THORNS AND 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS 
 
 BY 
 
 BERTHA M. CLAY 
 
 Author of "DoRA THORNE," "THE DUKE'S SECRET," 'A MAD 
 
 LOVE," " HER ONLY SIN," "A GOLDEN HEART," 
 
 " STORY OF THE WEDDING RING," Etc. 
 
 MCLEAN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 88 WALKER STREET NEW YORK 
 
THOBIS AID OBANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 CHAPIEE ju 
 
 u 4 JUNE'S palace paved with gold ! * " quoted Lord 
 Ryvers, as he looked down a long woodland glade, where 
 shafts of golden light pierced the thick foliage of the 
 stately trees, and lay with the dancing shadows on the 
 grass. " It is indeed paved with gold," he added. " What 
 Colors of mine, what color mixed by mortaJ nand, could 
 copy the tender green of the young grass, the lovely tints 
 of the trees, the golden gleam of the sun ? *' 
 
 Randolph, Lord Ryvers, patrician by birth and master 
 of half a dozen fair estates, but an artist by nature, de- 
 lighted in freeing himself from the trammels of society, 
 and taking an artistic tour, without valet or servant, with- 
 out any of what he called the incumbrances of rank. Hav- 
 ing heard one day that no shire in England was so well 
 wooded as Warwickshire, that for the beauty of its rivers, 
 its shaded walks and drives, the county of " Earl Guy " had 
 110 equal, he was not happy until he had told his mother t 
 Lady Ryvers, that he was going on a sketching-tour, and 
 had left the great city behind him. 
 
 He had seen the loveliest spots in Warwickshire; he had 
 visited the grind old castle ; he had studied the loveliness 
 of Stoneleigh Abbey and of Guy's Cliff; he had reveled 
 in the grand ruins of Kenilworth ; he had admired the 
 green woods, the brimming rivers, the deep, clear meres ; 
 and at last he had reached ^he' picturesque village of St. 
 By no's, where the quiet, pastoral loveliness for which the 
 county is famous is seen to perfection. 
 
 Every artist knows St. Byno's. It, is a sleepy village, 
 with a placid stream running through it, and deep, green 
 woods surrounding it on every side ; its cottages are halt 
 hidden by noble chestnut-trees with green fields around 
 them, where the cattle stand lazily knee-deeD in the clear 
 
 ***> 958938 
 
* THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 There the young artist had tarried. He was delighted 
 With St. Byno's, with the magnificence of its trees, the 
 J>ea?ity; of. 1 its streams. ' On this particular morning, the 
 second of June, ' he 'had gone to sketch in the woods. He 
 placed his easel at the opening of a glade, and the first 
 words that came to his lips were " June's palaco paved 
 with gold I " Lover of art, of nature, of beauty as he was, 
 he stood silently before the glorious contrast of sunlight and 
 shadow, the ripple of green foliage tinged with gold, which 
 met his eyes. 
 
 Suddenly, as he watched the light that gleamed, quiv- 
 ered, and fell in golden glory, he caught sight of a pale- 
 blue dress between the trees. He took up the brushes and 
 worked for a few minutes'; then, on looking up, he was 
 astonished to find two beautiful eyes fixed on him, and 9 
 sweet voice said : 
 
 "Is that a real picture ? May I look at it ? w 
 
 " It can hardly be called a picture yet," he answered 1 
 raising his hat courteously ; " it is but the commencement 
 of one. I find I cannot paint the sunlight as it fall* 
 yonder." 
 
 " May I look at it more closely ? " she asked. 
 
 He moved aside, and, placing herself before the easel 
 she glanced at the still wet colors. 
 
 " No," she said, " you have not caught the sunlight." 
 
 As he gazed at her, standing in the bright June sun* 
 shine, Randolph, Lord Ryvers, met his fate. He turned 
 his eyes with difficulty from the fair young face. 
 
 She was a tall, slender girl, with a lithe, graceful figure, 
 golden hair, and a face more beautiful than words can tell 
 fair and dainty, of the most delicate style of loveliness, 
 with a broad, low brow and eyes of clearest, darkest violet, 
 that were almost black under the dark-fringed lashes. The 
 little white hands were ungloved, the white hat had for all 
 ornament a bunch of corn-flowers, the dress was of plainest 
 material, yet he could have knelt at her feet and paid her 
 homage, as to a queen. 
 
 " No," she repeated, " you have not caught the sunlight. 
 Your light is too opaque it wants transparency. It is 
 yellow, and the sunlight is a faint amber." 
 
 " Thanks for your criticism," he said. 
 
 " You are very welcome," she replied ; and the bewitch- 
 tog violet eyes looked frankly into Ms. " Many artists 
 
THOKNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. * 
 
 come here to sketch and paint the river and the woods, but 
 none of them catch the true color of the sunlight." 
 
 " You are a severe critic," said the young artist. 
 
 " I have not the least idea of criticism," she replied " I 
 know nothing of art-terms ; but I can tell when nature is 
 truthfully imitated and when it is not. The chief character 
 of the sunlight is its transparency." 
 
 Th*. young artist bowed., 
 
 " I should like to ask you for a few lessons," he said ; and 
 her musical laughter rang through the trees. 
 
 " Ask me ? Why, I have never had a lesson in my life \ 
 BO I could scarcely undertake to give one," she replied. 
 
 He scarcely knew how to address her. He would have 
 liked to tell her how fair a picture she made, to ask her to 
 stand while he sketched her ; but he felt dazed by her 
 beauty and the light of her wonderful eyes. 
 
 " I have been very abrupt in my remarks," she said, with 
 a smile* " You must please forgive me. Every summer 
 artists come hither, and my only recreation is in watching 
 their pictures." 
 
 His face flushed. This was the very opening he had 
 desired. 
 
 " May I hope may I beg," he said, " that you will some- 
 times honor me by looking at mine ? " 
 
 " If I am passing by," she replied, with queenly indif 
 ference. 
 
 " You came purposely to look at those pictures you were 
 speaking of, did you not ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 
 " I wish, then," he said, " you would favor me by coming 
 purposely to look at mine." 
 
 She laughed again, and the nonchalance of her laughter 
 piqued him. With one bright glance she seemed to take i$ 
 every detail of his face and figure. 
 
 ' Those other artists were not like you," she said. 
 
 " Tell me in what way they differed from me," he re 
 quested. 
 
 " They were old men. One of them had flowing white 
 hair, and you " 
 
 " I am young," he said, " thank Heaven! Nevertheless 
 you might take an- interest in my success, just as you did 
 In theirs." 
 
 44 Certainly I might," she reglied ; and then she looked 
 
6 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 at nim with frankly smiling eyes. " I believe," she said, 
 u that you are almost the first young man to whom I have 
 ever spoken. There are no young men in St. Byno's." 
 
 " I feel myself greatly honored," returned the young 
 lord. u But what a strange place St. Byno's must be 1 " 
 
 " It is the loveliest spot in the whole wide world," said 
 the girl, proudly, " and the people here seem to me to live 
 almost forever. * The vicar and the lawyer must be sixty ; 
 and the doctor is a white-haired old man." 
 
 " What becomes of the young men ? " asked the artist. 
 
 " They never settle down here," she replied. " They go 
 away to the large towns, as a rule, when they are boys. 
 Sometimes," she added, with unconscious pathos, ^ they 
 come home to the village ; but they soon go back to the 
 busy world. However, some of us never go away "-with 
 a plaintive little sigh. 
 
 " It is an old-fashioned spot," he said, musingly. " There 
 are a few such left. I like the place and the name St. 
 Byno's. It gives one the idea of woodbine stretching 
 along the hedges." 
 
 " St. Byno's abounds with woodbine during the month 
 of July," she said; and her heart warmed to hiro because 
 he praised the home she loved. " I am glad you like the 
 village. I am always grieved when I hear people say that 
 it is dull and tame. What place could be tame with such 
 a view as this ? " 
 
 " You know the neighborhood well ? " he interrogated. 
 
 u Yes,", she answered u every hill and valley, every 
 lovely picturesque nook and corner." 
 
 " Then," he said, with grave courtesy, 4i perhaps you will 
 f ,ell me where I shall find the prettiest scenes ? " 
 
 " If 7 may," she returned, suddenly remembering that 
 fee was a stranger, and that she knew nothing of him. 
 
 u Whose permission must you ask ? " he said. 
 
 u My aunt's," she replied. 
 
 " May I ask," he said, standing bareheaded before her, 
 l to whom I have the pleasure of speaking ? You prob- 
 ably live somewhere near ; and, as I am staying here foi 
 some little time, I should feel greatly honored by an intro- 
 duction to you." 
 
 A flush came over the exquisite face. 
 
 " My name is Violet," she said, with sweet, shy grace-** 
 * Violet Beaton." 
 
JTHOItNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, t 
 
 " And you live here at St. Byno's ? " 
 
 She turned and pointed to the left, where, through an 
 opening in the trees, he caught a glimpse of a little cottage 
 built of white stone and covered with climbing roses. 
 
 "Do you see the little house there amongst the trees ? " 
 she asked. " It is called Acacia Cottage, from the fine 
 acacia-trees that grow round, it. My aunt, Miss Alice 
 A-therton, lives there, and I live with her." 
 
 " Have you no parents living ? " he asked. 
 
 " No. I was telling you how long people live at St. 
 Byno's; my parents were exceptions to the rule. My 
 father died when I was ten years old, and my mother soon 
 followed him, heart-broken. I have lived with my aunt 
 ever since." 
 
 The beautiful head drooped, the musical voice faltered. 
 
 " If you are not busy, do stay for a few minutes," the 
 young artist said, eagerly. " It is so beautiful here this 
 oright June morning." 
 
 A fallen tree lay near her, and Violet Beaton sat down 
 upon it. 
 
 " I ought not to stay," she said ; " my aunt will be 
 angry at my long absence from home." 
 
 " I should not think any one would ever be angry with 
 you," he remarked. 
 
 " You do not know my aunt," she said, laughing gayly. 
 u She entertains some rather strong prejudices, and, above 
 all things, she dislikes young men." 
 
 " She must be a somewhat formidable person," observed 
 the artist. 
 
 " She is and yet she is not," Violet said, growing sud- 
 denly grave and thoughtful. " I am so deeply indebted to 
 tier that I ought not to speak one word against her. She 
 ioes not understand youth or happiness. She has but one 
 aim and end in life, and that is the performance of what she 
 considers to be duty. My aunt is tall and angular. She 
 would not make a good subject for a picture, for there is 
 not a graceful line about her. Neither could you fancy her 
 crying or laughing, or kissing a child, or singing a song. 
 She is always prim an,d precise. Yet she is good at heart." 
 
 " Many strictly good people are very disagreeable," he 
 remarked. 
 
 She looked up with an expression of relief. 
 
 H Have you found out that ? " she inquired. " I am so 
 
* THORNS AND ORAtfGE-BLOSSOfflL 
 
 glad ; I thought I was quite alone in entertaining such an 
 unorthodox idea. I can just remember how beautiful my 
 father's religion was all love and charity ; whereas every 
 disagreeable thing my aunt does, every disagreeable word 
 she speaks, is always attributed to her religious views." 
 
 " The life must be a dull one for you," he remarked, 
 looking down at her beaut ful face. 
 
 " It would be," she sai I, " did I not find so much pleas- 
 are in my surroundings. 7 ' 
 
 " You love nature so much ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " I am just eighteen, and I have 
 never been beyond th3 sound of the rush of the river yet. 
 You see it runs just at the end of the garden ; the acacia- 
 trees grow quite down to the water's edge." 
 
 " You have never been away from this place in all your 
 life ? " he said, wonderingly. 
 
 " No, not for a day," she replied. " Warwick is not very 
 far away ; but I have never even seen the grand old castle 
 there." 
 
 " And I," he said, " though I am only a few years older 
 than you are, have been almost all over the world." 
 
 " I long to see the world," she confessed, looking at him 
 with a wistful expression. " I love St. Byno's ; but I 
 should not like to spend the whole of my life here. I 
 should like to see the grand places I have read about. But 
 then life is long." 
 
 He sighed when he heard the words, for he knew that 
 poets and philosophers said just the opposite. She waa 
 young, beautiful, quite innocent and ignorant of the ways 
 of life. He was like a man with a new picture to look at, 
 a new book to read ; he was enraptured and fascinated ; 
 he could have sat on the trunk of the fallen tree and listened 
 to her forever. 
 
 " Tell me about yourself," he said. 
 
 <; I have nothing to tell," she replied. " You can under- 
 stand how quiet and uneventful my life has been, for I have 
 never left St: Byno's." 
 
 " I can under standhow pleasant and simple it has been, n 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, a shade of sadness coming over 
 her face. " If my parents had lived, it would have been all 
 that is most delightful. But my aunt has no sympathy 
 with the young, neither has she any love for the beautiful, 
 
THORNS AND CHANGE- BLOSSOMS. fi 
 
 and consequently she is apt to regard me and my amuse. 
 
 ments with contempt. She Well, I cannot well ex 
 
 plain myself; but I am not very happy with her." 
 
 There was something of repressed feeling in the girlish 
 face which touched the listener. 
 
 " My aunt/' she continued, " does not even like the sing- 
 ing of the birds. She destroys the butterflies, but she lets 
 the bees live, because they make honey, which she sells, 
 Every one is eager to buy it ; they say it is the finest 
 honey in Warwickshire* Things that are beautiful and oi 
 use she tolerates ; but, be they ever so beautiful and useless, 
 she dislikes them," 
 
 Under what category does she place you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Under neither, 17 was the reply. " In Aunt Alice's 
 mind I hold a position quite different from anything else in 
 creation. She often says that I was born for her especial 
 annoyance, to be her especial cross ; and, though she is 
 very kind to me in essential things, I believe it is true that 
 I am a torment to her." 
 
 14 Why," he asked, slowly. " Tell me why." 
 
 " Because I cannot fajl in completely with all her viewa 
 She would like me to get up at a certain hour in the morn 
 ing. If the sun is shining I rise very early I cannot wait 
 for the regulation hour ; and then my aunt is not pleased 
 She says that the dew destroys my shoes and dresses, that 
 I should wait until 4 the day is aired ;' and, when I attempt 
 to argue the point with her, she grows angry. Do you see 
 where the water falls over the rock there and runs back into 
 the stream ? " the girl asked, after a brief pause. 
 
 " Yes ; I see," he replied. " How musical the sound oi 
 falling water is I " 
 
 " In the moonlight that fall makes a beautiful picture 
 and I often come here to look at it. I sometimes think it 
 was through just such a wood as this that poor Queen 
 Guinevere rode with -the handsome knight by her side ; but 
 iny aunt says that all fancies are ridiculous, and that we 
 ought to think only of what is real." 
 
 "This world is beautiful enough," he said; "but I al- 
 most think the world of fancy is more beautiful still." 
 
 Violet gave a quick, glad smile. It was so delightful t<? 
 have some tastes in common. 
 
 By this time Randolph, Lord Ryvers, had cqmpletety 
 lost his heart. He thought that this was the most natural 
 
ft THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 beautiful, graceful girl he had ever seen, and that she com 
 pletely outshone all the great ladies of his acquaintance, 
 His heart beat fast as he looked at her. 
 
 But there was no thought of love in Violet Beaton's 
 mind or heart. She had an idea that she was not acting 
 jn the most prudent manner possible, though it was de 
 lightful to talk to some one who was young like herself. 
 Presently a change came over her exquisite face a shadow 
 fell upon it. 
 
 " I understand," she said, " what it is to lead a life of re- 
 pression. I have little time to myself; and everything I 
 like best I have to deny myself. In our house everything 
 goes on like machinery ; we do the same thing everyday at 
 the 'same time. I do not remember the least variety or any 
 break in the monotony for years." 
 
 " And you have never been from St. Byno's in your life ? " 
 he repeated. 
 
 It seemed to him a most extraordinary thing to have 
 lived always in the same place. 
 
 " My mind and heart and brain travel," she said. " There 
 will come a change into my life jome day. I have often 
 thought about the time when I shall go out into the great 
 world;" and the beautiful eyes looked as though they 
 would fain pierce the mists which obscured the future. 
 
 Lord By vers was at a loss what to say to her ; yet he 
 was afraid to remain silent, lest she should declare that it 
 was time to go. 
 
 " Did they call you ' Violet * because of the color of your 
 eyes ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," she laughed ; " iny mother gave me the name be- 
 cause she was particularly fond of violets. All my offenses 
 in my aunt's eyes, are summed up in that name, 4 Violet.' ' 5 
 
 " Do you know the poem of the 4 Queen's Marys' ? ' : 
 asked Lord Ry vers. " Your name reminds me of it* It 
 begins 
 
 " * There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton, 
 And Mary Carmichael, and me.' 
 
 Are 3'ou descended from those same Beatons ? " 
 
 " I should think not ; I should hope not," she replied. 
 
 " Hope not ! Why ? " he asked. 
 
 She looked round at him with impatient scorn, her iace 
 
 flushed, her eyes shining. tt 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. U 
 
 u I have strong likes and strong dislikes," she replied ; 
 * but, if there is one thing I dislike more than another, it 
 is what you call you people who live hi the outer world, I 
 mean the aristocracy." 
 
 He shrunk back as though she had struck him. 
 
 " What an extraordinary thing ! " he said. ** Whj 
 should you hate them ?. What have the aristocracy done to, 
 you?" 
 
 " Nothing to me," she answered. " But during the 
 winter nights, while Aunt Alice and I sit sewing, she tells 
 me stories of the aristocracy. Aunt Alice has seen a great 
 deal of life, and she retails her experience for my benetit." 
 
 " I think the the aristocracy quite as good as theii 
 neighbors," he said. 
 
 ' That is because you do not know them," she remarked, 
 laughing triumphantly. " You have livecf your life amongst 
 the beauties of art and nature. What should you know of 
 the follies, the sins, the idle, useless, frivolous lives of 
 aristocrats ? " 
 
 " Why, I belong to them I " he was about* to say, when 
 he suddenly remembered that it would be very bad policy 
 on his part to tell her that he was an aristocrat, seeing that 
 she had openly proclaimed her dislike of them. So he 
 answered, quietly, " If you will teach me, I will dislike 
 them also." 
 
 " Dislike comes by instinct, not by training or teach- 
 ing," she remarked ; and then she added, hurriedly, " I 
 must go ; " and Lord Ry vers felt all at once a new and 
 strange feeling of desolation. 
 
 " I must go," repeated Violet Beaton. " This is just the 
 time that Aunt Alice takes a solemn promenade round the 
 flower-garden. I carry the basket, whilst she cuts the dead 
 leaves from their stalks and otherwise does a little amateur 
 gardening." 
 
 u You will let me see you again," Lord Ryvers urged ; 
 " you will not refuse ? " 
 
 " I pass by here often," she answered, " and I shall be 
 glad to see how your picture progresses. If I were in 
 your place, I should devote the morning to getting that 
 sunshine right." 
 
 He thought to himself that this the most eventful morn* 
 tog of his life would be spent in dreams of her. 
 
 u I am very unwilling to say good morning, Miss Beaton ' 
 
12 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 
 
 but I say it, hoping that I may enjoy the happiness of r& 
 newing our acquaintance to-morrow." 
 
 " I have been happy too," she said ; but there was no 
 confusion or embarrassment in her manner. " It is pleas- 
 ant talking to people of one's own age ; they have so much 
 more sympathy than one's elders. I have told you my 
 name," she added, suddenly ; " if I. want to think of your 
 picture and of you, by what name must I remenner you ? ' ? 
 
 After her unexpected denunciation of aristocrats, he 
 iared not tell his name and title, lest she should a void hiio 
 in the future. 
 
 " My name is Randolph," he answered. 
 
 " Good morning then, Mr. Randolph," she said, with a 
 bright smile. " Now I go to receive the reprimand of a 
 justly angered aunt." 
 
 He watched the pale blue dress as it disappeared amongst 
 the trees. 
 
 " To think that I should meet my fate here, on a bright 
 June morning ! " he said to himself. " Yet love and June 
 and roses seem naturally to go together." 
 
 He watched until the last vestige of the blue dress 
 vanished, then he began to blame himself. Why had he 
 not said more to her ? Why had he not dared tell her the 
 first time he saw her how well and how dearly he loved 
 her ? And, at least, if he had not gone so far as that r he 
 raigh have asked her to make an appointment with him, 
 What if she had gone out of his life, and he should never 
 see her again? How foolish he had been to let her ^o? 
 The only thing left for him was to be sure to be here on the 
 morrow. As for the future, he did not even care to think 
 of it. He would leave the painting until another day ? 
 when he should be less haunted by that exquisite face. 
 What was the beauty of sunshine and leaf to him, whose 
 mind was filled with a far lovelier vision ? 
 
