealing over her at Miss Mehetabel’s words.

“I will look once more before I die, dear, and I wish to tell you about these things, which are to be yours when I am gone.”

She turned the key as she spoke, and lifted the jeweled cover, and Brownie uttered a cry of delight at the sight which greeted her eyes.

There, upon their blue velvet bed, gleamed such jewels as she had never seen before.

In the center lay a beautiful diamond necklace, with ear-pendants to match. Then there was a coral and diamond cross, with a hair ornament, in the shape of a butterfly, to match. A tiara composed of pearls, opals, and diamonds, with a cross for the neck. Rings of pearls, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds; one, a large pearl, surrounded by six small, pure diamonds, Miss Mehetabel took up tenderly in her hand.

“This,” she said, while her lips quivered, “Lord Dunforth put upon my finger when he told me of his love. It has never been there since that day, when I believed he went away from me forever of his own accord. These other jewels were given me in honor of my approaching marriage, but I have never worn any of them, excepting this coral and diamond cross which Royal gave me, and which I wore to that ball, where I lost everything dear in life. I have no use for them, and henceforth they are all yours, dear, to do as you like with—if ever you feel that you can wear them for my sake, I wish you to do so.”

“Oh, auntie, they seem too precious for me to wear; they seem like something sacred to me,” the young girl said, reverently, while her eyes lingered upon their beauty.

“Then you will prize them all the more, dear, and I am glad that it is so—you will never wear them lightly, and they will never grow valueless to you. You have the cuff buttons already which Lord Dunforth gave me the same time with the coral cross.”

“Are those—did you give them to me?” stammered Brownie, feeling that she had almost been sacrilegious in wearing anything so precious, and not know it.

“Yes, dear, they were the only articles of his giving which I ever permitted myself to wear, and then only a few times. So, feeling that they ought to do somebody some good, I had them marked for you for your last birthday.”

“I shall never wear them again without feeling that they are tenfold more precious than ever before,” the young girl said, with starting tears.

She little knew that even then one of them was lost. She had removed her linen ulster upon returning home, and left her cuffs hanging in it.

Miss Mehetabel now lifted the velvet bed, and laid it with all its glittering wealth upon the table near which she sat. Beneath it lay a locket of blue enamel and gold, studded with diamonds; a little bunch of dried flowers, a crumpled card, and a pair of soiled white kid gloves.

“These,” Miss Mehetabel said, touching the flowers, “I wore in my hair that night, fastened with the butterfly; and these are the gloves—they bear the last touch of his hand. This is the card on which the Count de Lussan wrote his name.”

She took up the locket with a tender touch.

“This contains the face of the one man on earth to me. Open it, dear—I cannot.”

Brownie took it, the great tears rolling over her flushed cheeks. It seemed so inexpressibly sad, and as if she, too, were about to look upon the face of the dead.

She pressed the spring and it flew open. From one side of it there gazed up at her the dark, noble face of a man about twenty-five years of age.

The fair girl gazed upon it for several moments in silence, then heaving a deep sigh, she said, softly:

“He was grand, auntie!”

“Put it away,” said Miss Mehetabel, with white lips, “and when I am dead come and get this chain and key, and wear it around your own neck as long as you live.”

Little did that fond old lady dream of the pain and shame which that legacy of jewels would bring upon the fair girl whom she so loved.

CHAPTER V
STAKED AND LOST

That night Miss Mehetabel died suddenly of heart disease.

How the next few days passed Brownie never knew, but it was all over at last.

There were no near relatives, only some distant cousins, and these, knowing they had no claim upon the old lady’s money, did not deem it worth their while to come to the funeral. So Brownie and Aspasia, who had proved herself a real comfort in these days of trial, sat alone, excepting the servants and a few intimate acquaintances, in those great somber rooms, while those last sad words were spoken above the dead.

And then they carried her forth to her last long home, and laid her beside those other dear ones, who had been gone so many years.

It seemed to Brownie as if she were almost the only one living—as if all the world had died and were buried, when she returned to that great house in all its lonely splendor.

“Oh, Aspasia,” she cried, throwing herself into Miss Huntington’s arms, with her first wild burst of tears, “What shall I do? I have nobody in the world now to love me.”

“Don’t talk so, darling,” she said, her own tears flowing in sympathy. “I love you better than any one else in the world, and I will never forsake you.”

She little knew how soon her words would be put to the test.

“I know you love me, dear, but you cannot stay with me; you will soon go home, where you have a fond father and mother, brothers and sisters, while I have no one. I have no object in life, Aspasia, now that auntie is gone,” and again the torrent of grief rushed forth.

Miss Huntington made her lie down, and soothed her as she would a child. With her own dainty hands she removed her boots, brought a soft pair of slippers and put them on, then bathed her head, and worked over her until she grew calm again.

Their conversation was interrupted by a servant coming to tell them that Miss Douglas’ presence was required in the library to listen to the reading of the will. The summons made the poor girl’s grief burst forth afresh.

“Oh, auntie, auntie!” she sobbed, “your money will be nothing to me without you—gold without love is worthless.”

“You will go down with me, Aspasia,” she said, holding out her hand to her friend as she arose to obey the request.

“Certainly, dear, if you wish,” was the kind reply, and the two friends descended to the library, to find Miss Mehetabel’s lawyer, the family doctor, and clergyman awaiting their appearance.

Brownie greeted them with a graceful inclination of her head, then seated herself to await their business.

Rev. Mr. Ashley approached and took her hand.

“My dear Miss Douglas,” he said, and his voice shook with sympathy as he looked into her sad face, “it was your aunt’s request that her will be read immediately after the funeral ceremonies, and as our good friend, the doctor, and myself were witnesses to that document, we were invited to be present at the reading of it.”

Brownie bowed. She could not speak, for the tears were choking her so.

What was wealth to her in her lonely condition.

She knew everything was willed to her, for Miss Mehetabel had told her so, but her generous little heart recoiled from having so much, when there was no one but herself on whom to lavish it.

Mr. Ashley retired to a seat, and signified to Mr. Conrad, the lawyer, that they were ready to listen.

He took up the legal-looking document from the table, near which he was sitting, and began to read.

Everything, as she had expected, was given to Brownie, excepting a legacy of five hundred dollars to each of the trusty servants, who had been with her so many years.

All the plate, the house, with its elegant furnishings, the stable, with its fine horses and carriages, were hers, and she privileged to choose whom she liked to manage her affairs in the future.

There was a long silence after the lawyer ceased reading.

Brownie sat listless, and gazing absently out of the window, and feeling so strange and lonely, as if some great burden had suddenly fallen upon her.

“Ahem! ah—Miss Douglas—will you kindly give me your attention for a few moments?” asked Mr. Conrad, breaking in upon her reverie, and speaking with great embarrassment.