The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

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СКАЧАТЬ happy young gardener touches his cap, and walks away with a blithe heart, to search at once among the hedges for this particular species of the arum. Be sure that none but the very finest specimens will meet with his approval. From this day forth the cuckoo-pint holds a curiously-tender place in his memory, and the season

      "When daisies pied, and violets blue,

      And lady-smocks, all silver-white,

      And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

      Do paint the meadows with delight,"

      never comes round without bringing with it a vision of himself and a fair and beautiful girl by the old house at Springfield, she with white lilies and cuckoo flowers in her hands, and he standing before her, with a heart pulsing with love and adoration.

      Nelly Marston would have stopped a longer time conversing with him, had she not seen a maid approaching her from the house to summon her to Lady Temple's room.

      "I have been waiting for you, Miss Marston," says the sick lady, in a peevish tone, as the girl enters, "and wondering where you were. What have you in your hand? Flowers! Send them away. You know I am expressly forbidden to have flowers about me. Stay. What are they? Don't bring them too close."

      "Only a few lilies of the valley, Lady Temple, that the gardener's son gave me."

      "And you have some in your hair, too-that the gardener's son gave you! And those other flowers, the yellow ones?"

      "This is the cuckoo flower-the cuckoo pint, rather. Lords-and-ladies, he called it."

      "And that's why you choose it, I suppose. So you have been gossiping with the gardener's son! You are like your mother, I am afraid."

      "My mother, Lady Temple," says the girl proudly, straightening her slight figure, "during her lifetime, always spoke of you with respect and affection. I shall be glad if you will explain the meaning of your words-if they have a meaning."

      "There, there, don't worry me, Miss Marston. I am not strong enough for scenes. It seems to be a bright morning."

      "It is very fresh and lovely out of doors. Spring is come in real earnest. The apple-blossoms look beautiful-"

      "And I lie here," interrupts Lady Temple querulously, "shut out from it all, shut out from it all! I have never had any happiness in my life, never! Shall I never rise from this horrible bed?" She gazes at Nelly Marston, envious of the girl's youth and brightness. "I suppose, Miss Marston, if you were mistress of this house and grounds, you think you could be very happy?"

      "I think so, Lady Temple. I should not require much else."

      "You would!" cried Lady Temple, fiercely. "One thing. Love! That is what your mother sacrificed herself for, the fool!"

      "Why speak of her in that way," asks the girl, in a quiet tone, but with a bright colour in her face which shows how deeply she resents the words of her mistress, "before her daughter? She was your friend, remember. You say you have never had happiness in your life. I am sorry for you, and I am glad to think that my mother had much."

      "There, there! Be still. Your mother was a good creature, and no one's enemy but her own. What are those shadows on the blind?"

      "Swallows, Lady Temple. I lay awake for a long time this morning, watching them. They are building nests just outside my window."

      "Never mind them," says Lady Temple, fretfully. "Listen to me, Miss Marston. I am not quite alone in the world. I have relatives who love me very much just now-oh, yes, very much just now, when they think I have not long to live! But only one shall darken my doors. My nephew, Mr. Temple, will be here in a few days; you must see that his rooms are ready for him when he arrives. Give me his letter. There it is, on my dressing-table. What have you dropped? What are you looking at?"

      "A portrait, Lady Temple. It slipped from the envelope. Is it Mr. Temple's picture?"

      "Yes, yes; give it to me. It is a handsome face, is it not, Miss Marston? Now sit down, and do not annoy me any longer. When I am asleep, go softly, and see to Mr. Temple's rooms. He will have this house when I am gone, if he does not thwart me. But I will take care-I will take care-"

      The sentence is not finished, and there is silence in the sick room. Lady Temple dozes, and Nelly Marston sits quietly by the window, stealthily raising a corner of the blind now and then, to catch a glimpse of the sun and the beautiful grounds upon which it shines.

      PART THE SECOND

SUMMER

      The moon shines on a rippling brook in Springfield, and the summer flowers are sleeping. But even in sleep the foxglove lights up the underwood, and the clover retains the sunset's crimson fire. It is a beautiful and peaceful night; an odorous stillness is in the air, and

      "the floor of heaven

      Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold."

      The shadows of gently-undulating branches and the delicate traceries of the feather-grass-so subtly sensitive that in the stillest night its bells are tremulous; mayhap in response to fairy whisperings-are reflected in the stream which reflects also the shadow of Nelly Marston, who is bending low to look at her fair face in the depths made luminous by stars. As with sparkling eyes she stoops lower and lower in half-sportive, half-earnest admiration of herself, her face rises in the water to greet her, until the smiling lips of flesh almost kiss their shadow.

      As she gazes, another shadow bends over hers, blotting the fairer vision, and a strong arm is thrown around her waist.

      "Why, Nelly-Miss Marston! Are you about to play Ophelia in my aunt's pretty brook?"

      The girl starts to her feet, and swiftly releases herself from his embrace. Not far from them, but unseen by either, stands the gardener's son, watching them. Their breasts are stirred by emotions which bring an agitated pleasure to them; his is stirred by darker passions.

      "I was simply," replies Nelly, with burning blushes in her face, "bending over the water to-to-"

      And pauses for lack of words.

      Mr. Temple assists her.

      "To look at your pretty face, or perhaps to kiss yourself, as a spirit might. Labour thrown away, Miss Marston, and most certainly unprofitable, if what the poet says is true:

      "Some there be that shadows kiss;

      Such have but a shadow's bliss."

      Nelly Marston regains her composure.

      "We did not expect you to-night, Mr. Temple."

      "Then I should be all the more welcome," he answers gaily. "I am starving, Nelly-"

      She checks him by a look.

      "I beg your pardon. Miss Nelly Marston, I am starving with hunger. I have not had a morsel of food in my mouth since the morning."

      "There will be no difficulty in reviving your fainting soul, Mr. Temple," she says, with a desperate attempt to imitate his light manner; "but Lady Temple must not know you are here. 'Miss Marston,' she said to me this afternoon, my nephew will be absent for some time. He will write to me regularly. Directly his letters arrive, let me have them. If I am asleep place them at once by my side.'"

      Mr. Temple, a handsome, graceful man, not less than thirty-five years of age, interposes with СКАЧАТЬ