 " I have often wondered whom I should love, where 1 
 should see her first, in what guise she would come to me, 
 imd how fair she would be," he thought ; " and now my 
 questions are all answered at once. I have met her in the 
 grand old woods of St. Byno's on the brightest day in the 
 year and she has come to me in the fairest guise* for she 
 6as the loveliest face I have ever seen. How I wish she 
 could have stayed with me a few hours ! " 
 
 And then he closed the easel and walked down the glade, 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 13 
 
 the words of a quaint old ballad rising to his lips the 
 while. He trolled them out in a deep, clear voice, and 
 seemed to derive wonderful satisfaction from them. 
 
 *' Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart* 
 
 The merit of true passion 
 With thinking that he feels no smart 
 That sues for no compassion. 
 
 ** Silence in love betrays more woe j 
 
 Than words, though ne'er so witty; 
 A beggar that is dumb, you know, 
 May challenge double pity. 
 
 ** Then wrong not, dearest to my heart. 
 
 My love for secret passion j 
 He smartest most who hides his smart 
 And sues for no compassion. n 
 
 Lord Ry vers said to himself that some day, when they 
 were alone in this woodland glade, he wou!4 sing that ballad 
 for her. It said more than he could say, for it told of the 
 silent struggle of deep love to make itself understood. 
 The only cloud that overshadowed this the fairest dawn of 
 love was that Violet Beaton disliked aristocrats. He would 
 have to combat that dislike, and make her own that a 
 aristocrat was as good as a commoner. 
 
 Meanwhile the object of his dreams hastened through 
 the woods, crossed the pretty rustic bridge that spanned 
 the river, opened the garden gate, and looked up with 
 laughing eyes at the tall, erect figure awaiting her there. 
 
 " Violet," said stern Miss Atherton, " you know that I 
 attend to the garden every day at twelve o'clock ; it is now 
 half an hour behind the appointed time. Where have you 
 been?" 
 
 The recollection of where she had been, and with whom 5 
 and what her aunt would say, if she knew it, brightened 
 the laughing eyes. 
 
 " I have been in the woods, Aunt Alice. I know that I 
 am late, and I am sorry for it. I will make up for it by 
 working doubly hard now." 
 
 Miss Atherton was somewhat mollified, and she said, 
 more gently : 
 
 " I will overlook it this once, but it must not happen 
 again ; duties must be performed first, pleasure is an 
 consideration." 
 
14 THORNS AND ORA^GE-BLOSSOMSL 
 
 So Violet Beaton took the basket obediently, and at 
 tended her aunt in her gardening operations. Miss Ather- 
 ton was as scrupulous in her garden as in her house ; no 
 weeds, no dead leaves, no dying flowers were permitted 
 there. 
 
 She was in an unusually vigorous mood this morning , 
 the scissors were in use constantly, and blossom after 
 blossom fell for she had a great dislike to what she called 
 !;he untidiness of dying flowers. 
 
 " That rose would have lasted another week, aunt/' 
 Violet protested, as she watched Miss Atherton snip off a 
 fine damask rose which was a little faded. 
 
 " You are here to carry the basket, not to make com 
 ments," was Miss Atherton's curt reply. 
 
 Violet's thoughts went back to an incident in her child- 
 hood. Miss Atherton had given orders to have the grass 
 on the little lawn mown. It was studded with white daisies 
 that had been the very pride and delight of the child's 
 heart wide-open daisies with golden eyes ; and, when she 
 saw them cut down by the scythe, she cried bitterly. Miss 
 Atherton was exasperated. It was bad enough to have a 
 niece ; it was worse still to have a niece given to senti- 
 mentality. 
 
 From that day, when Violet half broke her heart ovei 
 the dead daisies, Miss Atherton had done all in her power 
 to repress the girl's imagination instead of training it ; and 
 the consequence was that it grew under this repression, and 
 not in the healthiest fashion. It expended itself on idealiz- 
 ing the beautiful things around her. Strangely enough, 
 however, Violet's thoughts had never wandered to the sub- 
 ject of love. She did not sit by the river, as some girls 
 would have done, and dream of a possible lover, the reason 
 being that she had no young-girl friends, that she had reac 
 no love-stories, and very little poetry of a sentimental kind, 
 She reveled in the pleasures of imagination, she peopled the 
 woods and the glades, she saw what was invisible to other 
 eyes ; but her thoughts had not yet wandered to the sul> 
 Ject of love. 
 
 Miss Atherton was passSe now, but long years before she 
 had had her romance ; she remembered even now the pleas 
 ure and the pain of it. The same pain, she was determined, 
 should never pierce the heart of her niece. Therefore she 
 carefully selected her friends and supervised the books that 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, W 
 
 ehe read and the pictures she saw ; and Yiolet, at eighteen 
 years of age, was frank, simple, and innocent as a child. 
 
 No one ever knew the details of Miss Atherton's love- 
 story. She had been handsome, once upon a time, with a 
 proud, stately beauty. It was faded now ; pain had left 
 great lines on her face, had blanched her hair, had taken the 
 light from her eyes, and left her bitter, cold, and proud. It 
 was generally believed that her great enmity to the aristoC' 
 racy arose from the fact that she had been cruelly deceived 
 by one of their number. This was actually the trlith. Miss 
 Atherton had formerly lived as English governess in a fam- 
 ily of high position in Rome. An English nobleman visit* 
 ing there fell in love with her, and for more than seven years 
 kept up a constant correspondence with her, always prom- 
 ising that he would make her his wife when his father died. 
 When that time came, however, he married a beautiful 
 young heiress, and Miss Atherton found that she had wasted 
 her life, youth, and beauty on a dream. It was this re* 
 membrance which made her so bitter as she walked amongst 
 the roses. She had tried to teach her niece two things : 
 one was to detest the aristocracy of all nations, the other 
 was to live without love. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 VIOLET BEATON'S story of her life was very simple, Dr, 
 Beaton had settled down in the little village of St. Byno's, 
 hoping to do as most other people did there enjoy a long 
 life. He married Mary Atherton, whose sister had just 
 come home from Paris, and had taken up her abode in the. 
 pretty, solitary house known as Acacia Cottage. 
 
 The doctor and his wife had lived very happily ; they had 
 had but this one child, Yiolet. To the regret of all who 
 knew him, the doctor died suddenly of a fever, caught from 
 a poor woman whom he was attending. His young wife 
 did not long survive him. 
 
 In these circumstances, Miss Atherton could hardly do 
 less than adopt Yiolet, for, so far as she knew, Dr. Beaton 
 had no relatives living, excepting a younger brother who 
 had gone many years before to America. Miss Atherton 
 had an income of just one hundred pounds per annum, and, 
 by dint of practicing the greatest care and economy, she 
 bad been able to provide her niece with a home. 
 
16 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 It was a picturesque cottage, with beautiful and pictu* 
 esque surroundings ; yet Violet Beaton had not a happy 
 life with the stern, grim lady who had forgotten whatyoutb 
 and beauty and love were like. 
 
 " I was handsome once," she said one day, when she 
 found Violet standing before a mirror admiring the shin- 
 ing splendor of her own hair, * c and you see what it has 
 Come to." 
 
 ' I should like to be handsome, too, aunt," remarked the 
 girl. 
 
 " It would make little difference in the end if you were, M 
 said J\Jiss Atherton, grimly ; and Yiolet, glancing at her 
 aunt, shuddered. 
 
 Would her own shining, rippling hair, that was like a veil 
 of pure gold, grow white and thin ? Would those beauti* 
 ful white shoulders become lean and angular, that exquisite 
 face wrinkled and lined ? 
 
 " I should like best to die young," she thought ; " I should 
 not like to grow old and bitter, proud and cold, like my 
 aunt." 
 
 Everything that had once been a sort of sweetness in 
 Alice Atherton's life had changed to bitterness now. In 
 fchat happy long ago, when she had been young and beauti- 
 ful, and had waited patiently for her happiness, she had 
 loved poetry, music, romance all that was fair and bright 
 on earth ; now, because they had been part and parcel of 
 that old time she hated them. As her niece grew more 
 lovely, more imaginative every day, she grew more grim 
 and stern ; yet she taught Violet to speak French, and she 
 trained the magnificent contralto voice to perfection. 
 
 Miss Atherton had other peculiarities. She had lived 
 many years in France, and had her own opinion of the ter 
 rible revolution there. Her sympathies by no means went 
 with the fair-haired aristocrats, who mounted the scaffold 
 vith a smile, and so defeated the last would-be triumph of 
 jheir foes ; they were rather with the people who groaned 
 and suffered and toiled and died. She had a most appalling 
 collection of stories, of which the heroes were always aris- 
 tocrats and villains of the most atrocious kind. 
 
 Violet was young and very impressible. On this, the one 
 subject on which Miss Atherton was eloquent, she felt most 
 deeply, and agreed with her. 
 
 There was a singular dearth of young people at St. By 
 
ORANGE-BLOSSOMS II 
 
 no's; tne place was so small. What Violet said was true 
 ~-she had never talked to a young man. The doctor who 
 had succeeded to her father's practice was old ; he had a 
 young son, whom Violet had seen, but to whom she had 
 never spoken. He was the only young man belonging to 
 what Miss Atherton called their class ; of the class below 
 her she never thought. There had been no break in the 
 monotony of Violet's life. She had had no holidays, had 
 paid no visits, had made no friends. The hour she had spent 
 in the bonny woods of St. Byno's was the happiest in her 
 life. She had a feeling that she ought to tell her aunt of 
 the new acquaintance she had made ; but she knew perfectly 
 well that, if she did so, she would never be allowed to see the 
 young artist or his picture again. So she decided upon not 
 saying anything to her aunt about it. He would be gone 
 in a few days, and there the matter would end. 
 
 " Violet," broke in the stern voice of Miss Atherton, 
 "look where you are going ; you almost fell over the stones ! 
 You are in dreamland ; and, as that is a very bad habit of 
 yours, I should much like to know of what you are think- 
 ing." 
 
 fthe knowledge that for the first time in her life she was 
 thi iking of a man who was both young and handsome 
 tm night a hot flush to the girl's face. 
 
 Miss Atherton saw it and stood before her, an accusing 
 
 " 
 
 14 You have some kind of nonsense in your mind, child,' 1 
 she declared. 
 
 44 1 fear that is often the case, auntie," her niece replied, 
 calmly. 
 
 " Remember," said Miss Atherton, raising her forefinger, 
 u there are five pairc of stockings to mend, six kitchen 
 towels to make and mark, and a hamper of fruit to pack 
 for Warwick ; now I ask, have you any time for non- 
 sense ? " 
 
 44 Not one moment, aunt," she answered, with a merry 
 laugh ; but the laugh died away when she entered the house 
 and found the work ready for her. 
 
 They must dine first. The clock was striking one, and 
 at the precise moment the little maid appeared, carrying 
 in the dinner ; and, when the meal was over, Miss Atherton 
 pointed to a pile of work on a side-table. 
 
 u That will occupy you until five o'clock, Violet," she 
 
13 THORNS AND OfANGE-BLOSSOMSL 
 
 said ; " then in the cool of the evening you can gather the 
 
 gooseberries. 1 ' 
 
 . So saying, Miss Atherton retired, for, as she had often 
 declared, her constitution required an hour's rest after din- 
 ner. 
 
 Violet toolk her work to her favorite spot the bay- 
 window where she could see the bridge and the river. 
 
 It was a struggle to remain within doors. The river had 
 jiever looked more beautiful. She could see the great masses 
 of foliage and the sunlit glades of St. Byno's woods. How 
 she longed to be out and away. 
 
 Later on in the afternoon, while Miss Atherton still slept, 
 and the little maid had gone to a neighboring farm-house, 
 Violet thought she heard footsteps in the front garden. 
 She listened, but all was silent ; and, coming to the conclu- 
 sion that she must be mistaken, she resumed her work. 
 Again she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps and 
 the click of the little* gate near the acacia-trees. This time 
 she went to the door. There was no one there ; but on the 
 pretty rustic seat of the porch lay a bouquet of flowers and 
 a basket of fine peaches. On a slip of paper was written, 
 " Sweets to the sweet, flowers to the fair." 
 
 Her first impulse was to thank Heaven that her aunt had 
 not seen them. Of course it must be the young artist who 
 had placed them there. What a terrible risk to run ! She 
 must hide them, and tell him not to repeat the impru- 
 dence. 
 
 But that same evening the maid came to her with a let- 
 ter. 
 
 " If you please, miss," she said, " a gentleman asked me 
 to give you this. He gave me a shilling to bring you the 
 letter, and two shillings not to tell your aunt." 
 
 The note contained a few hurriedly written lines from the 
 artist, asking her to be so kind as to look at his picture on 
 the morrow. He would be sketching at nine in the morn- 
 ing. She smiled as she read it- for she could not foresee 
 what was to happen in the future, and she was only 
 eighteen. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Miss ATHERTON was particular about rendering Acacia 
 Cottage secure at night. Every door and every window 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 19 
 
 were fastened punctually at half-past eight ; then, having 
 read a chapter in the family Bible to the yawning little 
 maid and her niece, she dismissed them ; and she herself 
 also retired to rest, with the virtuous sensation of having 
 fulfilled her duty to the uttermost. 
 
 Yiolet went to her room, and, having extinguished her 
 candle, drew up her blind, opened the window, and let in a 
 flood of silvery moonlight. The girl's poetical soul was 
 roused almost to rapture. She could hear the river as it 
 rippled between the green banks ; and then, in the far dis* 
 fcance, the nightingale began to sing. 
 
 " I should like to hear it more distinctly," she said. " My 
 aunt could not be very angry if she did know that I went 
 out to listen to the nightingale's song." 
 
 It was still quite early, and the dying light of day wac 
 giving place to the pale light of the moon. She had no 
 thought in her nature-loving heart save that of seeing the 
 fall of the waters and listening to the nightingale. 
 
 Little imagining how beautiful she looked, quite uncon 
 scious that she was committing a great imprudence, Yiolet 
 wrapped a black-lace shawl round her head and shoulders, 
 and crept noiselessly down stairs. Then she passed into the 
 dining-room, and, unfastening the long window, stepped on 
 to the lawn. 
 
 A sense of freedom and exhilaration made her pulses 
 thrill. All around was so fair and so lovely to her dazzled 
 senses. 
 
 " How beautiful I " she cried to herself. " I will go to the 
 river first." 
 
 It did not take her many minutes to reach her favorite 
 spot, the falls. The spray shone' like diamonds ; all kinds 
 of sweet, wild, vagrant thoughts flitted through her mind. 
 And then, as she stood there, a tall, dark figure emerged 
 from under the great group of trees near the waterfall. She 
 recognized it at a glance, and her first impulse was to turn 
 and fly ; yet why, she asked herself, should she not hear the 
 nightingale sing, if she chose to do so ? 
 
 He advanced a few steps. 
 
 " Do forgive me," he said, " for being here. I fought 
 with the temptation for five long hours, and I lost in the 
 end." 
 
 "What was the temptation?" she asked. "I do not 
 understand.'* 
 
20 THORNS AND OKANGE-BLOSSOM& 
 
 " You said this morning oh, how long it seems since 
 then ! that you liked to see the waterfall by moonlight. I 
 looked at the almanac, and found that there was a full moon 
 to-night; and I have been debating in my own mind 
 whether I should come or not. It seemed unfair to take 
 any advantage of what you said unconsciously, but I longed 
 to see you again." 
 
 " Did you ? " she asked. " Did you really wish to see 
 me ? How strange 1 " 
 
 " It is not strange at all ! " he cried, impetuously, making 
 one step in advance, and then checking himself. " I thought 
 3^ou would come out to-night ; and, now that I am here, do 
 be^kind to me, Miss Beaton, and let me talk to you for a 
 few minutes." 
 
 " It is not at all the right thing to do," she answered, 
 " To tell you the truth, Mr. Randolph," she said, " I came 
 out to hear the nightingale sing ; it is in the linden-tree 
 over there." 
 
 " May I go with you so iar ? " he asked. w It would be 
 an untold pleasure to me." 
 
 She looked at him intently. 
 
 " Aunt Alice will well, she will be terribly angry \vitb 
 me if ever she knows it ; but it will not always be June,^ind 
 the nightingale will not always sing. Yes, we will go und 
 hear it." 
 
 The dew lay thick and heavy on the grass ; each d rop 
 seemed to catch the moonlight. Lord Ry vers was beside 
 himself with delight ; his heart was full, but he could not 
 speak, the words would not come. The song of the night- 
 ingale grew clearer and sweeter. 
 
 " There is the linden-tree,' 7 said Violet ; " we must move 
 very quietly, or we shall disturb the bird." 
 
 With quiet steps on the long grass, they advanced until 
 they reached the spot where the bird was pouring out its 
 marvelous flow of melody. She stood entranced. 
 
 " I am glad I came," said Yiolet, after a time. " I would 
 not have missed it for the whole world." 
 
 " I might have lived forever in the busy haunts of men," 
 remarked Lord Ryvers, "and have heard nothing Hke N it." 
 
 u If we never meet again," she s^iid. regarding him 
 thoughtfully, " how strange it will seem to remember that 
 we have spent an hour together in this fashion 1 " 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 21 
 
 There was not the least consciousness on her fair young 
 face as she spoke. 
 
 " If I thought we were never to meet again," he declared, 
 hurriedly, " I should not care to live another hour." 
 
 u That is the language of poets/' she said, laughing. "I 
 wonder, if the nightingale's song were put into words, wfoat 
 it would all be about ? " 
 
 " Love," he answered, curtly. 
 
 "Love!" said Yiolet. "I should think it would be 
 something more interesting than that." 
 
 " More interesting ? " he asked, not quite sure if he heard 
 rightly. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said, " much more interesting ! I should 
 imagine that birds sing of new themes ; love is as ol<? as 
 creation." 
 
 Just then the nightingale finished its song long beauti- 
 ful notes that seemed to die away over the trees ; then all 
 was still. 
 
 " Do you remember what Barry Cornwall says ? " asXed 
 Lord Ryvers. u I think the idea is beautiful 
 
 " ' Music leaves 
 
 Her soul upon the silence, and our hearts 
 Hear and forever hoard those golden sounds, 
 And reproduce them, sweet, in after-hours. M> 
 
 c< You like quoting poetry," she said. 
 
 " A night like this is in itself a poem," he answered, * I 
 shall take away with me a confused dream of moonlight in 
 June, of the waterfall, of the nightingale- " 
 
 "And of me," she interrupted, with a bright lau^h. 
 u Shall you forget me ? " 
 
 " You will be the centre of the poem," he replied, with a 
 bow, " the very soul of it. I shall never forget you. If 
 you should be passing through the wood to-morrow, wili 
 you look at my picture ? " 
 
 " Have you been working at it to-day ? " she asked. 
 
 " No ; my mind has been filled, possessed by anothei 
 picture," he said ; " but I shall work at it to-morrow." 
 
 " You want my aunt Alice to keep you at work,'' she re* 
 marked. " And now, Mr. Randolph, good-night. I am 
 afraid this is a terrible indiscretion. We must never 
 repeat it." 
 
 He did not tell her that that one half-hour had been to 
 him as a dream of Paradise. 
 
THOENS AND 0&ANG&FLOSSQH& 
 
 CHAPTER IY, 
 
 u THEN you would not marry an aristocrat, Miss Beaton ? * 
 asked the young artist. 
 
 " I ? No a thousand times no I I am not sure that 1 
 should care to marry at all ; but an aristocrat never ! If 
 I loved some young lord so dearly that my heart was 
 breaking with love, I would not marry him." 
 
 " There are not many girls who think as you do," said 
 Lord Ryvers, gloomily. 
 
 " They have not been so well taught," she replied, witfc 
 all the rashness of youth and inexperience. " Long years 
 ago,* far back in the olden times, when 4 aristocracy ' meant 
 chivalry, it was a different matter. Aristocrats are not 
 4 knights ' in these da}^s. They do not understand what 
 true knighthood means." 
 
 " In what do they fall short ? " asked Lord Ryvers, look 
 ing with admiration at the flushed face and shining eyes. 
 
 " The present race are effeminate, luxury-loving, effete^ 
 self-indulgent " 
 
 " Stop, Miss Beaton," he said ; "assertion is no proof." 
 
 " Proof is not wanting," she replied. " My aunt Alice 
 says that honor is dead amongst them that nothing of it 
 lives but the name, and that is an empty sound. She says 
 -I wonder if I can remember one half? that names once 
 blazoned high on the roll of the battle-field now serve as 
 examples among card-sharpers. She says that in olden 
 times, when a man of noble birth and ancient title injured 
 the honor of his fellow man, they stood together face to 
 face and fought it out; now they compensate injured honoi 
 with money. Aunt Alice says they havq lost the respect 
 and loyalty toward women which goes so far in making a 
 man a chevalier and a saint. One now steals another 
 man's wife ; a few thousand pounds puts the matter right. 
 The honor of the old days was best, when a man avenged 
 his injuries in the heart's blood of his rival, instead of 
 taking money for them." 
 
 " How prejudiced you are I " he said. 
 
