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Read Ebook: Love Works Wonders: A Novel by Brame Charlotte M
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Ebook has 2106 lines and 80755 words, and 43 pages
Even in his dress Sir Oswald was remarkable; the superfine white linen, the diamond studs and sleeve links, the rare jewels that gleamed on his fingers--all struck the attention; and, as he took from his pocket a richly engraved golden snuff-box and tapped it with the ends of his delicate white fingers, there stood revealed a thorough aristocrat--the ideal of an English patrician gentleman.
Sir Oswald walked round the stately terraces and gardens.
"I do not see her," he said to himself; "yet most certainly Frampton told me she was here."
Then, with his gold-headed cane in hand, Sir Oswald descended to the gardens. He was evidently in search of some one. Meeting one of the gardeners, who stood, hat in hand, as he passed by, Sir Oswald asked:
"Have you seen Miss Darrell in the gardens?"
"I saw Miss Darrell in the fernery some five minutes since, Sir Oswald," was the reply.
Sir Oswald drew from his pocket a very fine white handkerchief and diffused an agreeable odor of millefleurs around him; the gardener had been near the stables, and Sir Oswald was fastidious.
A short walk brought him to the fernery, an exquisite combination of rock and rustic work, arched by a dainty green roof, and made musical by the ripple of a little waterfall. Sir Oswald looked in cautiously, evidently rather in dread of what he might find there; then his eyes fell upon something, and he said:
"Pauline, are you there?"
A rich, clear, musical voice answered:
"Yes, I am here, uncle."
"My dear," continued Sir Oswald, half timidly, not advancing a step farther into the grotto, "may I ask what you are doing?"
"Certainly, uncle," was the cheerful reply; "you may ask by all means. The difficulty is to answer; for I am really doing nothing, and I do not know how to describe 'nothing.'"
"Why did you come hither?" he asked.
"To dream," replied the musical voice. "I think the sound of falling water is the sweetest music in the world. I came here to enjoy it, and to dream over it."
Sir Oswald looked very uncomfortable.
"Considering, Pauline, how much you have been neglected, do you not think you might spend your time more profitably--in educating yourself, for example?"
"This is educating myself. I am teaching myself beautiful thoughts, and nature just now is my singing mistress." And then the speaker's voice suddenly changed, and a ring of passion came into it. "Who says that I have been neglected? When you say that, you speak ill of my dear dead father, and no one shall do that in my presence. You speak slander, and slander ill becomes an English gentleman. If I was neglected when my father was alive, I wish to goodness such neglect were my portion now!"
Sir Oswald shrugged his shoulders.
He paused; perhaps some instinct of prudence warned him.
"A what?" she demanded, scornfully. "Pray finish the sentence, Sir Oswald."
"My dear, you are too impulsive, too hasty. You want more quietness of manner, more dignity."
Her voice deepened in its tones as she asked:
"I should have been a what, Sir Oswald? I never begin a sentence and leave it half finished. You surely are not afraid to finish it?"
"No, my dear," was the calm reply; "there never yet was a Darrell afraid of anything on earth. If you particularly wish me to do so, I will finish what I was about to say. You would have been a confirmed Bohemian, and nothing could have made you a lady."
"I love what you call Bohemians, and I detest what you call ladies, Sir Oswald," was the angry retort.
"Most probably; but then, you see, Pauline, the ladies of the house of Darrell have always been ladies--high-bred, elegant women. I doubt if any of them ever knew what the word 'Bohemian' meant."
She laughed a little scornful laugh, which yet was sweet and clear as the sound of silver bells.
"I had almost forgotten," said Sir Oswald. "I came to speak to you about something, Pauline; will you come into the house with me?"
They walked on together in silence for some minutes, and then Sir Oswald began:
"I went to London, as you know, last week, Pauline, and my errand was on your behalf."
She raised her eyebrows, but did not deign to ask any questions.
"I have engaged a lady to live with us here at Darrell Court, whose duties will be to finish your education, or, rather, I may truthfully say, to begin it, to train you in the habits of refined society, to--to--make you presentable, in fact, Pauline, which I am sorry, really sorry to say, you are not at present."
She made him a low bow--a bow full of defiance and rebellion.
"I am indeed indebted to you, Sir Oswald."
"No trifling," said the stately baronet, "no sarcasm, Pauline, but listen to me! You are not without sense or reason--pray attend. Look around you," he continued; "remember that the broad fair lands of Darrell Court form one of the grandest domains in England. It is an inheritance almost royal in its extent and magnificence. Whoso reigns here is king or queen of half a county, is looked up to, respected, honored, admired, and imitated. The owner of Darrell Court is a power even in this powerful land of ours; men and women look up to such a one for guidance and example. Judge then what the owner of the inheritance should be."
The baronet's grand old face was flushed with emotion.
"He must be pure, or he would make immorality the fashion; honorable, because men will take their notions of honor from him; just, that justice may abound; upright, stainless. You see all that, Pauline?"
"Yes," she assented, quickly.
"No men have so much to answer for," continued Sir Oswald, "as the great ones of the land--men in whose hands power is vested--men to whom others look for example, on whose lives other lives are modeled--men who, as it were, carry the minds, if not the souls, of their fellow men in the hollows of their hands."
Pauline looked more impressed, and insensibly drew nearer to him.
"Such men, I thank Heaven," he said, standing bareheaded as he uttered the words, "have the Darrells been--loyal, upright, honest, honorable, of stainless repute, of stainless life, fitted to rule their fellow men--grand men, sprung from a grand old race. And at times women have reigned here--women whose names have lived in the annals of the land--who have been as shining lights from the purity, the refinement, the grandeur of their lives."
He spoke with a passion of eloquence not lost on the girl by his side.
"I," he continued, humbly, "am one of the least worthy of my race. I have done nothing for its advancement; but at the same time I have done nothing to disgrace it. I have carried on the honors passively. The time is coming when Darrell Court must pass into other hands. Now, Pauline, you have heard, you know what the ruler of Darrell Court should be. Tell me, are you fitted to take your place here?"
"I am very young," she murmured.
"It is not a question of youth. Dame Sibella Darrell reigned here when she was only eighteen; and the sons she trained to succeed her were among the greatest statesmen England has ever known. She improved and enlarged the property; she died, after living here sixty years, beloved, honored, and revered. It is not a question of age."
"I am a Darrell!" said the girl, proudly.
"Yes, you have the face and figure of a Darrell; you bear the name, too; but you have not the grace and manner of a Darrell."
"Those are mere outward matters of polish and veneer," she said, impatiently.
"Nay, not so. You would not think it right to see an unformed, untrained, uneducated, ignorant girl at the head of such a house as this. What did you do yesterday? A maid displeased you. You boxed her ears. Just imagine it. Such a proceeding on the part of the mistress of Darrell Court would fill one with horror."
A slight smile rippled over the full crimson lips.
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