 "I do not think so. I am emphatically a daughter of 
 the people ; I see the wrongs of the people. J asked mjf 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 aunt Alice one daj^ if I might read the newspapers. She 
 said, i No ; they are unfit for any modest girl to read ; they 
 Are full of divorce cases and scandals in high life.' I 
 thought the duty of the aristocracy was to set a good ex* 
 ample to the people below them. Do they ? Are the men 
 such models of honor, integrity, courage, and truth ? Are 
 the women to be reverenced and admired ? " 
 
 " You must remember," he interrupted, " that youi 
 aunt Alice is not infallible. It does not follow that, be* 
 cause she says a thing, it must be true. Now hear me 
 that is, if you have patience, Miss Beaton. Yours was such 
 a fierce onslaught. Will you listen to me ? " 
 
 " Certainly," she said. " I should like to hear you* 
 opinion on the subject." 
 
 " Well, thon, I believe that the finest body of men and 
 the best women in the world are to be found amongst the 
 English aristocracy, The men are high-bred, courageous, 
 and honorable ; the women, good, refined, and charitable. 
 Who says that honor is dead in the breasts of English gen- 
 tlemen ? I say it lives, and will live forever, just as loyalty 
 purity, and goodness live in the hearts of the women." 
 
 " You know no more of the habits and lives of the aris? 
 tocracy than I do," she said. " You are a true artist ; but 
 you have many very false ideas." 
 
 " You think so ? Well, I think yours are equally incor* 
 reel. You seem to me to be prejudiced, Miss Beaton. In 
 every class of society you will find black sheep. Do you 
 ,hink it is fair to be harder on the aristocrat who cheats 
 at cards or forges his neighbor's name than on the man 
 who kicks his wife to death ? Every class has its own pe- 
 culiar sins." 
 
 " You shall defend the aristocracy, if you like," she 
 said, with a smile ; " but I shall not like you any the 
 better for it. I hope that all my life long I shall steer clear 
 Df them." 
 
 " I hope you will not, 7 ' was the young lord's thought. 
 Aloud he said : " Then, if a scion of nobility came wooing 
 you, Miss Beaton, it would be all in vain ? " 
 
 " It would indeed," she replied. " Not that any stray 
 duke or earl is likely to make his way to St. By no's." 
 
 " Or even a stray baronet ? " he added. 
 
 " No ; St. Byno's is hardly the place to attract such 
 people. If ever I marry which is very doubtful I 
 
24 THORNS AND 011ANQE-BLOSSOM& 
 
 i 
 
 should like to marry an honest, industrious man of my own 
 class." 
 
 " What do you call your own class, Miss Beaton ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 44 Professional," she replied, carelessly. tt My father was 
 a doctor." 
 
 "I am exceedingly glad that I am a professional," nf 
 rejoined, feeling very much ashamed of his evasion ; bu' 
 he would not risk, by telling her his name and title, the 
 small hope he had of winning the liking of this girl. She 
 would never speak to him again if she knew it. " All is 
 fair in love and war," he said to himself, resolving to win 
 her if he could. 
 
 The morning had broken bright and fair, dewy and 
 fragrant. Lord Ryvers was early at the trysting-place. 
 He was uncertain whether she would come or not ; but the 
 day would be well spent in waiting for her, should she only 
 pass by. It was nearly noon when she came. She looked 
 at his picture and admired it. 
 
 " You are clever," she said to him, briefly. u You wiB 
 make your way." 
 
 " Do you think so? " he asked, his face flushing with de* 
 light. u Your words give me encouragement ; I should be 
 a true artist if I were much with you." 
 
 46 You are a true artist in any case," she declared, em* 
 phatically. 
 
 Lord Ryvers was leaning against the trunk of a silver- 
 beech ; Violet sat on a moss-covered stone ; and the time was 
 flying as it always did when they were together. She blushed 
 when he spoke of the nightingale. 
 
 " I am sure," she said, " that that was a great impru 
 dence on my part. I ought not to have gone out. I shall 
 have a fit of honesty some day, and tell Aunt Alice; then I 
 shall receive the reprimand I feel I deserve." 
 
 " I wish I could get to know your aunt," he said. " Ho\s 
 could it be managed ? " 
 
 " Not at all," she answered. " My aunt would rather 
 make friends with a whole tribe of Zulus than with a young 
 Englishman, even though he were an artist." 
 
 " Could I ask her to let me sketch the cottage ? " he 
 said. 
 
 a " She would never consent. Besides, why should yon 
 Wish to know her ? n 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 25 
 
 u Can you ask me that question ? " 
 
 " Certainly I can. I have a great natural affection for 
 Aunt Alice, because she has been so good to me ; but I can- 
 not see why a stranger should wish to know her." 
 
 " I will tell you, Miss Beaton, why I wish to know her. 
 I wish to see more of you. If I knew your aunt, I could 
 sail at Acacia Cottage every day." 
 
 " Even then you would be obliged to leave the neighbor- 
 hood when your picture was finished." 
 
 He thought to himself that he would not go alone, if 
 prayers and persuasions could induce her to go with him. 
 Randolph, Lord Ryvers, of Ry verswell, had fixed his whole 
 heart on the winning of this girl ; he had fallen passion- 
 atety in love with her. The happiness of his life depended 
 on her ; and she not only disliked aristocrats, but gave 
 no sign of being in love with him at all. He could not 
 rouse in her any consciousness of love ; her heart slept the 
 calm sleep of childhood, and he could not awaken it. He 
 told her the most pathetic of love-stories ; she only laughed 
 lightly and brightly. 
 
 " It is all nonsense," she said. 
 
 She wondered that an artist, whose mind should be 
 stored with such different things, could think of nonsense. 
 She did not care for love-stories ; she did not care for 
 love-poetry ; she liked martial ballads. If he recited some 
 of the grand old border ballads for her, she was pleased ; she 
 liked the ring and the measure. If he wished to please her, 
 let him leave love alone. 
 
 So the days passed on, and the glowing loveliness of 
 June glided into the mature beauty of July. By this 
 time they had become fast friends that is, Lord Eyvera 
 was so deeply in love with Yiolet that he eould hardly 
 live out of her presence ; while she, without being in the 
 least in love with him, looked to him for che happiness and 
 orightness of her life. 
 
 So matters might have continued to run on, but that 
 constant security had made the young lord and Yiolet care* 
 less ; and, rambling one morning through St. Byno's woods, 
 talking and laughing quite at their ease, Miss Atherton 
 came suddenly upon them. It was a scene never to be 
 forgotten. The three stood still. Miss Atherton's stern 
 face grew more stern; beautiful, laughing Yiolet looked 
 inclined to cry. Lord Ryvers did not lose his courage^ 
 
m THORNS AND OEANGE-BLOS8OMS. 
 
 although he was for a few moments quite at a, loss what 
 to say. Miss Atherton drew her tall figure to its utmost 
 height. 
 
 There was no escape ; they could not pass her by, they 
 could not recede. Why should they ? Miss Atherton 
 looked at the girl with the rose-blush on her face, then at 
 the tall, broad-shouldered, stalwart young fellow by her 
 side. 
 
 " Who are you ? " was the question asked by her uncom- 
 promising eyes and her stern face, a question they both felt 
 must be answered. 
 
 Lord R3 r vers was equal to the situation ; he would have 
 gone through fire for the girl by his side. He removed his 
 nat, with a low bow, and, seeing him there with the sun- 
 tight on his handsome head and face, his whole bearing in- 
 dicative of nobility, a woman's heart might have relented 
 to him. Not so Miss Atherton's. 
 
 " Who are you ? " the stern eyes repeated. He bowed 
 again. 
 
 " I have the pleasure," he said, " of speaking to Miss 
 Atherton. I have been several times on the point of calling 
 to ask permission to sketch your beautiful cottage. " 
 
 " Certainly not, sir," she returned. 
 
 But Lord Ryvers was not daunted. 
 
 " I think it is the most beautiful spot I have seen," he 
 added. 
 
 " May I ask who you are, sir ? " she inquired. 
 
 " I am an artist, madam. I have been sketching in the 
 woods of St. Byno's. I was fortunate enough to meet 
 your niece, and she has kindly shown me one or two of the 
 most picturesque spots." 
 
 a My niece," interrupted the lady, " has done wrong* 
 She had no right to speak to you, a stranger." 
 
 " I had a vague idea that it was not quite right," said 
 Violet, with a beautiful blush ; " but it was so pleasant to 
 talk to some one young, some one nearly my own age, 
 aunt." 
 
 u Young ! " repeated Miss Atherton, with great con- 
 tempt. u What is youth but folly ? I wish you good 
 morning, sir. No, I decline to have my cottage sketched. 
 I shall keep my niece indoors for the future." 
 
 At these words Yiolet winced. Lord Ryvers saw that 
 at this present juncture of affairs, it would be useless to 
 
TffOKNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. SW 
 
 speak. He trusted to the future. He would fain have 
 touched Violet's hand before parting; but with those stern 
 eyes fixed upon him, it was impossible. 
 
 u I can only hope," murmured Violet, " that I shall not 
 be buried alive in a brick wall, like the girl in the poem." 
 
 As for Miss Atherton, her indignation was too great foi 
 words. 
 
 CHAPTER T. 
 
 WHEN Miss Atherton and her niece reached Acacia Cot- 
 tage, the elder lady stood by while her niece entered. Then 
 slowly and majestically she turned the key in the lock. 
 Violet looked at her. 
 
 " Aunt Alice," she said, " you cannot mean what you 
 have said ? You cannot seriously intend to lock me in the 
 house ? " 
 
 "I mean it, Violet. For the future, when you go out, I 
 go with you." 
 
 Farewell, then, to the fresh, sweet dewy mornings ana 
 pleasant rambles by moonlight to hear the nightingale I 
 Farewell to all the simple pleasures of her young life, if 
 that stern duenna were constantly to be her companion 1 
 She stood still and looked into Miss Atherton's face. 
 
 " Aunt," she said, simply, " why should you punish me f 
 I have done no wrong, though it is true that I have met 
 this young artist several times. I did not tell you, because 
 I know you dislike young men. But it was pleasant to 
 talk to some one of my own age." 
 
 *' Your own age." replied Miss Atherton. a is the age of 
 folly." 
 
 44 1 do not deny it ; but folly is sometimes sweeter that 
 wisdom. And you are really going to lock me up because 
 I have exchanged a few pleasant words with a pleasant ac- 
 quaintance, one who will in all probability go away in a 
 few days never to return." 
 
 " You know my opinion with regard to young men , and, 
 mind, it is my duty, Violet " and Miss Atherton looked a 
 little confused. " You do not leave this house again while 
 that person is in the neighborhood, unless I accompany 
 you." 
 
 * Aunt Alice," said the girl, calmly, * you may think it 
 
8 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 your duty to act as you are doing ; but it is one of the u* 
 kindest things you ever did in your life." 
 
 " I am the best judge of that, Violet," rejoined Misa 
 Atherton, coldly. " You have full liberty to walk in the 
 garden and the orchard, but nowhere else without n?y per* 
 mission." 
 
 And Miss Atherton, with the virtuous consciousness of 
 >ne who has done right, retired to her room, leaving her 
 liece to her thoughts. They were not very cheerful ones 
 Violet almost lived out of doors. What home, parents, 
 friends were to other girls the fields and flowers were to 
 her ; and the prospect of having Miss Atherton as her con* 
 stant companion was not a pleasant one. 
 
 If Miss Atherton had not met the young couple, and had 
 not considered it her duty to punish her niece, Violet 
 would not have thought half so much about the young 
 artist. As it was, her thoughts constantly reverted to 
 hi! n. She went over all their discussions and arguments 
 in her mind again and again. She realized that she would 
 never again be happy without a friend of her own age. It 
 was so pleasant to laugh and to talk, to exchange ideas 
 with some one on terms of equality. The intercourse she 
 held with her aunt was too one-sided to be agreeable. Miss 
 Atherton uttered sentiments, and Violet listened to them 
 Without even the desire to contradict. But with the young 
 artist it had been quite different. There had been a de- 
 lightful freedom and gayety about their conversation. She 
 had had a glimpse of joy and delight, of youth and happi- 
 ness ; but now it was past, and she would, in all probability, 
 never look on that handsome young face again. Her heart 
 ached at the thought ; yet only yesterday the knowledge 
 that their intimacy must end would not have distressed 
 her in the smallest degree. 
 
 " I understand now," said Violet Beaton to herself, 
 ;i what is meant by 4 moral force.' For my aunt to lock 
 the door is all nonsense ! I could break it open ; I could 
 get out at the windows, or by the side-door, which is not 
 locked ; but I feel the moral control ; and, because my aunt 
 has forbidden me, I feel that I cannot leave the house." 
 
 So, having no other distractions, her thoughts were con- 
 stantly of the young artist. She had not given many 
 minutes' consideration to his personal appearance before 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 2B 
 
 her friendship with him was tabooed. Now she dwelt on it 
 continually. How handsome he was ! 
 
 " Talk of patrician faces 1 " said Violet to herself. " I do 
 not believe there is a peer in the world with mor^ perfect 
 and noble features." 
 
 She remembered the shapely head and neck, the dark 
 eyes so full of fire and poetry, the niouth half hidden by 
 the mustache her aunt detested ; and she wondered that 
 she had not cared more to look at the face when she waa 
 near it. She thought of it in her waking hours, and she 
 dreamed of it in her sleep. 
 
 Aunt and niece remained on very dignified terms. Miss 
 Atherton, toward the end of the evening, suggested that 
 they should walk on the Warwick road. Violet declined, 
 and no more was said on the subject. 
 
 " I never realized before what was wanting in my life," 
 said Miss Beaton to herself. Her mind seemed suddenly to 
 open to all life's possibilities, to all the disadvantages jf 
 her position. Till now she had been a simple light-hearteoi 
 girl, enjoying such pleasures as fell to her lot, knowing of 
 nothing better than that which she experienced. Now she 
 saw there were a thousand innocent delights of which sho 
 knew nothing. She began to wonder whether all her life 
 would be spent in the pretty lonely cottage by St. Byno's 
 woods. Would she always live with Aunt Alice, half 
 amused and half frightened at her ? And then she won- 
 dered again how any break, any change would come, if her 
 aunt locked the door upon her if ever she spoke to a stranger* 
 
 She busied herself with her sewing, her beautiful face 
 bent over it, until Miss Atherton became slightly unconi' 
 fortable. She was glad the girl took her punishment 
 ^uietly ; but she would have liked to hear her talk and 
 augh in her usual fashion. Miss Atherton forgot that 
 birds do not sing one-half so sweetly in a cage. Violet 
 wondered whether the young artist would accept his dis- 
 missal quietly He had seemed to be so happy with her, 
 and to long so for her society. Would he go away and 
 think no more of her ? 
 
 It happened that that evening Miss Atherton had to go 
 to a neighboring farm on a little matter of business. She 
 did not ask Violet to accompany her ; she thought a little 
 punishment would not be amiss for her niece. 
 
 "I do not ask you to go with me to Redhill Fann, 
 
3C THORNS AND ORANGE-BWSSOM& 
 
 Violet/* she said, " as you have declined to accompany me 
 for a Talk. While you repair these things " pointing to 
 a pile of Unen which lay on a side-table " I should like 
 you tc reilect on your conduct.;' 
 
 " There can be no harm in my taking my work into the 
 garden," Violet said to herself when Miss Atherton had de 
 parted, and thither accordingly she bent her footsteps. 
 
 She had not been there many minutes before a soft ball 
 of Guelder roses fell at her feet. Looking up to see whence 
 it came, she was not a little startled and astonished to see 
 the young artist standing on the other side of the rose-cov- 
 ered hedge. She blushed and smiled when her eyes met 
 his, 
 
 " May I come in ? " he said. u I want to speak to you.* 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No, indeed. This is Aunt Alice's garden. She does 
 not admit strangers young men, especially 
 
 " Will you come to me, then ? Ah, Miss Beaton, have 
 some compassion ! I have been here since the morning, 
 longing to catch one glimpse of you. I saw Miss Ather- 
 ton go over to fhe farm, and then I knew my opportunity 
 had arrived." 
 
 " Have you not been home ? " she asked, wonderingly, 
 
 " No," he answered. 
 
 " You have waited here all this time, just for the hope ol 
 seeing me ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " I had made up my mind that 1 
 would not go away without another glimpse f you. I 
 have been hating ^myself all day to think that I stood 
 by quietly and saw you made prisoner. If it had been a 
 
 man But what can 'I do to a lady ? It is your own 
 
 fault if you remain in prison. You are not very happy 
 here, are you ? " 
 
 "No, not very," she answered, frankly, "I seem just 
 beginning to awake. One month ago I was quite content 
 I was not rapturously happy, but I was far from miser- 
 able now I am dissatisfied. I want to know a thousand 
 things that I have never thought of before. I want to 
 know what the world is like beyond this green, dreamy 
 iittle spot, and it is your fault that I have conceived these 
 vain desires." 
 
 44 Mine ! " he replied, with a flush of delight and pride, 
 * I am delighted to hear it." 
 
TSOBNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 31 
 
 u I am not sure," she said, " whether you have acted very 
 wisely. Now that I am awake to the realities and possi- 
 bilities of life, it seems to me I shall never be satisfied with 
 my present state of existence again. The question is 
 whether it would not have been better for me to remain 
 dormant." 
 
 " It is far better for you to be cognizant of all that is go* 
 j ag on around you," he cried, with passionate vehemeneev 
 Why should your bright beauty be buried here f " 
 
 ".There is my aunt," cried Violet. 
 
 ," Promise that you will see me again," he cried, with all 
 the energy of despair " here, to-morrow evening, when the 
 moon shines, and that terrible aunt of yours has gone to 
 sleep. Will you, Miss Beaton Violet will you come ? " 
 
 And she had just time to whisper u Yes." 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 LORD RYVERS thought .more seriously that night than he 
 had ever thought before. He was madly in love with this 
 beautiful girl. He told himself that he must win her for 
 his wife, or he should never know happiness more. 
 
 He looked the position in the face. He was Baron Ry* 
 vers of Ryverswell, the sole heir of an ancient race, lord of 
 Mount Avon in Hampshire, owner of one of the prettiest 
 estates in the Isle of Wight, and a fine old castle and a 
 moor in the Highlands, one of the most eligible and wealthy 
 barons in England : and he was nmdly in love with a young 
 girl who detested the aristocracy, and had told him she 
 would never marry one of them. 
 
 Love had come to him as a terrible fever. It had taken! 
 possession of his whole being. As he walked home under 
 lie shade of the spreading trees, he vowed to himself that 
 ae would win her. 
 
 The beautiful face of the girl was ever before him. How 
 he loved her ! He had never thought it possible that he 
 could care for any one like this. Hew beautiful she looked 
 on the other side of the rose-covered hedge 1 Why had he 
 not leaped over it, and caught her injhis arms, and carried 
 her away ? His heart was on fire. No matter what ob- 
 stacles were in the way, he would marry her, if she would 
 have him ; but he felt quite sure she would neither love nor 
 marry him if she knew Ms position and title. He must 
 
82 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 win her as an artist, if he won her at all ; and afterward 
 
 when he had made her his wife, when he had taught her to 
 love him so dearly that she could not live without him, he 
 would tell her the whole truth ; she would not be angry 
 then. 
 
 His fate, after all, would be happier than that of many 
 men. How many were married simply for- their title f 
 wealth, or other outward advantages ! With him it would 
 be quite different. He would be married for himself aloife 
 for pure love. How he would repay her ! 
 
 It was no easy task that lay before him. On the one 
 hand, he had resolved to marry a girl who hated the aris- 
 tocracy ; on the other hand, he would have to persuade hia 
 mother, who was certainly as proud a woman as any in 
 England, to consent to his marriage with a penniless girl. 
 
 " She must consent," he cried to himself; " she will con' 
 sent I If the difficulties were a thousand times greatel 
 than they are, I would fight my way through them.' 7 
 
 Hitherto he had been scarcely, more than a boy kindly, 
 noble, but a dreamer ; he was a man now, with a man's 
 purpose. 
 
 Once more his thoughts went back to Ry verswell, where 
 his mother dwelt in luxurious splendor. When Randolph 
 had wrung from her permission to go on this sketching- 
 tour permission she granted sorely against her will she 
 said, when bidding him farewell : 
 
 " 1 do not warn you against the common faults of young 
 men ; no son of mine will ever commit those. You are not 
 likely to fell in love with a dairy-maid, or to marry a 
 curate's daughter ; but, after this, I trust you will give up 
 your notions of painting, and think seriously of settling in 
 life. There are two or three girls," continued her ladyship, 
 4 whom I should have liked you to meet. There are Gwen 
 ioline Mar and Lotta Jocelyn, both beauties and both heir- 
 esses. But it is of no use speaking of that j,ust. now." 
 
 " None in the world," he had answered. " All I can 
 think about at the present moment is my sketching-tour. 
 You must consent, mother ; nothing else has any attrac- 
 tions for me I have heard so much of those splendid War- 
 wickshire trees. As for for girls, there is plenty of time 
 to discuss them in the future." 
 
 " Yes, there is plenty of time, as you observe ; and I 
 ean trust to you, Randolph. You have the true instincts 
 
THORNS AND OSANOE-BLOSSOMS. & 
 
 of a gentleman and a Ryvers Why Providence should 
 have given to my only son the tastes of a wondering artist 
 will always be a puzzle to me. But I must say this for 
 you, Randolph your over-love of art is your greatest 
 fault." 
 
 At the time he had kissed his mother laughingly ; now 
 he remembered with a little dismay that he had to ask her 
 consent before he could marry. 
 
 Violet, however, was worth any effort, any trouble that 
 he might experience in winning her. The old name held in 
 reverence for so many generations, the old titles gallantly 
 kept, the grand old home, the family honors- he would 
 have sacrificed them all, would have laid them all at her 
 feet. 
 
 The hot, impetuous love that, like a lava tide, swept all 
 before it, was one of the characteristics of the race. The 
 Byverses were a very old family, and had come over to 
 England with the Conqueror. They were a branch -of the 
 great De Riviere family. After they settled in England, 
 as time went on they dropped the " De " and adopted the 
 English method of spelling the name. They had not lost 
 the Norman style of feature, the dark hair, and the dark 
 eyes of the Norman race ; but they were English enough in 
 other respects. The family had passed through many vi- 
 cissitudes ; they had been sometimes rich, sometimes poor, 
 but always loyal. A Ryvers stood by the side of Edward 
 the First when he showed his infant son to the assembled 
 chieftains ; the Ry verses fought boldly hi the Crusades ; a 
 Ryvers saved the King's life in the Wars of the Roses, If 
 they did not accumulate money, they acquired fame and 
 honor. 
 
 It was the Merrie Monarch who gave the grand old es* 
 tate of Ry verswell to the head of the family, together with 
 his barony. 
 
 The old race was fast becoming extinct now. When 
 Philip, Lord Ryvers, died, he left three children, two 
 daughters and one son. The Bon, being then only five 
 years old, had a long minority before him. The elder 
 daughter, Marguerite, a beautiful brunette, married the 
 Earl of Lester. The second daughter, Monica, was still 
 unmarried, and lived with Lady Ryvers. Personal beauty 
 was one of the characteristics of the Ryvers family. Their 
 daughters always married well, for they were among the 
 3 
 
94 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 most beautiM women in the land, and their gift of beauty 
 had brought them into relationship with some of the oldest 
 families in the country. That Monica was still unmarried 
 was her own fault. She had admirers in plenty, but none 
 that pleased her. 
 
 During the minority of the young Baron, the family 
 had resided at Ryver swell. When the young heir came 
 >f age he would live there ; and, in the event of his marry* 
 ng, his mother would retire to the Dower House, a pretty^ 
 picturesque dwelling standing near Mount Avon. Lady 
 iiyvers was quite agreeable to this arrangement. She had 
 enjoyed her life, had lived her day. 
 
 Her great anxiety now was to see her son well married. 
 She had several eligible heiresses in view ; but there was 
 nothing to be done until he was cured of his art craze. It 
 was a great blow to Lady Ky vers when, one day, her son 
 turned to her and said : 
 
 " Mother, I wish I had been born to be an artist." 
 
 " My son," said the proud lady, regarding him in con* 
 Vernation, " never let me hear such a sentiment from 
 your lips again. You may be a patron of art the 
 Ryverses have always been that but an artist oh> 
 never ! " 
 
 One might as well have forbidden the wind to blow, the 
 stars to shine, or the flowers to grow, as have forbidden 
 the young heir to paint. He was an artist born. He had 
 t-iie keen perceptions, the passion for color, the fine, true 
 sense that show the artist. He began in the nursery, 
 where his sketches were the admiration of nurses and serv* 
 ants. Lady Ry vers repressed his talent ; she never 
 praised it, never alluded to it, and made it a point always 
 :o speak of art and artists in the most contemptuous 
 iishion ; but she could not change the boy or alter his 
 emperament. 
 
 A fine, brave, handsome young Englishman, Randolph, 
 Lord Ryvers, was the pride and delight of the whole 
 aousehold. His mother almost worshiped him, his sisters 
 loved and were proud of him. Now he had grown to the 
 age of twenty, and this sketching-tour was to be one of tha 
 last indulgences of youth. His childhood and youth had 
 been irreproachable ; even Lad} r Ry vers herself admitted 
 that his love of art had kept him from " anything worse." 
 Mother and sisters were looking forward now to the time 
 
THORNS AND OKAJV&E-&IOSSOM& 8ft 
 
 #hen he should take home a wife to Ryversdale one 
 worthy to reign there and sustain the prestige of the grant! 
 old race. 
 
 And this was the young fellow who was going mad foi 
 iove of Violet Beaton at St. Byno's* 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THERE was no moon on the night Lord Ry vers ha, 
 looked forward to with such anxiety ; but the light scarcely 
 dies out of the sky on a fair July night. From the bonny 
 woods of St. Byno's a faint, sweet sound, like the echo of 
 an JEolian harp, reached Violet's ears ; from the river came 
 a soft, musical murmur, 
 
 It was not till after a hard struggle with her conscience 
 that Violet went to keep her appointment. She consoled 
 herself, however, with a false line of argument. Miss 
 Atherton had forbidden her t*o leave the garden, and she 
 was not going to leave it. She would be within the rose- 
 covered hedge ; and she would not have gone at all but 
 that she really felt so sorry for the young artist. He had 
 looked so handsome, so imploring, the promise to see him 
 again had almost unconsciously been wrung from her, 
 
 It was all her aunt's fault. If she had allowed them to 
 Bay good-by openly and quietly, there would have been no 
 need for this twilight interview. After all, she did not 
 quite like it. Her sense of propriety was opposed to it; 
 but she could not let him go without one word ; he had 
 been so pleasant and kind to her. The girl's heart rebelled 
 against he aunt. Why had she not asked the young 
 artist in, and allowed them to spend an hour or two to* 
 get her ? Then he would have said good-by, and would have 
 gone out of their lives probably forever. JSTow she was go 
 fco do tha,t which she would rather not have done, 
 
 "Go to your room at once,' 5 Miss Atherton had said, 
 when the usual family devotions were oven " You will not 
 want a candle. It is quite light enough. Good-night." 
 
 And then Miss Atherton had retired to rest, happily un- 
 conscious of her niece's meditated plans. 
 
 Meanwhile a handsome, ardent young lover moved 
 softly through the deep shadows of St. By no's wood, look- 
 fcog with anxious eyes that pierced them at the picturesque 
 cottage. He went slowly down the riverside, crossed the 
 
m THOENS AND QKANGE-BLOSSOM& 
 
 eorner of the wood, passed the little gate where the white 
 acacias grew, down by the rose-covered lu;dge, and then 
 be stood still. Never had his heart beaten so before. There 
 was no stir in the cottage ; the white blinds were down. 
 Would she come ? 
 
 The Ry verses were not famous for patience ; but the 
 young lord had never been in such a fever of suspense be- 
 fore. Would she come ? Ah, there was a stir, something 
 surely was moving over the long grass that shook the 
 White clover, and sent the acacia-leaves fluttering tc the 
 ground ! But it was only the summer night breeze. 
 Would she never come ? A little bird in the far distance 
 twittered. He heard the deep baying of a hound across the 
 river. 
 
 " Oh, my love, my darling," he cried. " if you would but 
 come I " 
 
 And just then the pale beautiful face of the young girl 
 looked anxiously down through the shadows. She could 
 not see him, and she did not know if he was there. Just 
 as he had pictured her, she came out in her long blue 
 dress ; over her head she had thrown a black lace veil. It 
 was darker than she thought it would be. She stopped 
 for one moment under the chestnut-trees to reconnoiter 
 before she passed on to the place of rendezvous. In an- 
 other minute they were standing face to face, the handsome 
 young lover and the fair-haired beautiful girL 
 
 " How good of you to come ! " he said. " I hardly dared 
 hope you would do so." 
 
 " I ought not to have come," she said. " Do not 
 praise me for doing what I know to be wrong ; but you 
 have been so kind to me, and I have enjoyed our intimacy 
 so much, I did not like to think I should not see you 
 igain." 
 
 He was looking at the hedge. 
 
 u I am standing," he said, " outside the gates of Paradise, 
 Will you open them for me ? " 
 
 " I cannot," she answered. 
 
 " You can if you will. Tell me that I may leap over this 
 hedge." 
 
 " I ought not to do so," she said. 
 
 " I cannot see you here, and I want to see your face 
 fcgain," he urged. 
 
 She was silent for a few moments* Then she thought to 
 
VRORN8 AND OHAtfGE-BLOBSOm. 31 
 
 herself that, as he was there, he might just as well be on 
 one side of the hedge as the other. 
 
 " You may come," she said, softly. " But mind you do 
 not fall." 
 
 " I could clear a hedge twice as formidable as that," he 
 replied, with a laugh ; and the next moment he was stand- 
 ing b.y her side. 
 
 " How strong and agile you are ! " she said to him with 
 a smile, looking admirably at him, as women do look at 
 brave, manly men. 
 
 44 Show me airything that I would not do to have the 
 happiness of standing by your side for one minute. 
 You said something to me about good-by. Do you 
 think I could leave you ? " His voice trembled with 
 passion. 
 
 " I have never thought about it," she said. " I suppose 
 you will go when your picture is finished ? " 
 
 " I am quite sure I shall not. I do not care whethef 
 the picture is ever finished or not. I care for nothing- 
 do you not see ? I care for nothing in the wide world but 
 you." 
 
 " But me," she repeated, wonderingly " but me?" 
 
 " Yes, you. You can send me away from you if you 
 will ; but think, for the mercy of Heaven, think before 
 you do it. I love you, and I cannot leave you. I love 
 you, and I would rather lie dead here at your feet than 
 leave you. Do you understand, my beautiful, fair-haired 
 darling ? Is it madness to say I love you ? Then I am of 
 all men the most mad." 
 
 44 You love me ? " she repeated, gravely. " Why, you 
 have only seen me three or four times ! " 
 
 " It needed only for me to see you once to know that 
 had met my fate," he cried. 4t Love comes to us in varied 
 guise. I saw you, and my heart went out to you at once. 
 Something that had never lived in my soul before awoke 
 into vigorous life. If I had known you fifty years I could 
 not love you better. You are the fairest and most beauti- 
 ful woman that ever gladdened a man's eyes, that ever 
 wiled a man's heart from his breast ; and I love you. If I 
 had a thousand tongues they would all cry out, 4 1 love 
 you, I love you 1 ' " 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, holding up one little hand. ** You-* 
 jrou frighten me I " 
 
IS TROJANS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 u I frighten you I " exclaimed Lore] Ryvers. " Ah, how 
 unfit I aiii even to talk to one so beautiful, so gentle as 
 you ! " Forgive me, and I will be as gentle as yourself. J 
 only want to impress on you the fact that I love you, that 
 while I live I can never again be happy away from you 
 that I would give my life and all it holds for you. Oh 
 sweet, if you could only know how beautiful you look stand 
 ing there, you would not wonder that I love you so I You 
 have never had an admirer, have } r ou ? " 
 
 " An admirer ! " she repeated, half trembling, half de< 
 lighted. " I hardly know what you mean." 
 
 " Look at me," he cried " I am your admirer your 
 lover. It means a man mad for a time, who sees, hears, 
 fcnows, thinks of nothing but the one beloved." 
 
 " That must be tiresome," she answered, natvely. " I 
 should not like to have all my thoughts and ideas concen 
 trated on one person." 
 
 " You Would, if you loved him ; that maKes all the dif 
 ference, you see." 
 
 " Love and admiration have been a sealed book to me,* 
 ghe said. " Indeed, I have never thought of them." 
 
 " Yet love is the very life of a woman," he cried, incred 
 alously. 
 
 " It has not been mine," she said. " Hark I What is 
 that ? " for there was a sudden commotion in one of the 
 tall lime-trees near them. 
 
 " Probably a little bird had fallen from its nest," Lord 
 Ryvers answered, smiling, for she was alarmed and clung 
 to him. 
 
 He caught the little white hands in his own, and held 
 them fast. 
 
 u I thought it was my aunt," she said, half laughing, half 
 trembling. 
 
 u Never mind ff it were. I would go to her if you would 
 jet me, and would tell her that her niece was the loveliest 
 preature I had ever seen, that I loved her with my whole 
 beart and longed to make her my wife." 
 
 " I should be locked up in the darkest cellar the house 
 boasts, and never allowed to come out again," Violet de* 
 dared, a little hysterically. 
 
 " I wonder," he said, gently, still holding the two little 
 white hands in his own " I wonder if you would be very 
 angry if I called you Violet * ? * 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 38 
 
 " It would not be of much use to be angry about any* 
 thing now," she said. 
 
 " Then I may. Oh, beautiful Violet, listen to me I I 
 love you with all my heart ; will you try to love me a little 
 in return ? " 
 
 She was silent. It was all so novel for her. Then she 
 looked up at him with frank childlike eyes. 
 
 " You have taken me so by surprise," she said. 
 
 " Haye you not thought of me at all ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; but only as a nice, pleasant friend, different from 
 every one else here in being of my own age." 
 
 He was silent for a few minutes ; then he said, with a 
 thrill of passion in his voice : 
 
 " You must do more than that now, Violet. I must be 
 more than the pleasant friend whom you like because he is 
 of your own age. Think of me, sweet, as the lover who 
 loves you with such passionate devotion that he would die 
 for you ; the lover who has no joy, no happiness top* **"th 
 you." 
 
 " It sounds quite poetical," she said. 
 
 " It is true ! " he cried, vehemently. " Oh, Yiolet, how 
 hard it is to make you understand ! My darling, I knew 
 when you spoke to me in the woods that day that you were 
 simple as a child. You reminded me of a beautiful wild 
 bird, so bright and free, and now I want to catch the wild 
 bird and keep it as my own forever." 
 
 " I suppose that, really, if the truth were told, I did 
 wrong in answering your questions," she said half ruefully. 
 
 " You could not do anything wrong, I am sure," he de- 
 clared. " Tell me," he continued after a pause, " if I had 
 gone away without seeing you again, without saying 
 good-by, would you have cared, would you have been un* 
 happy, would you have remembered me ? " 
 
 She thought over his words before she answered them. 
 
 " I should have been very sorry, but not unhappy," she 
 replied. " I should not have forgotten you ; and I am 
 glad, honestly glad, to see you again." 
 
 His face brightened as he gazed on her fair, shy loveli- 
 ness. 
 
 " Thank you for so much," he said. " I will teach you 
 the rest ; that is the beginning ; the rest will come. You 
 are glad to see me. Heaven bless you ! " 
 
 He bent down and kissed the fair hands that lay so chiM 
 
40 THORNS AND OBANGE-ELOSSOM& 
 
 and quiet in his own. And the first caress ever given to 
 her stirred the maiden depths of her heart and soul as 4 
 pebble thrown into a deep lake disturbs its surface. If 
 Aunt Alice could but have seen that 1 Yiolet shuddered as 
 the thought passed through her mind, and he thought that 
 she was vexed at his caress. 
 
 " Oh, Yiolet, if you would, if you could but learn to love 
 me a little ! " he said. " Love wins love. Will you try ? n 
 
 " I might try," she whispered ; " but I am not at all sure 
 that I should succeed." 
 
 "' I shall be quite content at present if you will try. 
 You have no other admirer, and you love no one else. I 
 see no reason, my darling, why I should not win you in 
 time. I will live for you ; I will love 3^ou so well, so dearly, 
 that you shall not be able to help loving me. I am hap- 
 pier than I dared hope ; I am happier than I deserve to be. 
 You might have sent me away ; you have listened, and you 
 will love me in time. I have been talking to you all this 
 time, and, Yiolet, I have not seen your eyes. Raise them 
 to mine, sweetheart, that I may see what they say." 
 
 Slowly enough the white lids moved, the long fringed 
 lashes were raised, and the dark, violet eyes looked sadly 
 into his. 
 
 " What beautiful eyes ! " he cried. *' And they tell me 
 that you do love me a little. Is it true ? " 
 
 His own were so full of passionate adoration that hers 
 fell before them. 
 
 " I am frightened," she said, with a shudder. u My heart 
 beats. Oh, let me run away ; I must not stay here 1 What 
 have you done to me ? It is as though my heart and soul 
 were stirred with mingled pleasure and pain." 
 
 She tried to draw away the little white hands ; but be 
 would not release them. 
 
 " My beautiful sweetheart, listen to me." 
 
 But she interrupted him. 
 
 " I am not your sweetheart. You must not use that 
 word to me." 
 
 44 That is just the question," he said. " Will you be my 
 sweetheart ? I will not ask more just yet ; consent to that f 
 and I shall be the happiest man in the wide world. My 
 sweetheart, my beautiful, gentle, graceful sweetheart, will 
 you? If you do not like me, you can bid me depart j but 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 41 
 
 If you /earn to k>ve me, you will make this earth-paradise 
 to me." 
 
 She was frightened, startled ; but her heart did not beat 
 with rapture, nor were her lips mute with the glad surprise 
 that comes to most young girls when their lover speaks. 
 
 " Think for a few minutes, and then answer me," Lord 
 Ryvers went on ; u and remember, it is not a man's fancy ? 
 but a man's life, that hangs on the word. I do not wish to 
 influence you unduly ; but, if you say me nay, I shall fling 
 myself away as one flings away a worthless weed. Oh, 
 Violet, is your heart cold to me ; are your eyes blind, your 
 lips dumb ? I stand here before you, my heart in my 
 Words, my life in your hands. Now tell me ; will you be 
 nay sweetheart ? " 
 
 He threw his arm round her with a caressing gesture, as 
 though he would protect her from everything hurtful ; and 
 it was this gesture of his, this half caress, that touched her 
 heart. 
 
 " Say * yes,' Yiolet. You shall never repent it," her 
 lover pleaded, passionately. " You do not know what life 
 is ; I will teach you. Open your pure young heart to the 
 influence of love. Whisper that one word to me, Violet." 
 
 He bent his handsome head to catch the faint sound, 
 She thought for a few minutes, and then she answered : 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 M You have sold a picture, Randolph, I am sure," was 
 the greeting Lord Ryvers received one morning, when he 
 saw Yiolet coming from the Hill farm. 
 
 He went often to the Hill Farm now, for Miss Atherton 
 had caught a violent cold, which had caused her to relax hex 
 vigilance and send her beautiful niece out in her stead 
 not for long rambles for her own pleasure, that was plainly 
 understood ; but it was necessary for her to go to Warwick 
 once or twice in the week, and also to the Hill Farm on 
 little matters of business; and though it struck Miss 
 Atherton more than once that her niece was a long time 
 absent, she never dreamed of the cause. 
 
 Lord Ryvers had made himself quite at home at the Hill 
 Farm ; the farmer and his buxom wife knew him as a young 
 artist who admired the quiet sylvan scenery of the neigh- 
 
42 THORNS AN?) ORANa&&LQ880MSL 
 
 borhood. Miss Beaton's name never passed his lips ; but, 
 as by a tacit understanding, the good-natured mistress of 
 the iarm always mentioned in ids presence quite accident- 
 ally, to all appearance when Miss Beaton was coming < 
 never addressing herself pointedly to him, but always to 
 some bystander. It happened that Violet saw him every 
 day. He was very gentle with her. He seemed to be con 
 tent with the victory he had gained that evening when si 
 had whispered her consent to be his sweetheart. 
 
 He would walk by her side and hold her hand in a loii 
 lingering clasp, but he never startled her more with pas 
 sionate words or caresses. He was too wise and too intent 
 on winning her. On this particular morning it was about 
 LrJf way between the farm and Acacia Cottage that they 
 had met, when she greeted him with the words 
 
 '* You have sold a picture, Randolph, I am sure." 
 
 *' What makes you say so ? " he asked. 
 
 " You know. Oh, Randolph, how you love mystery, and 
 how I hate it ! You know what I found in my canary's 
 cage this morning only this morning ; " and the beautiful 
 eyes were turned to him with mingled pleasure and wonder* 
 " What a place to put a packet in ! v she continued. " Sup- 
 pose my aunt had gone to the cage the first 'thing this morn- 
 ing to feed the bird f " 
 
 " I knew she would not. From the chestnut-tree in the 
 field I can see all that passes in your garden. Every morn- 
 ing I see you going to feed your bird after you have hung 
 its cage up in the porch." 
 
 46 1 believe that you know everything I do and say," she 
 replied, laughing and blushing. " Oh, Randolph, how 
 beautiful it is I " 
 
 That morning, on going to feed her canary, 'Violet found 
 a little parcel in the cage. It was addressed to <; My beau 
 tiful sweetheart/ 7 and she knew at once that Randolph hat 
 climb; (1 the garden wall, and had placed it there for her 
 Opening it, she found a diamond ring, and, though she knew 
 little of jewels, she felt that it must have cost a large sum. 
 She had at once jumped to the conclusion that, to buy this 
 for her, her artist-lover must have sold a picture, perhaps at 
 a great sacrifice* How dearly he loved her! And her 
 heart ve; i ^ ;had her tb*t she did not love him more. He 
 looked tiaUgftted when she praised his present. " I 
 
THOHNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 43 
 
 4in so glad you are pleased with it 1 " he said. " Have you 
 put it on ? " 
 
 ik Randolph, a diamond ring ! What would my aunt say ? 
 No ; 1 have locked it up in 1113- drawer." 
 
 " Will you let me put it on for you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Some day, perhaps," she replied ; " but not yet not 
 ret, Randolph." 
 
 " I am very patient, Violet ; I would wait all my life for 
 /QU rather than lose you. Sweetheart, it was the second 
 >f June when I first saw you, and the harvest-moon will 
 soon be shining." 
 
 u You said you would be content if I would be your 
 sweetheart," she said, half reproachfully, half in surprise, 
 
 * and I have been your sweetheart all these weeks, Ran- 
 dolph. What more do you want ? " 
 
 " What more ? " and he looked at her in surprise. 
 
 * Everything, Violet. But tell me why you think I have 
 sold a picture." 
 
 " Because that ring must have cost so much money." 
 
 u I see ! " he cried. "Do not *b distressed about the 
 money, Violet. I assure you that I have not sold one of 
 my pictures, and that I had the money by me ; I had, my 
 dear, indeed." 
 
 u Now I shall enjoy my present," she said, her eyes 
 brightening. " All my life I have longed for a beautiful 
 ring. It shines, Randolph, as though a myriad sunbeams 
 were concentrated in it." 
 
 ** You are not mercenary," he said. 
 
 a I ? Oh, Randolph, what a terrible idea ! I merce- 
 nary " 
 
 " I was thinking," he interrupted, u that you would not 
 'enjoy anything that you thought had cost any one else a 
 jacrifbe. If you thought I had sold a picture to buy that 
 ring, you would not care for it." 
 
 u I should not care for it so much," she replied. " I have 
 fteard my aunt speak of diamonds ; I know how valuable 
 they are. I never thought I should have a diamond ring." 
 
 " One of these nights, when the moon is shining, you will 
 let me come and put it on for you, will you not ? We have 
 been sweethearts now for many weeks. Are you so con- 
 tent, Violet, that you wish for no more ? " 
 
 " It is very nice," she replied, carelessly. " It is quite 
 new for me to have some one who admires me, and saya 
 
*4 'THORNS AND OEANGE-BLOSSOM& 
 
 pretty things to me, who gives me beautiful presents and 
 makes life more bright and cheerful for me. I am not sure 
 that I want more." 
 
 " Now, Yiolet, stand still how quickly you are walking, 
 my darling, this morning ! stand still a moment, look into 
 the very depths of your heart, and tell me would you like 
 always to live in this fashion, to be no nearer and no dearei 
 to me than you are now ? " 
 
 She stood still and looked at him thoughtfully. 
 
 " What does your heart say, Violet ? " he asked. 
 
 " It says nothing," she replied. " I am very happy." 
 
 M Have you no longing to be with me always ? " he asked 
 
 " I should like to see more of you," she replied, " cer- 
 tainly." 
 
 " When I am away from you, do you count the hours and 
 minutes until I return ? " 
 
 " No ; but I am pleased When you come back." 
 
 " Oh, beautiful statue, when will you wake into life ? " he 
 cried. " When will your heart and soul be stirred within 
 you ? You have none of the love that burns my heart 
 away. How shall I teach you ? When will one spark of 
 the 4 divine fire ' come to you ? What can I do to make .you 
 ^ove me ? " 
 
 " I do love you," she said ; but there was no girlish flush 
 on her face, no love-light in her eyes. 
 
 " I must be content," he said. " You are my sweetheart, 
 and you love me after your own fashion. You will love me 
 better some day. Can you guess, Violet, why I b<ive 
 wanted so much to see you this morning ? " 
 
 " No," she replied ; " I could never guess." 
 
 " Dear one," he said, earnestly, " it is a great happiness 
 fo have you for my sweetheart, greater than I can tell ; 
 out I want you to be something nearer and dearer. I want 
 f ou to be my wife." 
 
 " You are never satisfied, Randolph," she answered, 
 " If I were to be your wife, you would still want something 
 more." 
 
 " Hardly ; there can be nothing nearer, nothing dearer thai; 
 a wife," he replied, with a half smile. " I should be more 
 than content if you would promise that." 
 
 " It is so much to promise, Randolph," she said " so 
 much 1 " 
 
 " If you are going to reftise 100 this, it would have been 
 
AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 45 
 
 better never to be kind to me at all a thousand times bet> 
 ter 1 " he declared, passionately. " I could not lose you 
 now. A month since I might have borne it, and have lived. 
 Think of it, Violet. If you will marry me you shall have 
 your heart's desire. I will take you to see the fairest lands 
 on which the sun shines ; you shall see earth's noblest 
 cities, Italy's art treasures, Switzerland's snow-capped 
 mountains, all the beauties and marvels of creation ; yoi? 
 ihall have every wish gratified." 
 
 "You talk like a prince, Randolph," she answered, 
 calmly. " How could you do all this ? It would take a 
 fortune." 
 
 44 1 would spend a hundred fortunes on you," heanswered^ 
 eagerly. 
 
 44 But you must have them first," she rejoined, laugh* 
 ingly ; u and you have not. 57 
 
 44 1 will make them," he said. " Violet, you told me once 
 that you would not marry an aristocrat." 
 
 44 And I meant it," she cried, 
 
 44 If one stood here before you now, with the most An- 
 cient and honorable of titles, with a fortune that would 
 make you a queen of fashion, would you not marry him ? " 
 
 44 No," she replied, with sovereign contempt; u I would 
 never be false to the opinions of my life. I will marry a 
 man who makes his own name by his own industry and 
 talent. I shall never make you understand how I dislke 
 the aristocracy. You would have no chance at all if j ou 
 were an aristocrat, Randolph," she added, laughing-/ 4 hut 
 it is greatly in your favor that you are an artist. Of <ill 
 professions, I like that of an artist best." 
 
 44 How glad I am I " he said. 
 
 u Ever since I first met an artist sketching in St. Byro's 
 *vocds, I have liked men of his profession. They seem tc 
 ne gentlemen, all of them. I am glad you are an artist, 
 Randolph," she added, musingly. 44 1 cannot imagine a 
 bad-tempered artist." 
 
 " That is not the question,. Violet. The manners of ar 
 tists might interest me at any other time, but not just now. 
 You forget the question I have asked you will you be my 
 wife ? Think how much I love you, how happy you might 
 make me ; think of the pleasant life that I would plan for 
 you, and think, though your Warwickshire home is beauti. 
 i&il, now monotonous tM life is. Listen to me, sweet Vio- 
 
48 THOJKNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 let. Just now all is bright and glad. You are young and 
 beautiful, you are so full of vitality that the veriest trifle is 
 a pleasure to you, and you find all existence bright and 
 %ir. But, my darling;, the years will roll on, and Time, 
 tiost ruthless of enemies, will come and seal your youth, 
 ./our brightness, the roses from your face, and the light 
 from your eyes. Oh, my darling, can you think of spend 
 ing all your fresh bright life in that solitary house, of hav 
 ing no one to love but that stern, querulous aunt of yours 
 Oh, my darling, have pity upon yourself 1 " 
 
 For the first time he saw tears in her eyes. 
 
 " You have to choose between sunlight and darkness, 1 *' hf 
 urged. 
 
 " Give me time to think," she pleaded. 
 
 " I will give you time. Take two days. This is Tue& 
 day morning ; on Thursday let me see you, even if I can 
 not speak to you. Let me see you standing by the great 
 chestnut-tree ; and, if you will marry me, wear a bunch of 
 scarlet geraniums in your blue dress. If I see it there, I 
 shall thank Heaven indeed 1 " 
 
 Two whole days to pass in terrible suspense I Lord Ry v 
 ers forgot all about his difficulties ; he forgot his stately 
 mother's proud aspirations, the hopes she had built up as to 
 his future ; he could think only of one thing, whether, when 
 those two days had passed, he should see the scarlet bloom 
 of the geraniums worn by the woman he loved. If he sa^f 
 her standing beneath the chestnut-tree with no scarlet flow- 
 ers on her bosom, he should give up title and estates, should 
 never care for aught again in this world* Thinking of all 
 this, he fretted at the delay. 
 
 u Why did I say I would wait two days for her answer ? r 
 he asked himself. " She could have decided in one. Per* 
 naps the more time she has to think, the less chance will 
 there be for me." 
 
 He could do one thing that would help to pass a few hours 
 away. He went over the next day to Warwick, and there 
 purchased a bouquet of the finest scarlet geraniums. Quite 
 early the following morning, before any one in the cottage 
 was astir, he stole through the garden and placed them 
 where Violet must see them when she went to feed her bird. 
 He stood for some iniuutes trying to fancy what would 
 
TSOSNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. ** 
 
 happen whether she would fling them away with scorn, o? 
 whether she would take a vivid scarlet spray and fasten it 
 in the bodice of her dress. 
 
 He had made his home at " The Barley Mow," a pretty 
 wayside inn that might have been the original of the world- 
 famous " May-pole." This morning the landlady of " The 
 Barley Mow," as she carried away his untouched breakfast 
 aaid to him : 
 
 " You are not well, sir; you walk too much, or you worfc 
 k>o hard ; give yourself a day's rest." 
 
 He laughed to himself. What rest would there be for 
 him until he should have learned his fate ? 
 
 The breakfast being carried away, he went out. Better 
 would it be to spend the minutes of consuming torture out 
 in the open air, where no one could comment on his appear- 
 ance or wonder at his words. And, as he walked along, he 
 repeated over and over again a song that recurred to hie 
 mind 
 
 a I fain would speak, yet dare not^ for 
 
 Her gentle soul's distress. 
 What is to me one sorrow more, 
 So that she has one less ? 
 
 * Yet I could wish, when I am dead. 
 Her eyes should look through mine** 
 
 And on my heart engraven read 
 This motto * Dir Allein ! ' " 
 
 How the words seemed to echo through his brain over and 
 over again I Then a bird flew from the great oak-tree, and 
 he thought of Swineburne's beautiful line : 
 
 44 A bird to the right sung follow." 
 
 The bird did fly to the right ; it went over the river, anc 
 Into the orchard that belonged to Acacia Cottage. He 
 would follow ; he had told her that he should be there by 
 ten, and it was yet only nine. Would she have found the 
 geraniums ? And, if she had, would she wear them? 
 
 He could see all over the garden and orchard from the 
 green lane that ran parallel with them, and there he stood 
 awaiting his doom. He remembered once to have read that 
 when a man stood up to hear his sentence of death 
 it was not the terrible words that impressed him so 
 
18 V8QIW8 AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 as every little detail of the scene in court ; eo he found If 
 with himself now. The one great issue seemed to pass by 
 him, as though he hardly knew why he was there, and the 
 smaller details seemed to press upon him. The linden-trees, 
 under which he had asked her to stand for a brief moment, 
 grew at the end of the garden, a plum-tree stood near, He 
 saw the birds seeking and enjoying tne ripest plums, then 
 flying in search of other sweets ; he saw a kitten, soft and 
 white as a snowball, creep along the wall, climb the tree> 
 and lie in wait for a small bird, and then he saw the flutter 
 of a blue dress amongst the trees. His suspense would 
 soon be ended now. 
 
 Down the garden paths, over the grass, across to the white 
 rails, came Violet ; and then she stood for one minute under 
 the branches of the linden-tree. ' 
 
 Lord Ryvers' eyes flashed with happy pride, his face 
 flushed with passionate delight, his heart beat fast, his pulse 
 thrilled. She had looked over the hedge into the lane, and 
 he saw the gleam of golden hair, the beauty of her pure 
 young face, and ah, Heaven be thanked! the scarlet 
 genaniumson her breast 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THAT same afternoon Lord Ryvers went boldly to Aca- 
 cia Cottage* After all, to face a tall, angular lady with >a 
 great dislike to his sex was not perhaps the most alarming 
 ordeal in the world. He knocked at the door, which, in 
 answer to his summons, was opened by the little maid. 
 She looked considerably alarmed at the sight of the tall, 
 handsome stranger, so imposing a visitor never having, 
 within her experience, called upon her mistress. 
 
 " I want to see Miss Atherton," said the young lord, " is 
 she at home ? " 
 
 The little maid dropped a courtesy, but made no reply > 
 her astonishment and fright seemed to have stricken hei 
 dumb. 
 
 " Do you think I could see Miss Atherton ? " repeated 
 Lord Ryvers, a trifle impatiently, seeing that the girl made 
 no atttempt to speak. 
 
 Still without a word she ushered the visitor into the lit- 
 tle parlor. Lord Ryvers had not long to wait before Miss 
 Atherton made her appearance. She hastily closed tho 
 
VffOBNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 49 
 
 floor behind her, then, turning, confronted her unwelcome 
 guest. She looked ready to encounter a legion of lovers \ 
 there was no sign of quailing in her eyes or face. 
 
 * You wished to see me," she began, sternly, 
 
 u Yes," he replied. " I should be glad to have a few 
 minutes' conversation with you." 
 
 ' " You are the young man with whom I met my niece 
 :>nce ? " she; said, severely. 
 
 " I am that most fortunate of men," he replied. 
 
 Miss Atherton turned half contemptuously away*. 
 
 44 What do you want with me ? " she questioned, curtly. 
 
 *' I love your niece, and I have come to ask your permis- 
 sion to marry her," he said, plunging without any preamble 
 into the subject nearest his heart. 
 
 " That you will never obtain," said Miss Atherton, 
 coldly, 
 
 * Then, madam, with all due deference to you, I shall 
 marry her without," he replied. 
 
 44 We shall see," said the lady, still calmly, " For my 
 jwu part, I would rather see my niece locked up in a luna* 
 tie asylum than married." 
 
 Lord Ry vers bowed, for he was at a loss for words. 
 
 " Young man," said Miss Atherton, solemnly, " do not 
 stand there bowing at me. Does my niece know of this 
 nonsense ? " 
 
 44 Miss Beaton did not know of my intention to call this 
 afternoon. The fact of the matter is that I really could 
 not wait any longer." 
 
 She glanced at him angrily. 
 
 44 You will have to exercise your patience to a much 
 greater extent," she said. " I shall countenance nothing of 
 the kind," Then, with stern mien, she rang the bell. Did 
 no remembrance come to her of the old sweet time when 
 her heart had beaten, and her eyes, had grown dim with 
 tears ? " Tell Miss Beaton I want her," she said the 
 wondering maid ; and, after a brief interval, Violet ap- 
 peared. 
 
 She looked so shy, so coy, so lovely, as she entered, 
 blushing and startled, that the young lord lost his head 
 altogether, and was on the point of committing himself in 
 unpardonable fashion, when a look from Miss Atherton re- 
 strained him, 
 
 a Violet," said her aunt, grimly, " this young man baa 
 
AND ORANGf>BLOSSOM& 
 
 come to ask me if he may marry you. t say 4 No.' You 
 hear me, Violet ? I object to it." 
 
 Beautiful, blushing Violet looked at her lover as though 
 she would say, " You must take up the challenge, Ran- 
 dolph." 
 
 Stepping forward, he took his stand by Violet's side! 
 then he clasped one of her little white hands in his, Miss 
 Atherton looking on with cold displeasure. 
 
 " We hope," he said, " that you will give your permis- 
 sion. We shall be married in any case ; but Violet would 
 be much happier if you consented, for she cannot forget all 
 your kindness to her." 
 
 " It needs no stranger to tell me that," said Miss Ather- 
 ton. " Violet, do you do you love this young man ? Do 
 you wish to marry him ? " with an air of lofty disdain. 
 
 " I should not mind, aunt," answered Violet, faintly. 
 
 Then Miss Atherton's heart thrilled with a passing rem* 
 iniscence of the old passion. If the man she had loved so 
 faithfully had asked her to marry him, she would not have 
 answered in calm tones like Violet. She hated the very 
 thought of love and matrimony ; but she turned from her 
 niece with a gesture of contempt to Lord Ryvers. 
 
 " Am I to understand that my niece professes to love 
 you?" 
 
 " I am more than content," he replied. " If Miss Beaton 
 will marry me, I will make her the happiest wife in the 
 world, and I will devote my whole life to her." 
 
 " Men all say the same thing ! " groaned Miss Atherton. 
 
 She saw with her mind's eye the branches of a spreading 
 almond-tree and a handsome face bending over her. She 
 heard a voice, the music of which had long ceased for her, 
 saying again and again, " Trust and love me, darling ; you 
 will see." 
 
 She had loved and trusted, and what had been the re- 
 sult? Did a similar fate attend the fair child who had 
 grown up by her side ? Would her love and trust both be 
 betrayed in similar fashion ? 
 
 " You do not seem to me, Violet, to know your own 
 mind," continued Miss Atherton. " Do you love this young 
 artist or not ? " 
 
 " I I like him very much, aunt," faltered the girl. 
 
 * Like him ! " repeated Miss Atherton, scornfully, 
 
&OJKNB AND Q&ANQE BLOSSOMS* 51 
 
 w What a word to use ! Do you love him, child? Bo you 
 feel as though you would die if you lost him ? " 
 
 For once the passion that had so long been repressed 
 
 shone in Miss Atherton's face, and the two young people 
 
 standing before her looked at her in wonder. It was ag 
 
 hough a ghost had suddenly appeared before them, and 
 
 ;anis!ied as it came. 
 
 " Speak up bravely ! " whispered the young fellow 
 * Have no fear, Violet. Say that you love me." 
 
 Then she looked up, with sweet, shy eyes. 
 
 u I do love him, aunt ; and, if you are willing, I should 
 like to marry him." 
 
 Miss Atherton looked at her niece's lover. How hand* 
 some he was 1 If she had not heard that he was an artist f 
 she would have felt convinced that he was an aristocrat. 
 The lofty bearing, the carriage of the head, the perfect 
 features, all indicated high birth and breeding. Well, no 
 wonder that her niece, foolish Violet, had been struck with 
 iiim. 
 
 " I know," said Miss Atherton, speaking in her usual 
 calm, even tones once more, " that I might as well try to 
 stop the rush of the river as prevent the marriage of two 
 young people, if they are bent upon it ; but I suppose the 
 madness of lovers will, in some degree, be swayed by com- 
 mon sense. You wish to marry my niece, sir. Now, tell 
 me whether your means are sufficient to keep her, to SUP 
 round her with the comforts to which she has always bee 
 accustomed." 
 
 A hot flush suffused Violet's fair face, while Lord 
 Ryvers could scarcely restrain himself from bursting inta 
 loud laughter, 
 
 " I am bound to ask you whether your income is ade. 
 jnate to support the burden you propose to take upon 
 yourself," persisted Miss Atherton. 
 
 : I am an artist, madam," he replied. 
 
 " But do you earn money enough to live upon ? * the 
 lady asked. " That is the practical question. It is all 
 very well for a man to call himself an artist. The ques- 
 tion is, what does he make by his art ? " 
 
 " I can keep myself with perfect ease, madam," replied 
 Lord Ryvers, with a smile. 
 
 " And what of my niece ? " asked Miss Atherton. 
 
 w I can give the same answer as to your niece," he 
 
& THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 plied. u If you will forgive me for saying so, I snail pro 
 vide her with even greater comforts than you have done." 
 
 44 What proof have you to give me of this ? " she asked* 
 
 " I can only give you my word," he answered, with some 
 little pride " nothing else. If you trust your niece to 
 me, you must take my word that I shall love, cherish, and 
 protect her." 
 
 44 Have you a home for her ? " inquired Miss Atherton, 
 44 1 do not approve of young people going into apart* 
 ments." 
 
 He thought of Ryversdale, and smiled. 
 
 44 1 thought," he replied, " of going abroad for a year or 
 two. Yiolet would like such an arrangement, I believe; 
 o should I." 
 
 Miss Atherton raised her hands and eyes in protest. 
 This was indeed the climax. To go abroad, to wander like 
 vagrants all over the Continent. Nothing could be wo.rsa 
 than wandering artists. Miss Atherton was at her wits 7 end, 
 
 44 1 suppose," she said, despairingly, " that nothing will 
 prevent this absurd nonsense, that no prayer or pleading 
 of mine can put a stop to this imprudent marriage ? " 
 
 44 1 am sure not," replied Lord Ryvers. 
 
 44 Then I wash my hands of it," she said, solemnly. 
 14 You have had the candor to tell me that my refusal o* 
 consent will make no difference. It is useless to forbid $ I 
 will not consent. I leave you to please yourselves ; bu*. I 
 protest against it." 
 
 There was a moment of blank silence; then Violet 
 spoke, her face pale with emotion. 
 
 44 Aunt, have you nothing to say to me kinder than thte? 
 I have no father to bless me, no mother to kiss me." 
 
 44 1 cannot speak kindly in a matter of which I 60 
 Strongly disapprove," said Miss Atherton, with energy. 
 
 44 1 understand you neither refuse your consent to out 
 onion nor give it your sanction," said Lord Ryvers. 
 44 Then, if I ask you to allow the marriage to take place, 
 we will say, on the twenty-second of September, you will 
 accede to my request ? " 
 
 44 1 will neither accede nor refuse," replied Miss Ather- 
 ton. 44 1 enter my protest against such a foolish, senseless 
 marriage. I can do no more. My niece is under my 
 charge ; until now she has been an adopted daughter to me. 
 If *he chooses to marry, I shall accompany her to church, 
 
TSORN8 AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 63 
 
 and see that all is right ; but the day she leave* my house 
 to become your wife, she leaves it forever." 
 
 He turned with reckless impulse to Yiolet, and took her 
 in his arms ; he kissed the quivering lips and weeping eyes, 
 
 " My darling," he said, " do not be so distressed. It is 
 time I took you away. If she is cruel, I will be kind ; my 
 love shall make up to you for the loss of all others.^ 
 
 " When I was young," cried Miss Atherton, " girls had 
 more modesty, young men more self-restraint." 
 
 "I should think you never were young, in the right 
 sense of the word, Miss Atherton 1 " cried the young lord, 
 angered by the tears of his betrothed. 
 
 Had she never been? Over the seared^ blighted heart 
 passed a wave of memory. 
 
 " I do not wish to be cruel," she said. " I did not intend 
 to make you unhappy, Yiolet; but I detest the very 
 thought of matrimony, and I think it is a sad thing to see 
 a young girl like you ruin her whole life in this mad 
 fashion ; " and, in spite of herself, a sigh escaped the grim 
 woman as she thought how fair a thing was going out from 
 her own life. 
 
 " It is a settled thing," said the young lord. " Violet ia 
 my betrothed wife, and, on the twenty-second of Septum* 
 ber, she will be my very own. But, in4he interim, when 
 may I be permitted to see her ? " 
 
 " The house is open ; you will never be refused admit- 
 tance when you call ; and you may call," she added, bulf 
 unwillingly, " whenever you like." 
 
 She wondered why he smiled. He remembered pressing 
 invitations lavished upon him by Belgravian mothers, 
 prettily worded notes he had been in the habit of con- 
 stantly receiving, and he enjoyed the present contrast. 
 This was wooing in the face of difficulties, and no mistake 1 
 
 " I thank you, madam," he said. " I shall call twice 
 jv<iry day," he added, raising his head with something of 
 defiance "once in the morning, for a short time, to see, 
 how my my future wife is, and I shall ask that I may 
 spend my evenings with her." 
 
 " My house will never be my own," declared Miss Ather 
 ton, a trifle irritably, " with a young man prowling about 
 it." 
 
 " I will not prowl about the house, Miss Atherton," he 
 replied, with dome spirit. " I assure you that no one ia 
 
54 momS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 
 
 less inclined to play the part of a tame cat than am I 
 When the evenings are fine, Violet and 1 shall enjoy a 
 walk together. I shall not need to intrude on you hospi* 
 fcality." 
 
 She liked him all the better for that little display of 
 spirit Her heart was just a little touched by his hand* 
 some face and manly wa3 r . Perhaps there was a slight 
 "feeling of envy that her niece should win such a husband, 
 ^hile the man whom she had loved had forsaken her, 
 
 u Do you love my niece ? " she asked, with another of 
 those sudden gleams of passion. 
 
 " I love her with my whole heart," he replied ; and Miss 
 A.therton said no more. 
 
 All the chivalry of the lover's heart was touched by the 
 sweet, pained face of the girl. It did seem hard that her 
 engagement and marriage should be discussed in thip cold, 
 calm manner. 
 
 " My darling," he said, taking her hand in his owti 
 warm clasp, " I am grieved for you ; but I will make it all 
 up to you. In the future my life shall be devoted to your 
 service." 
 
 " I do not wish to interrupt any sentimental scenes," 
 said Miss Atherton, " but I wish to make one remark- it 
 is a commonplace one, I am aware. You tell me that you 
 hope to keep your wife and yourself by your work. What 
 is to become of your work, if you are to visit my niece 
 twice each day, and to spend the rest of your life in paying 
 her devoted attention ? " 
 
 An amused smile crossed his face. 
 
 " What a practical, sensible woman you are, Miss Ather* 
 ton ! You know the old Latin quotation, * To work is to 
 play. 7 I must change it into this, 4 To work is to love.' I 
 must prove my love by my work." 
 
 " It will be well if you do so," she observed, quietly, 
 ' And now, if you have no more to say on the matter, 1 
 will leave you." 
 
 u You will let Yiolet remain with me for a few minutes ?* 
 he entreated. 
 
 Miss Atherton shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 u In ten minutes' time Yiolet will be wanted to make 
 tea ; she can remain with you until then. I wish you good 
 afternoon," she said, ungraciously. 
 
 With head erect, Miss Atherton quitted the room ; yet, 
 
THOENS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 55 
 
 as she crossed the little hall, something that had been long 
 dead in her heart awoke, and filled her eyes with tears. 
 
 Ah, that, sweet long ago ! Her hair was not gray then, 
 but waving and bright. She was not angular, grim, and 
 stern in those days, but blithe and happy, Alas for the lost 
 youth, the lost, lost love 1 Alas for the days which would 
 return no more I 
 
 " It will be just the same with her," she thought. " She 
 will love and hope, trust and wait, and meet with betrayal 
 in the end." 
 
 Meanwhile the young lover impatiently clasped his beau< 
 tiful sweetheart in his arms. 
 
 u My darling," he cried, " what a terrible woman for you 
 to live with ! How well you have borne the trying ordeal 
 through which you have passed ! " 
 
 " Randolph," she said, gently, a why have you taken me 
 ' so entirely by surprise ? Why did you not tell me you 
 were coming to see my aunt ? " 
 
 " For the best of all reasons, my dear. You would not 
 have allowed me to come ; you would have found a hundred 
 reasons why my visit should be deferred. Now, is not thai 
 true, Violet ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so," she replied. 
 
 " And, my dear," he said, " it is all very well ; but 1 
 could not bear much more of this suspense. Oh, Yioletj 
 my darling, will you ever understand how tender and deep 
 is my love for you ? n 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE 22d of September was one of the fairest days that 
 ever dawned, bright and warm, with a clear blue sky. 
 
 The wedding-day had come quickly. Once, and only 
 Once, had Yiolet mentioned her approaching marriage to 
 the stern woman whose heart had been seared in her youth. 
 
 " Aunt," she had ventured to say, " when girls are mar* 
 ried, they have a nice wedding-dress, do they not ? " 
 
 " Some do, and some do not," she replied. 
 
 " Tftey have new clothes, do they not ? Do you know f 
 aunt, that I have but two dresses ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know," replied Miss A therton ; " but I cannot 
 help it. I have found the money o educate, clothe, and 
 
feed you. I shall not attempt to defray the expense* of 
 
 your marriage.' 5 
 
 The tears rose to Violet's eyes. 
 
 "Must I leave home, then," she said, " without even a 
 decent dress to be married or to travel in ? " 
 
 " I am afraid so," replied Miss Atherton. " If you 
 were going to settle in any other way, I would part with 
 half my income to be of service to you ; but I will not 
 raise one finger to help you to get married." 
 
 Violet said to her lover that same evening : 
 
 "Randolph, did you tell me one day that you liked 
 the blue dress I wear better than any you have ever seen ? " 
 
 "Yes, a thousand times better," v he replied " better 
 than the royal robes of a queen, or the court dress of a 
 duchess." 
 
 "What do you know of queens or duchesses?" she 
 asked, laughingly. 
 
 He checked himself just in time. 
 
 " At least, Violet, I like it better than any dress I have 
 seen worn by royal and stately dames in a picture." 
 
 "I am so glad," she said. Then, looking at him with 
 sweet, pained eyes, she whispered, " Randolph, I want to 
 speak to you about something very important.'* 
 
 He was delighted, charmed. 
 
 " What is it, my darling ? " he asked. " You make me 
 the happiest man in the world. What d^ you wish to 
 epeak to me about 2 " 
 
 " I wonder if you will mind it very mucn," she said, 
 clasping her white hands around his arm the nearest 
 approach to a caress that she had ever given him. 
 
 She looked up with such anxious, wistful eyes into his 
 face that he thought she must surely have some great 
 favor to ask him. He gave a sudden start of alarm. 
 
 " Oh, Violet," he cried, " you are not surely going to 
 ask me to let Miss Atherton live with us ? " 
 
 She laughed so heartily that her hands fell from his 
 arm, and all the pathos died from her face. 
 
 " It is not one half so dreadful as that. Oh, Randolph, 
 what an idea ! Why, Randolph, Aunt Alice would no 
 more live in the same house with a man than she would 
 fly ! You could not dread her more than she dreads you ; 
 but it was not of her I wished to speak. Randolph, 1 am 
 o dreadfully ashamed to tell you." 
 
 " You cai* surely say anythi/ier you like to met n 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS T #1 
 
 * Take courage, my darting. If it toe the half of 
 
 my kingdom that you desire, you shall have it." 
 
 " What kingdoms have you except in the realms of 
 fancy ? " she said with a laugh. " Randolph, it is about 
 my wedding-dress I want to speak to you." Once more 
 she clasped her white hands round his arm, and gazed with 
 wistful eyes into her lover's face. " Randolph, now tell me 
 the absolute truth. Should you mind very much if I were 
 married in my old blue dress ? " 
 
 " Not one whit," he answered, stanchly. " To my mind, 
 no other dress could suit you so well." 
 
 " It seems a very shabby thing to be married in an old 
 dress," she said ; " but I have no money of my own, and 
 my aunt is so angry with me that I am afraid I shall have 
 no more dresses until " 
 
 " Until I buy you some," he interrupted. " That will be 
 delightful." 
 
 Violet's mind was greatly relieved ; she felt more blithe 
 and happy than ever. Very likely she thought to her- 
 self, when she married, if Randolph were really successful 
 with a picture, she might have even three new dresses at 
 once almost as many as she had ever dared contemplate 
 in her whole life. 
 
 The next day was a dull one for her. Randolph said 
 that he had business to attend to in town ; he must run up 
 for a day or two ; he wanted some fresh materials for paint- 
 ing ; and the tradespeople made such mistakes, it would be 
 better for him to go himself. 
 
 Violet was very unwilling to leave him. It would be 
 dull, she said. Her aunt was so cross with her, and, if he 
 went away, what was she to do ? Still it was only for two 
 days ; and they parted with kisses and tears. It was the 
 first time she had shed tears over him, the first time she 
 had kissed him ; and the young lover's heart was aglow. 
 
 He returned with plenty of new material for work, he 
 said, and happy because his wedding day was drawing near. 
 
 One morning, aunt and niece were sitting at the window, 
 Miss Atherton a little grimmer than usual. 
 
 " The carrier is coming here, Violet," the latter observed 
 suddenly. "What can he want?" for the visit of the 
 carrier was a great event at the pretty, secluded cottage. 
 
 i; He has brought the grocer's parcel, I should think, 
 aunt," replied Violet. 
 
08 TffOltNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " Why, my dear," cried Miss Atherton, surprised beyond 
 measure, u it is a box two two large boxes ! Do sea 
 what it means, and if there is anything to pay." 
 
 No, there was nothing to pay ; and the carrier brought 
 in the boxes. They were too large to stand in the entrance 
 hall, so Miss Atherton ordered them to be brought into the 
 dining-room, an innovation that caused Violet to wonder. 
 
 " From London ! " cried Miss Atherton. " Now, Violet, 
 lose no time. Stay ; do not cut the cords, they may be 
 useful. I will untie them." 
 
 Miss Atherton knelt down by the great trunks, and, 
 after long and patient labor, the knots were untied, the lids 
 thrown back. In each lay a white card bearing this in- 
 scription " To my sweetheart." 
 
 " Aunt," cried Violet, " what does this mean ? " 
 
 " We shall soon see," replied Miss Atherton, beginning 
 to unpack with vigorous hands. 
 
 The first thing she took out was a beautiful wedding- 
 dress made of pale blue silk, the very fac-simile of the blue 
 dress Violet had, except that it was made of silk instead oi 
 cashmere, and prettily trimmed with white lace and orange* 
 blossoms ; there was a simple and elegant white veil ; there 
 was the wedding-wreath, all orange blossoms ; and, when 
 Miss Atherton took it up in her hands, all unconsciously 
 her tears fell upon it. 
 
 " Aunt Alice, do you see your tears have fallen on my 
 orange-blossoms ? " Violet exclaimed. 
 
 Miss Atherton looked at her with wistful eyes. 
 
 u My dear," she said, gently, " believe me, there is noth* 
 mg so sad or so pitiful in life as the sharp, cruel thorns the 
 orange-blossoms hide ? " 
 
 Then they found dainty silk slippers, white gloves, a lacd 
 liandker chief in short, everything requisite for a bridal 
 toilet, not magnificent but simple and beautiful. The next 
 thing was a complete traveling-costume, composed of fawn* 
 colored velvet. Then there were two evening-dresses, ovei 
 which Aunt Alice shook her head in undisguised horror, 
 one of dark, the other of light silk. There was also two or 
 three pretty walking-costumes and a morning-dress. 
 
 But there was something more wonderful still a parcel 
 addressed to Miss Atherton. She opened it, and found a 
 black silk dress, a shawl, a cap of point lace, and many 
 otter things for which she had longed, but which she ha< 
 
TffQ&NS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 68 
 
 wever possessed. With all these things spread around 
 them, aunt and niece looked at each other. 
 
 " These are the gifts of your lover, Violet," said the 
 stern lady, with a slight relaxation of the face. " He is 
 very generous, I must say, but equally imprudent. He 
 snust have spent all he has in the world." 
 
 " He has sold a picture," said Violet, to whom the selling 
 of a picture accounted for everything wonderful in a finan 
 uial way. 
 
 " Probably," said Miss Atherton ; " but, if he squanders 
 In this way all the money he makes by his pictures, what 
 will you live upon ? " 
 
 -'* He will not do it again," said Violet ; it is only .this 
 !>nce. Perhaps, after all, he did not really like the idea of 
 nay being married in an old blue dress. 
 
 "You have discussed the subject with him, then?" said 
 Miss Atherton, dryly. 
 
 " Oh, 3 r es ! " replied Violet, eagerly. " I told him I had 
 little choice in the matter of dress, and he said nothing 
 could suit me better than the old blue cashmere ; he never 
 hinted even at making me this present. Perhaps he has 
 more money than most of the artists who have come to 
 sketch at St. By no's." 
 
 " He certainly knows how to spend it," said Miss Ather- 
 ton ; and she made many mental comments on the matter. 
 
 She did not do what Violet feared forbid iier to keep 
 the contents of the box ; she accepted her own share and 
 was pleased to do so. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 IT was Violet Beaton's wedding-day, the 22nd of Sep* 
 tember The sun shone, as it had not for some days, witl 
 H radiant warmth that gladdened the whole earth. 
 
 " My wedding-clay ! " was Violet's first thought on open- 
 ing her eyes; but there was no passionate rush of happi- 
 ness through her heart; she was simply well pleased, well 
 content. She liked to think of her handsome young lover, 
 to remember the loving look in his eyes, to think of the 
 music of his voice ; it was pleasant to recall the loving 
 words he had lavished upon her, to remember how fond he 
 Was of her. 
 
 44 And from to-day ," said the girl to herself, " I shall be 
 
60 TRORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 always with him ; we shall never be apart again. I won* 
 der if I shall like that ? " 
 
 After thinking over the matter for a short time, she came 
 to the conclusion that it would be, in her girlish mode of 
 expression, " very nice." It would be " nice," in the first 
 place, to have a companion who was young and light of 
 heart. 
 
 She thought of his kindness, of his indulgence to her, o* 
 bhe caressing voice in which he had always spoken to her 
 She thought of her pretty dresses, of all the beautiful pres- 
 ents he had made her. The life lying before them seemed 
 so fair. He was to take her to all the lovely spots of which 
 she had read and heard, and then they were to settle in a 
 quiet, beautiful home ; and then well, her imagination 
 failed her then there was something like a blank. She 
 could not realize what was to come, after all the excitement 
 of traveling was over. There was no longing for home, and 
 above all, for home with him, in her heart ; but it would 
 all be nice, pleasant, cheery, sunshiny diiferent from the 
 lonely life she had led with her grim old aunt. 
 
 Yet, pleasant as was the prospect before her, there was 
 aome sensation of pain at leaving the old life. Jt meant 
 good-by to so many things to the pretty cottage, to the 
 bonny woods, to the rushing river, to St. Byno's, to stern, 
 silent Aunt Alice, who, despite her severity, had a tender 
 spot in her heart which Yiolet had never quite reached 
 It meant good-by to the dreams and visions of girlhood 
 about which there had been a fragrance sweeter than that 
 which hung about this present hour. 
 
 In short, although she admired her lover, and thought 
 him almost perfection, although she liked him very much, 
 and the prospect of a life spent with him was pleasant to 
 her, although she had promised to marry him, she was fat 
 from passionately in love with him. He had hoped to 
 waken her heart from its childlike sleep ; he had stirred it, 
 out had not roused it to life. 
 
 There seemed nothing wanting to her, as she dressed for 
 the simple ceremony that was to take place at the parish 
 church of St. Byno's. Of the many weddings that had 
 taken place in the old church, none had been quieter or 
 simpler than this. Indeed, no one seemed to know there 
 was a wedding. As a rule, when any one was married, the 
 inhabitants of St. Byno's flocked to see the ceremony. But 
 
THORNS AND OEANGE-BLOS8OM& ffl 
 
 occasion the church was empty. No little crowd, 
 w*jnclering eyes, stood round the old stone porch ; the 
 bells that had rung for the marriages and deaths of so 
 laaiiy generations were silent now. 
 
 The young love*, thinking of his darling's fine lace veil 
 atid dainty dress, had insisted upon a carriage not from 
 u The Barley Mow " at St. Byno's, but from " The RatclifTe 
 Arms " at Carringtpn ; then the people of St. Byno's would 
 know nothing of it. That was the last " straw " to Miss 
 Atherton ; a v v nl and wreath had been enough, but a car* 
 riage was more than she felt she could bear. 
 
 Miss Atherton declared that she had a keen sense of the 
 fitness of things, and that, for the orphan daughter of a 
 poor doctor, a ve\>, a wreath, and a carriage were absurd. 
 In fact, such things belonged to the order she detested, the 
 aristocrats ; and she vould have none of them. 
 
 " But," said the young lover, " how could my beautiful 
 bride walk through tho fields and the -high-road IP a dainty 
 wedding-dress, which would be caught by the brambles and 
 thorns." 
 
 Miss Atherton's sense of economy came to her aid. The 
 dress being expensive awd beautiful, it certainly would be 
 foolish to allow it to trail over the grass and the dying 
 leaves. 
 
 So the carriage came from " The Ratcliffe Arms " at Car- 
 rington, and the wedding-pai vy , consisting of Lord Ryvers, 
 Violet, and Miss Atherton, dr&ve to church. 
 
 " To think," said Miss Atherton, " that at my age I 
 should be present at a wedding I, who have protested 
 against love and marriage all the^e years." 
 
 , Her' manner was a protest still, for nothing could have 
 been more grim and stern. 
 
 The Reverend Maurice Thorn, ID whom both aunt and 
 niece were well known, looked in astonishment at the wed- 
 ding-party. But Miss Atherton heruelf knew only too well 
 the secret of her presence there. She had come that with 
 her own eyes she might see every precaution taken as to 
 the validity of Violet's marriage. 
 
 One of Miss Atherton's fixed ideas was that, sooner or 
 later, every mail grew tired of his wifv N and would be glad 
 to free himself from her in any way bo could. This she 
 was quite determined the young artist should never do r if 
 by any means she could prevent it. He was taking her 
 
away, just as she had grown not merely a useful, but 
 pleasant companion. He should not have it in his powet 
 fco leave her when he was tired of her. 
 
 Lord Ryvers had felt embarrassed about his name. One 
 clay, when they were speaking on the subject, he had told 
 Violet that his name was Rand iph. She had thought it 
 odd that he should be Called Randolph Randolph ; still 
 sany people had the same Christian name as surname ; and 
 She fead scarcely given another thought to the matter unti? 
 there had been a question packing and directing hei * 
 trunks, when she had blushed and laughed to see her name 
 " Mrs. Randolph " in great letters. 
 
 Lord Ryvers was no less anxious than Miss Atherton 
 shat everything should be perfectly legal and in order, even 
 to the name. He gave it boldly as u Randolph Ryvers 
 Randolph," no one paying any attention to the interme- 
 diate name. Miss Atherton heard it when the minister 
 asked, " Randolph Ryvers Randolph, wilt thou have this 
 woman to be thy wedded wife?" but it did not strike her as 
 being in any way peculiar, nor did she think any furthei 
 of the matter. 
 
 There had been no preparations for a wedding-breakfast 
 Miss Atherton would not hear of any ; but Lord Ryvers 
 had seen tears in Violet's eyes, and had acted in accordance 
 with what he believed to be her wish. 
 
 44 1 cannot imagine any one married without a wedding- 
 cake," Violet had said, piteously. 
 
 To marry without money or love might be a venial of 
 fense, but without a wedding-cake was not to be dreamed 
 of. The eager young lover sent off to London and ordered 
 * bride-cake. 
 
 It was a necessity that they should return to the cottage 
 after the ceremony ; even Miss Atherton owned, with a 
 <anap that almost annihilated Lord Ryvers for a time, that 
 Violet could not start for the Continent in a veil and 
 wreath. 
 
 44 1 never intended her to enter my doors after she wag 
 married," said Miss Atherton ; " but in this case it cannot 
 be helped." 
 
 To her surprise, when they reached home, the table in 
 the pretty little parlor was set, decorated with beautiful 
 flowers, the bride-cake being placed in the middle between 
 worst of all I two bottles of champagne. 
 
THOENS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 63 
 
 Lord Ry vers was amused at her frankly expressed horror. 
 He thought, and thought justly, that this was one of the 
 most original of weddings. There was no kiss, no caress, 
 no wishing of happiness or joy ; not that that mattered, for 
 he was in an elysium of love and Violet in a maze of de- 
 light. She laughed when Miss Atherton looked at the 
 ;able, and, uplifting her hands, cried : 
 
 * Bride-cake and champagne in my house ! " 
 
 " They generally accompany love and marriage," said 
 Ijord Ryvers. 
 
 " They generally accompany extravagance and ruin ! " 
 5ried Miss Atherton, and she steadfastly refused to touch 
 one drop of the sparkling wine. 
 
 " This is my first glass of champagne," said Yiolet, " I 
 have often thought how delicious it must be, but have never 
 tasted it." 
 
 " I hope your life will be as clear, shining, and bright as 
 the wine in your glass," cried the young husband. 
 
 Miss Atherton gazed solemnly at her. 
 
 " I hope it will bo your last, Violet. You have married 
 an extravagant man, who will never rest until he has ruined 
 himself. I hope you will have more sense than to fall in 
 with his absurd notions." 
 
 " I shall try my best to be sensible, aunt," replied the 
 lair young bride. 
 
 She could laugh now that she would soon be away, but 
 Miss Atherton's coldness and sharp-biting tongue had 
 always been a great trouble to her. The beautiful face of 
 the young bride on her wedding-morning was pale as a 
 white rose. The novelty, the bright life before her, were 
 delightful, but she missed what enhances the happiness of 
 nost girls a mother's kiss and a father's cheery blessing. 
 
 When the obnoxious champagne was finished, and some 
 utle inroad had been made into the bride-cake, it was time 
 ,c go. Lord Ryvers had detained the carriage that they 
 night drive to Carrington railway station. When Miss 
 Atherton heard that, she subsided into stony silence ; no 
 other words were needed or used. 
 
 " The end of all this extravagance must come," she re- 
 peated to herself again and again ; " those people who 
 would sleep upon roses must feel the thorns " seeming to 
 derive great satisfaction from the thought. 
 
 The moment came in which aunt and niece bade each 
 
m fHOBNS AND ORANGE-BL088QM& 
 
 other farewell ; and then Violet looked into the stern, cola 
 
 face with weeping eyes. 
 
 44 Give me one kind word, one kind wish aunt," she said, 
 " It seems cruel that I should leave what has been my home 
 without one kind word." 
 
 " You have pleased yourself; you have married in ds 
 fiance of my wishes, you have married a man who seems to 
 think extravagance a virtue* I have a few words for yoia 
 words of prophecy that you will find thorns, sharp and 
 long, in your orange-blossoms." 
 
 Years afterward the words returned to Tiolet's mind, and 
 she knew that they indeed had been prophetic. 
 
 Lord Byvers overheard them and hastened to her. It 
 was useless now for Miss Atherton to look horrified or turn 
 aside. He took Yiolet in his arms before her very eyes and 
 kissed her. She was his wife, and no one could interfere. 
 
 " Do not listen, darling," he cried ; " there is not one 
 single thorn in your beautiful orange-blossoms, and, if there 
 were, I would take it away. If Aunt Alice cannot say 
 good-by to you kindly, we will leave her without." 
 
 Miss Atherton did not yield ; she was firm to the last ; 
 and they parted from her without even the semblance of a 
 good wish. 
 
 44 She will come back to me yet," was her comment, as 
 the carriage drove away; "and then then I shall see the 
 thorns amid the orange-blossoms." 
 
 But, when they had gone, when the last sound of the 
 carriage-wheels had died away, and no echo came of the 
 horses' feet, then the blighted, imbittered heart bled. Oh, 
 why had Heaven been so good to this girl, fair of face, and 
 so cruel to her ? Why had love been Bent to her as a fever 
 of pain, as a madness of misery ? Yet to this girl it was a 
 golden dream of happiness, realized for the present, eve^ 
 If it ended in the blackness and bitterness of death. She 
 paced up and down the garden paths, by which the holly 
 hocks grew, and her whole soul revolted against the decree of 
 Heaven. Why was she old, worn, and haggard ? Why had 
 she no fond husband, no sweet children? Why had she 
 missed all that was fair and pleasant in life ? The old pain 
 and passion that had once slept awoke with bitter clamor, 
 bitter anguish. 
 
 44 Why is it ? " she cried, with clasped hands and upraised 
 eyes. "Why is itf Merciful Heavens I Why the cross 
 
VKO8NS AND ORANOE-BL0880M& Ott 
 
 for me and the crown for her ? Why for me the bitterneaa 
 of gall, for her the sweetness of honey ? Why for her th$ 
 wine of life, for me the lees ? " forgetting that there are 
 secrets that will be known only when the whole of life lies 
 bare before us, that life of which we now see only a part. 
 
 Meanwhile, the happy bride and bridegroom had left care 
 and trouble behind. The day was glorious, the bride beau* 
 tifui and well content, if not in raptures, the bridegroom 
 beside himself with delight. He was so deeply, so utterly 
 hi love himself that he did not observe any deficiency in 
 her. 
 
 That she was delighted, smiled at all she saw, enjoyed 
 everything with such sweet simplicity, seemed enough to 
 him A man who is dazzled by the light of the sun does 
 not see the faint light of a star. He was so dazed with 
 his own love, " so mighty, so pure, and true," that he did 
 3iot see any deficiency in hers. 
 
 He thought himself the most fortunate man in the world 
 that he had won so fair and innocent a bride. He knew 
 that in his sphere the rule was to marry for money, rank, 
 or position, but seldom for love. He remembered how often 
 he had laughed at barefaced angling for a coronet, and how 
 witli his laughter had been mingled contempt He had seen 
 some of the fairest girls in England led to the altar by men 
 who were not worthy to touch even the hem of their gar- 
 ments ; yet, their vices and sins being well gilded, no one 
 ever resented them. He remembered this, and congratu- 
 lated himself that his marriage would be one of a thousand ; 
 he was married for himself, for love, married to one who not 
 only was ignorant of his claim to birth and fortune, but ac- 
 tually detested both, and would not knowingly have mar- 
 ried an aristocrat would not have married him had she 
 known who he really was, for the teachings of Miss Atheiv 
 ton had sunk deeply into the heart and mind of her niece. 
 
 The happy young bridegroom listened with a smile on his 
 lips to Violet's denunciations of the aristocracy. How lit- 
 tle she dreamed that she was speaking to a representative 
 man of the very class she abhorred ! 
 
 He was young, and the world lay bright before him. He 
 never thought of the day in which she would learn the 
 truth, and perhaps resent having had such deception prao* 
 ticed upon her. He did not look beyond the happy pres- 
 ent, this beautiful wedding-morns the honeymoon that was 
 5 
 
66 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 never to end, with the never-ceasing melody of its sweet 
 love-story. 
 
 He was too young to anticipate trouble ; and he began 
 his married life as blithely as if he had not had the proudest 
 woman in England for his mother, and the most thorough 
 hater of all aristocrats for his wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 NEVER did life open so fairly. Lord Ry vers had taken 
 his beautiful young wife direct to Paris ; he knew that 
 everything there would be a novelty to her hotel life per- 
 haps the greatest of all. He had taken her at once to 
 Meurice's, and Violet was a much astonished as he had ex- 
 pected her to be. 
 
 On the morning after their arrival he asked her what she 
 should like best to see park, palace, places of historic in- 
 terest, cathedrals, grand old shrines what should it be ? 
 And she looked with wonder and interest in her beautiful 
 eyes. 
 
 " Take me first to the site of the old Bastile," she said, 
 u and to the streets where, in the time of the first Revolu- 
 tion, the blood of the people ran like rivers." 
 
 The words struck him as being very forcible ; but he 
 yielded at once. She was a bride of twenty-four hours, anu 
 her least wish was sovereign law. 
 
 " Would you not like best to see the Tuileries, the Bois 
 de Boulogne, or the grand old Cathedral of Notre Dame ? ' J 
 
 " No ; I prefer what I said. I should like to see the site 
 of the grim old Bastile. My aunt gave me the ' History of 
 the Old Bastile ' to read and I have shed many tears over 
 it. Ah, what days they were ! I think that, if ever * God 
 arose in history,' it was at the time of the French Revolu 
 tion, when the voice of the people found hearing, and theii 
 wills worked woe.' " 
 
 " What a fierce democrat you are, Yiolet I " he said, laugh- 
 ingly. " I should think you are the first bride who has 
 made such a curious choice." 
 
 " Other brides have probably had a different training," 
 she rejoined. " They have been taught to admire what I 
 have been taught to hate. I must say that Aunt Alice has 
 succeeded perfectly well in imbuing my mind with her own 
 ideas." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 67 
 
 Lord Ry vers laughed ; but there was something in tfye 
 sound of his laughter which suggested uneasiness. 
 
 " I believe it is a mere theory on your part, Yiolet," he 
 said. " I am sure if a handsome young earl or marquis had 
 asked you to marry him, and you had loved him, you would 
 not have refused him simply because he was an aristocrat : 
 now, would you ? " 
 
 " Yes," she replied, after a few moments' silence, " I 
 would. I would have refused him, even if my refusal had 
 broken my heart. But then, you see, Randolph, I could 
 never have loved an aristocrat ; my own instinct would have 
 been all against him. And she wondered why a shadow 
 fell over the face of her young husband. " I detest selfish* 
 ness and self-indulgence, and those are the two great char- 
 acteristics of the aristocracy. My own instinct could keep 
 me from loving a selfish man." 
 
 " I do not think you judge fairly, Yiolet," he said. " I 
 grant that among the aristocracy there are selfish, self- 
 indulgent men and idle, useless women, perhaps worse ; but 
 I must say this also, that the finest, bravest, noblest men in 
 the world are to be found in the ranks of the British aris* 
 tocracy, where you may find also the grandest of women." 
 
 She looked at him with a half-pitying smile. 
 
 " You do not know, Randolph ; you have not been told 
 so much about them as I have." Then her beautiful face 
 brightened with laughter. " Do you know," she said," that 
 you are not agreeing with me ? That will never do. We 
 must love and dislike the same things. If I cry, * A bos 
 les aristocrates ! ' you must repeat the words." 
 
 She wondered why his face darkened. He knew that in 
 uttering those words she condemned mother, sisters, rela- 
 tives, and himself. 
 
 " You will not repeat it ? " she cried. " Ah, well, in time 
 when I have told you all the things my aunt has told me> 
 you will think as I do ! " 
 
 For a moment a sudden deadly fear came over him. What 
 if, when his secret were known to her, and she found that 
 she had married one of the race she hated what if she re- 
 sented it, and ceased to love him ? He turned to his young 
 wife, whose exquisite face glowed with the fervor of her own 
 words. 
 
 " I wish, Yiolet," he said, " that I could persuade you to 
 be more tolerant. I do not see, even if there must be a dil 
 
& AND OEANGE-BLQS8OM& 
 
 jference between classes, that there need be such bitter prej 
 udice, such hatred." 
 
 " I do," she replied resolutely. " It is because the vices 
 of one class demand it. It seems to me, in reviewing the 
 history of the world, that there has always been a class set 
 aside who have demanded the wealth and the services of 
 their fellow men as a right, even from the very olden times 
 down to these, when an Irish landlord racks his tenants for 
 rent and spends the money in England." 
 
 He looked at her with new alarm in his face, such alarm 
 as would at any other time have made her laugh. 
 
 " Why, this is worse than ever, Violet ! I hope you wilf 
 not turn out to be a Fenian and a Home-Ruler, as well as 
 perfect democrat." 
 
 " I am not quite sure if I understand the term rightly, 
 she said ; " but " and she gave him a most loving glancu 
 " I hope I shall always be a Home-Ruler in the propef 
 sense of the word." 
 
 The beautiful eyes were so eloquent, the smile seemed to 
 mean so many things, that he forgot everything else for 9 
 time but his love for her. 
 
 He took her wherever she asked to go. He showed hel 
 the sight of the old Bastile, where so many hundreds of in- 
 nocent people had undergone all the tortures of long im- 
 prisonment and death ; but he showed her also the grand 
 old Abbey of St. Dennis, where sleep the most chivalrous 
 race of men the Kings of France. He showed her all th* 
 trophies and monuments of the people ; he also made hei 
 examine all the ancient glories of royalty spread over Paris. 
 If she saw one side, he said to himself, she should see the 
 other. 
 
 But her heart turned invariably from the trophies of 
 kings to the annals of the people. 
 
 " I wonder," she said to him one day, with a thoughtful 
 face " I wonder, Randolph, when the great difference be- 
 tween man and man began. They must have been equal 
 for many years." 
 
 " I do not know," "he replied ; " I hardly think so. I 
 should imagine that, so soon as men began to understand 
 one another, the strongest and wisest began to rule the 
 others." 
 
 " I can understand that," she said, her face brightening. 
 * I could yield reverettCd to an aristocracy of strength at 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 6" 
 
 virtue. I object to an aristocracy whose claim consists 
 only in birth or wealth, No man has the ruling of where 
 he shall be born, in what class. Why, therefore, should he 
 be either despised if he be lowly, or exalted if he be what 
 the world calls great ? " 
 
 So she puzzled him at times by questions that amused 
 him by their simplicity, and again with questions that he 
 could neither like nor answer. 
 
 But in the meantime he tried to educate her, to incline 
 tier to what he considered a more just and impartial mode 
 of thought. He found that, right or wrong, Violet was per- 
 fectly consistent. Any revelations of courage, of nobility 
 of character in one of the people, would draw forth expres 
 sions of admiration from her, just as the sight of a crest or 
 a coronet would draw from her derision and scorn. By de- 
 grees these things forced themselves on his mind, and be 
 stood appalled. He said to himself that before he told her 
 his secret he must bind her heart to his so closely, so 
 tightly, that nothing could ever detach it so firmly that 
 aer prejudices would all die in the light of her love. 
 
 That evening as they sat in one of the beautiful saloons 
 that look over the gardens of the Tuileries, Violet sung to 
 Slim, and this was the song she chose : 
 
 " I wonder where we two shall meet, 
 
 I wonder if old love still lives, 
 If years must pass ere one forgets, 
 
 If years must pass ere one forgives ; 
 If fate will lead our footsteps on 
 
 Until the waiting hours be past, 
 When Truth shall lend her golden light 
 And heart shall beat for heart at last t 
 Sometimes, sometimes thus I wonder, 
 Love I cannot tell you why. 
 Once we loved long ago ; 
 That may be the reason 
 Love must waken by and by. 
 
 " I wonder where your life is passed, 
 
 Or if in sun or if in shade, 
 If time has flown on silver wing, 
 
 Or brought the flowers that bloom and fad* 
 If you, like me, can still hope on, 
 
 Believing we shall live again, 
 Forgetting all the parted years, 
 
 When pain was bliss and bliss was pain ? 
 
*0 TGVMNS AXD 
 
 Sometimes, sometimes thus I wonder, 
 
 Love I cannot tell you why. 
 
 Once we loved long ago; 
 
 That may be the reason 
 Love must waken by and by." 
 
 c " A sweet song and a sad song," said Lord Ryvers 
 ' 4 not a song that suits me. Come here, Violet ! " 
 
 a Here " meant to the balcony, from which they could see 
 the grand old palace where kings and queens had reigned, 
 suffered, and enjoyed, the grand old trees that stood serene 
 and calm, although the kings that had once admired them 
 had died in exile, and the queens who had loitered under 
 their shade had laid their heads on the block. 
 
 The moon was shining bright as day. 
 
 " Why not sing to me," he cried, passionately, " of happy 
 iove love perfected as is ours ? " 
 
 " Is it perfected ? " she asked. " I read yesterday that 
 love is made perfect by suffering. If that be true, our love^ 
 Randolph, is far from being perfect yet." 
 
 " If that be true, may it never be perfect ! " he said. " I 
 would rather never have love than win it through suffer- 
 ing." 
 
 In after years the words came back to him and to her 
 to her, ii> the brightness of daylight and in the silence of 
 night 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SOME months had passed since the marriage in the little 
 church at St. Byno's, and the young lord was, if possible, 
 more in love with his wife than ever. She had grown more 
 beautiful, because the character of her beauty was more re- 
 lined. Lord Ryvers himself was one of the most refined of 
 men. Constant association with him had given a grace and 
 courtesy to her manner that nothing else could have given, 
 When Lord Ryvers had first met Yiolet at St. Byno's she 
 had been quick and clever in an extraordinary degree, but 
 her education had been a simple one. Since that time she 
 had . read a great deal, and Lord Ryvers had been most 
 careful in his selection of books for her. 
 
 " You must read what every one else reads," he said to 
 her one day. " So many quotations from and allusions to 
 favorite books are made in society, that one must be 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, It 
 
 pretty well educated and well read even to follow tl 
 
 versation." 
 
 " I like the reading," Violet said, laughing ; " but why do 
 you prepare me as though it would be niy fate to mix with 
 so many clever people ? " 
 
 " It will be your fate at some future time," he replied. 
 
 u Do you consider all artists clever ? " she asked quickly. 
 
 " They should be," he answered, " or they will make very 
 poor artists." 
 
 Lord Ry vers was very proud of his 3 r oung wife. He had 
 not dared purchase such a wardrobe as he desired for her, 
 fearing that by so doing her suspicions would be excited, 
 but he had insisted on her wearing beautiful dresses ; and, 
 although she had cried out against the extravagance, she 
 was pleased with his purchases, and enjoyed wearing her 
 exquisite costumes. 
 
 One evening, when they were going out, he had looked at 
 her with a most comprehensive glance from the golden 
 head to the little shapely foot. 
 
 " You ought to wear white silk, white lace, and pearls t 
 Violet," he said ; " nothing else would suit your style so 
 well." 
 
 " Had you not better suggest diamonds and satin ? " she 
 rejoined, laughing merrily. " You must have a curious 
 idea of what is suitable for the dress of artists' wives, Ran- 
 dolph." 
 
 " I know how you ought to look, and how you shall 
 look," declared her husband. 
 
 "Randolph," she said, seriously, u you never seem to 
 think of money." 
 
 44 Money I " he replied. " Why should I, my dear ? " 
 
 tk Why should you ? " she echoed, with a smile that he 
 hought the most beautiful he had ever seen. " Why, the 
 .inswer is plain enough ! If we go on spending money as 
 we have done, we shall soon have none left. Do you know, n 
 she added, looking up at him with laughing eyes, " that we 
 have the best of everything ! " 
 
 " So we ought," cried Lord Ry vers. " Do not trouble 
 about money. I was not so deeply engrossed with my art 
 that I forgot to lay by for a rainy day." 
 
 " And are these the rainy days ? " she asked. 
 
 " I hope they are the darkest we shall ever see," he ra 
 plied 
 
92 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 He was, if possible, more in love with her than when he 
 first met her in the woods of St. Byno's. She had a won- 
 derful charm for him. The ladies of his family had always 
 affected to be, if they were not actually, delicate and fragile ; 
 they considered health and strength rather as vulgar at* 
 tributes. Yiolet, on the'contrary , rejoiced in superb health^ 
 in a magnificent constitution ; she did not even know what 
 '.he words " languor " and " fatigue " meant as applied to 
 aerself, and consequently she had a capacity for enjoyment 
 I'hat seemed marvelous to him. When they were in Switz* 
 erland, she could climb the highest mountains quite as well 
 as he could, she could walk as far, she could endure as much 
 fatigue yet she was refined, and as far from being mascu* 
 line or strong-minded as it was possible to be. There waa 
 no fairer picture than that of this beautiful girl health 
 glowing in her face, her eyes sparkling, her lips crimson. 
 It was the possession of such perfect health, or unflagging 
 gayety and high spirit/ 7 . at had such a wonderful attraction 
 for Lord Ryvers. 
 
 They had spent the whole of the year in traveling ; they 
 had been through Italy and Switzerland. Now a fancy had 
 taken Lord Ryvers he must go to the Rhine not in the 
 beaten tracks where British tourists abound no, he would 
 seek some pretty sequestered spot where river and mountain 
 were at their best. He would stay there for some months, 
 have his beautiful Violet all to himself for that time, and 
 then arrange for the future. 
 
 He felt that he should not be afraid of his mother meeting 
 his wife, now that this year of travel and study had refined 
 and perfected her. He would be proud when the hour came 
 for even Lady Ryvers to see her. It was true that Violet 
 was different from most of the ladies who were his mother's 
 Mends and associates ; but she had a characteristic Ibeanty 
 and grace and individuality of her own. 
 
 Lord Ryvers found that of which he was in quest in the 
 pretty little town of Saltzberg, on the Rhine, perhaps one 
 of the most picturesque on that beautiful river. It stands 
 where the river is widest, and where the great crags rise 
 highest to the sky ; every beauty of land and water, of hilJ 
 and dale, of river and ruin are there. 
 
 A little tributary called the Saltz runs into the Rhine at 
 this spot, and the scene where the two currents meet i* out 
 of the prettiest and most picturesque on the riven 
 
TJHO&NS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 7$ 
 
 The Saltz is spanned by an old rustic bridge built over 
 the narrowest part of the river ; great trees shade the bridge 
 at each end, and the gray tslone of which it is built is half 
 covered with ivy and moss. The town stands between the 
 hills and the river. 
 
 Lord Ryvers chose one of the pretty villas situated in the 
 outskirts. It was built on a portion of the rock that jutted 
 ov~er the river. From the windows one saw nothing in thf 
 fvont of the house but the rapid rolling Rhine. The pictur 
 a^que, weird beauty of the spot delighted him. 
 
 They were standing on the bridge one morning^ when the 
 young husband turned to his wife : 
 
 " I ask nothing better from life than this," he said. " 1 
 should like to live here alwrtys with you, the blue sky al 
 ways above my head, the sound of the river always in my 
 c**rs, and your face before my eyes." 
 
 She laid both her white hands on his shoulder and 
 looked steadfastly into his face. 
 
 " Would such a life fill you with content, Randolph ? " 
 slie asked. 
 
 " Yes, with infinite content," he replied. 
 
 " It would not satisfy me," she said, decidedly. a I would 
 rather live in the world of men and women." 
 
 " This is far more beautiful," he declared, dreamily. 
 
 44 But beauty is not the end and aim of life," she said 
 u I begin to think you are a dreamer, after all." 
 
 " I am content to be one while I have you to dream 
 about," he rejoined. 
 
 But there was no response on the beautiful young face 
 looking over the water. 
 
 " Randolph, you have no ambition," she said, suddenly. 
 
 " Yet ours has always been considered am ambitious 
 race," he replied as quickly ; and she looked up at him witfc 
 a satirical laugh. 
 
 " Your race ! " she repeated. " Do you mean the artistic 
 race ? " 
 
 His face flushed and his eyes clouded as he answered 2 
 
 " Yes, of course, the artistic race. What else should I 
 mean?" 
 
 And again the little ripple of sunny laughter jarred upon 
 him as she replied : 
 
 " You spoke like an aristocrat, as though you belonged 
 to some race quite separate and distinct from all others.' 9 
 
14 T&O&NS ANft ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 44 How you hate all aristocrats ! " he said, with a deep 
 
 sigh. 
 
 " I do indeed," she replied ; and then she pointed to an 
 old ruin standing at the foot of the hill. " Have you 
 heard the legend of the old castle there?" she asked, care- 
 lessly. " I read it this morning." 
 
 " No. Tell it to me," he said. M I like your way of tell 
 \ng a story > Violet ; it is terse and vigorous." 
 
 46 It is not much of a legend," she said, " but it inter 
 ested me. A German baron married a young French lady, 
 and brought her home to this sastle, Heaven knows how 
 n^iny hundred years ago. Wlien he had been married 
 some time, he found out that she had a secret in her life. 
 No one ever knew what that secret was ; she never told it ; 
 and he threatened that, if she did not tell him, he would kill 
 her. Do you think a wife has no right to keep a secret 
 from her husband, Randolph ? " 
 
 " 1 should think not," he replied ; but he spoke in such 
 a tone of hesitation that she looked at him again, half 
 laughing. 
 
 " Has a husband any right to keep a secret from his 
 wife ? " she asked then ; and this time he answered more 
 quickly : 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What do you think this cruel husband did, Ran* 
 dolph ? " she continued. " When he found his wife would 
 not tell him her secret, he flung her from that old ruined 
 tower into the Rhine ; and the story tells how she haunted 
 the tower until no one dared live in it, and so it fell into 
 rum. The moral of the story is there should be no secret 
 between husband and wife." 
 
 But Randolph did not answer with the cordiality Yiolec 
 expected. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IT struck Lord Ryvers, for the first time since his mar* 
 riage, that the beautiful wife he had won from the wood- 
 lands of St, Byno's did not love him with quite the same 
 devoted affection he had for her. He would have been 
 content to have remained with her forever ; he asked noth- 
 ing better than to live always with her in the weird villa 
 overlooking the Rhine j he wanted no other society, no 
 
TffOHNS AND ORANQ&BLOSSQM& m 
 
 other world heart, brain and soul would have been quite 
 content. 
 
 Not so with her It was with something of dismay chat 
 she found her husband quite willing to live at the solitary 
 villa. It was beautiful enough she did not attempt to 
 deny that ; but to her richly gifted, vivacious nature, to her 
 ardent mind and soul, there was not sufficient in this wor 
 ship of nature ; she wanted more life, more to amuse her^ 
 than the contemplation of magnificent scenery. Lord 
 Ry vers was of a contemplative nature ; his young wife re* 
 joined in a more active disposition. She liked to tread fre- 
 quented paths of life, he the by-paths. She liked to be al- 
 ways doing, he to be alwa3 r s thinking. 
 
 He was thinking very seriously one morning;, as he 
 stood in his favorite spot, the pretty rustic bridge over the 
 Saltz, the river foaming and fretting beneath, the green 
 boughs spreading above, the blue sky over all. He had 
 been thinking, first of all, that he would paint such a 
 picture as would set the whole world on fire with admira* 
 tion just this bridge, with the deep foaming river be- 
 neath, the tall trees with their great boughs, and the 
 beautiful figure of his wife standing beneath them, just as 
 he had seen her stand hundred of times, with a rapt ex- 
 pression of admiration on her face. If he could paint her 
 as he had seen her, if he could catch the brilliant coloring, 
 the lovely lights and shades always flitting over her face, 
 if he could catch that superb poise of the head, and grave, 
 proud bearing of the figure, he would call his picture 
 " The Queen of the Rhine," and men should bow down in 
 homage to the exquisite face whose beauty now was known 
 only to him. The more he thought of it, the more he be- 
 3anae possessed of the idea. Even his lady-mother, who 
 sneered at pictures and haughtily patronized art even she 
 should acknowledge that it was a chef-d'ceuvre. 
 
 And the thought of Lady Ryvers brought many othet 
 things to his mind. 
 
 He had lost himself of late in a dream of happiness ; he 
 had almost forgotten the responsibilities of life that he 
 was heavily weighted by fortune, that he had all the re- 
 sponsibilities of title, position, rank, and money. They 
 nad always been a tie and a burden to him, whose life had 
 been more or less engrossed by art. If by some good 
 Chance he bad been born an artist, he would have been a 
 
16 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 
 
 good and happy one ; born in a high sphere, hig art eareei 
 was in some degrees spoiled. His vast fortune entailed 
 many duties upon him, and they were not altogether to 
 his taste. The one thing he had dreaded all his life he 
 had most successfully avoided he had not married for 
 money. To his romantic, poetical mind and temperament 
 there was no idea so horrible as that of many ing for 
 noney ; it was death to all sentiment and romance, death 
 -,o all that he valued most in this world. 
 
 Thank Heaven, he had avoided that 1 The girl he had 
 found loved him for himself, and was perfectly ignorant 
 of the fact that he had money ; indeed, with her passion- 
 ate hatred of the rich and noble, she would never have 
 married him had she known exactly what he was. They 
 had been married nearly nine months, and the conclusion 
 he came to was this that his fair young wife did not love 
 him with the same passionate and devoted affection that he 
 gave to her. He must win it ; that was all. 
 
 These thoughts came to him as he stood on the bridge. 
 That same morning he had received a letter from his mother 
 which had startled him and brought him face to face with 
 fche sterner realities of life. 
 
 Lad}^ R} r vers had reminded him that his birthday fell 
 m the 22d of June, and that on that day he came of age. 
 it would soon be at hand, and she wished to know his 
 intentions. Of course he would return. He must be at 
 Ryverswell. Relatives, friends, neighbors, tenants, and 
 dependents, must be all gathered round him ; there must 
 be balls, dinners, entertainments of various kinds ; in fact, 
 he must do his duty, and his duty just then would con* 
 gist in feasting eveiybody. It was, so his mother said, the 
 most important day of his life ; much would be expected 
 from him. She hoped that nothing would interfere with 
 His return. 
 
 Lady R3^vers reminded him that she had agreed to the 
 sketching-tour very much against her conscience, and 
 hoped that he would now abandon a pursuit that had 
 always been most distasteful to her. She trusted that he 
 would give himself up to the duties of his position, which 
 were onerous enough. Lady Ryvers added that she 
 earnestly hoped that he would also give his attention to 
 marriage, the next great step in his life, a step that would 
 either make or mar him. 
 
f&O&NS AND OMANGE~BLOS80m 71 
 
 w A step I have taken without consulting any one of 
 anything, except my own heart," he thought. Yet there 
 were some very disagreeable facts to face, and the young 
 man grew thoughtful as he bent over the foaming river. 
 He had married to please himself, he had carried out the 
 romantic idea of his life ; but now difficulties seemed to 
 surround him. He did not know at all how his wife 
 would take the revelation of his secret, and he did not 
 know what his mother would say when she found out the 
 Story of his marriage. She had always insisted so much 
 on his marrying well. How to reconcile these opposite 
 forces he did not know. The realities of life were pressing 
 him now, the sweet dream of love and art must come to an 
 end but not yet not just yet. 
 
 He determined to write to his lady-mother, and tell hel 
 that he found it quite impossible to break off his art* 
 studies just at present, and that the festivities attending 
 his coming of age must be deferred for another year. Hia 
 mother would be able to make all needful arrangement^ 
 and he would certainly return at the time specified. 
 
 " I am glad you are going to work again, Randolph,* 
 Baid Violet, when he told her of his picture, " The Queen 
 of the Rhine." " I will stand on the bridge, like the man 
 in the song, as many hours as you wish. I have thought 
 once or twice that you were inclined to rest on you* 
 laurels ; indeed, Randolph, the truth is, you have done 
 nothing lately but love and care for me." 
 
 " Certainly it has been iny chief pleasure as well as my 
 chief occupation," he replied, gallantly. 
 
 " Yes ; but it does not bring grist to the mill. See how 
 you worked at St. Byno's; you were always painting 
 there." 
 
 " Dreaming is working with me," he replied. " Do yoa 
 think all those long hours spent in watching the lights and 
 shadows, the sky and the river, the rocks and the ruins, are 
 wasted? Ah, no! I am storing beautiful pictures in my 
 mind. An artist studies nature as a student studies books. 
 I do not think a man with an artistic mind is ever idle ; 
 thoughts and fancies are always passing through his brain." 
 
 Violet kept her word. She was ready at all times to 
 stand on the bridge, just in the attitude he wished to paint 
 her, and " The Queen of the Rhine " made great progress* 
 She won one promise from him, and it was that, when tf $ 
 
IB VHO&N8 AND OBANGE-BLOSSOM8L 
 
 picture was finished, he would send it at once to England, 
 and they should leave the villa on the Rhine. 
 
 " 1 do not want to go to England yet," he said. " You 
 have no especial reason for desiring to go there ? " 
 
 " None," she answered, carelessly, " unless it be to see 
 Aunt Alice. I do not care to go to England ; but I do not 
 wish to remain here. I am just a little tired of solitude.'* 
 And the glorious violet eyes flashed with the light of long- 
 ng. 
 
 " Solitude ? " repeated the young husband. " You do 
 not call being with me 4 solitude ' ? " 
 
 u It would be perfect solitude but for you," she replied, 
 laughingly. " Of course, with you it is bearable. I want 
 to see more, I want real life. I want to see the faces of 
 strange men and women, to find myself sometimes in a 
 crowd. At times I think it will be pleasant to have a little 
 home in England, where you can paint all day and I can 
 keep house. .1 am a famous housekeeper, Randolph, 
 although you have never given me a chance of showing 
 you what I can do in that line. Aunt Alice gave me a good 
 training. We have been nearly a year wandering in search 
 of the beautiful and picturesque ; now let us see a little 
 more of humanity. Why do you not go to some large city I 
 We should be able to study our fellow-beings there." 
 
 " I do not want to see English people," he replied ; " and 
 in every great European city they abound." 
 
 Violet looked up at him quickly. 
 
 " Why do you not wish to meet English people ? " shf 
 asked. " I have noticed your avoidance of our countrymen 
 before, but I could never understand your reason for it." 
 
 " British tourists are not to my taste," he replied. 
 
 " Why, Randolph, what nonsense 1 " Violet exclaimed, 
 laughing. " We are British tourists ourselves, are we not ? * 
 
 " Not of the ordinary kind," he replied, carelessly. 
 
 " We are ordinary people," said his wife, proudly. a I 
 should not like to think myself different from others." 
 
 " You will allow me some little prerogative," he said. " I 
 cannot bring myself to think of myself as an ordinary per- 
 son ; will you not allow me the privilege at least of genius ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I may ; but, Randolph, there are times when 
 I cannot help thinking, although you hide it from me, that 
 you are an aristocrat at heart. There you have grown 
 quite pale at the mere suggestion ! " 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.] TO 
 
 44 And no wonder," he replied ; " that is a terrible accu 
 sation to bring against me, when one considers how you 
 hate aristocrats." 
 
 " That indeed I do, thanks to Aunt Alice. I think class 
 hatred is one of the strongest of all hates ; " and she raised 
 her head proudly. " But that is not the question. I want 
 you to promise me that when 4 The Queen of the Rhine ' is 
 finished you will give up solitude for a time, and live when 
 we can see men and women, instead of rocks and rivers." 
 
 He was looking at her with serious intent. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Randolph ? " she asked. 
 
 " I was wondering if the time would ever come when you 
 and I would think the same, Yiolet," he said, musingly. 
 
 " It will be the same with us as it is with other people, 7 * 
 she answered. 
 
 u How is that?" he asked. 
 
 " The stronger nature will gain the ascendency over the 
 ker one," she replied ; u that is the case with all mar- 
 ried people. Mind, I did not say the finer nature, but the 
 stronger. If it be you, you will mold my ideas to your 
 own ; if it be I, I shall have the pleasure of molding yours. 
 At present," she continued, " we are, I think, about equal; 
 but we shall see which gains the ascendency over the other 
 as we go on." 
 
 And in after-times Lord By vers often thought of her 
 words. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 EVERY one knows the famous city of St. Philipo, stand* 
 tog as it does on the shores of the Mediterranean. St, 
 Philipo contains the finest old churches, the finest pictures, 
 and the finest sculptures in Italy. It is a city of buried 
 treasures; people are always making discoveries there. 
 Now it is a hidden gem of Botticelli or a half-finished 
 statue unmistakably by Michael Angelo; then a Titian 
 hanging unknown for years in the corner of some house 
 half buried in vine-leaves ; then a faint, fair sketch of Fra 
 Angelico. St. Philipo has always been the home of art 
 and of artists, for it is one of the loveliest spots in the 
 wide world. 
 
 The city is small in itself, and it slopes down to the 
 border of the sea. Artists say that, nowhere else are colors 
 
80 TMOMNS AND OMANOE-SLOSSOMSL 
 
 so beautiful to be seen. The sea forms a little bay, known 
 as the Bay of St. Philipo, and the water there is as blue as 
 tlie sky itself a lovely transparent blue. The waves sel- 
 dom roll in there ; it must be a strong wind indeed that 
 lashes those wavelets into foam. Little pink shells half < 
 cover the golden sands. Green masses of foliage seem to 
 surround the bay ; and on the gray cliffs stand houses that 
 are each one a picture in itself, some white, some red, some 
 
 fray, the roofs of some covered with moss and lichen* 
 lowers grow in wondrous profusion in this grand old city, 
 so sheltered from wind and cold roses, lilies, verbenas, 
 gladioli, the lemon, orange, and myrtle and the vine finds 
 its home everywhere. The birds begin to sing and to 
 build there before they favor any other spot. Every breath 
 of wind that blows in St. Philipo is laden with perfume ; 
 and the honey made by the busy bees, and sold by the 
 peasants, is sweeter than any other. 
 
 No very rich people reside in the city ; nor does any one 
 work very hard. The poorest part of the population live 
 by fishing and by the sale of honey and flowers. Most of 
 ch3 shops are filled with old curiosities rare treasures in 
 fch} shape of old chain, old carvings, and pictures. And 
 feh >se who are above work and want live in the beautiful 
 villas dotted over the cliffs and the hills. The modern 
 spirit of adventure invades every spot. It has reached St. 
 Philipo at last ; and in the midst of a tangle of vine and 
 myrtle a large hotel has been erected entirely on model 
 principles. An Englishman started it, and it has become a 
 success, for, though St. Philipo is not much in the way of 
 tourists, artists go there, rich men in search of antiquities 
 and curiositieSy and, at times, travelers in search of the 
 picturesque. 
 
 Thither Lord Ry vers went with his wife. He had hall 
 thought of flight when he heard that an English family 
 ?ras staying at the hotel. It was bad enough to have an 
 English landlord ; but to live in the same house with an 
 English family was, in his present mood, most distasteful 
 to him. 
 
 He had grown somewhat nervous and frightened with re- 
 gard to his secret ; and he dreaded Violet's discovering it. 
 He could not tell how she would take it, or what she would 
 do, and be wanted to defer what he considered an evil day 
 as long as be could. He avoided English people as much 
 
ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. tt 
 
 ^ possible, lest he should meet any one who knew him. He 
 asked for the name of the family staying at the hotel, and 
 was told that the entry in the visitor's book was " Robert 
 Carstone, Esq., of Ingleshaw, Mrs. Carstone, and Oscar 
 Carstone, Esq." 
 
 44 Rolling in money," said the hotel-keeper to Lord Ry* 
 vers, " all made from malt and corn. Mr. Carstone is here 
 to buy antiquities." 
 
 This description set the young lord's mind at ease. He 
 -Lord Ry vers of Ry vers well was not likely to be known 
 to any retired corn-factor. 
 
 For some days the visitors saw nothing of each other, 
 jnuch to Yiolet's disappointment. At times she was 
 almost indignant with Randolph because he avoided the 
 Carstones. When he pleaded his distaste for English so- 
 ciety, she would say : 
 
 4t Oh, yes, it is all very well for you, Randolph ; you have 
 mixed with the world all your life ! I have never really 
 known any one except Aunt Alice, and I long to know what 
 the others are like." 
 
 The opportunity came at last. 
 
 There was a fete in the grand old city ; the churches, 
 the palaces, the shops and streets, the villas dotted on the 
 hillside, were all to be illuminated, and the fireworks were 
 to be on a magnificent scale. 
 
 44 Oh, Randolph," cried his young wife, " do let me see 
 them ! We never had any at St. Byno's. Mr. Bret, the 
 landlord, says the finest place to see" them is from the bal 
 cony of the hotel, and he has asked me to go there. Ran. 
 dolph, do say 4 Yes.' " 
 
 < 4 You will be sure to meet those English people there,* 
 he said, half reluctantly ; but she looked so imploring that 
 be could not refuse her. 
 
 " Will you come, Randolph ? " she asked. 
 
 And he answered 44 No," at which she felt relieved, for it 
 would give her a chance of talking to the English people. 
 
 In all St. Philipo there was no more beautiful picture 
 than Violet in the balcony that evening. She wore a cool 
 dress of white that fitted her tall, exquisite figure to per* 
 feetion. Over that, and over her golden head, she had 
 draped a black lace mantilla, and she wore a spray of her 
 favorite flower, the orange-blossom. 
 
 The golden stars were throbbing in the blue sky ; tb& 
 
C8 THOItm ANh ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 
 
 waters of the bay were so calm that each star was reflected 
 in them ; the night wind was faint with perfume. 
 
 Presently some one else entered the balcony, and passed 
 Violet with a profound bow -a tall, manly figure, with 
 broad shoulders and a broad chest. She looked at him 
 with some admiration ; she could not see him plainly by 
 the light of the stars a tall, straight figure, a well-shaped 
 head with clusters of brown hair, large gray eyes, a facs 
 clear-cut as a cameo, intelligent and expressive. He went, 
 to the other end of the balcony and stood looking over thfc 
 deep silent waters of the bay. 
 
 " That must be Oscar Carstone," thought Violet " & 
 typical Englishman, tall, strong, and fair." 
 
 Then came a lady, stout and comely, richly dressed in a 
 grand brocade that rustled with every movement ; jewels 
 Bhoiie on her neck and fingers. 
 
 She took a seat in the balcony, and Yiolet remarked that 
 she had a kind, shrewd face, piercing dark eyes, dark hair 
 fashionably arranged ; yet, in spite of the brocade and the 
 diamonds, the word u plebeian " was written on the stout, 
 comely person. She, in her turn, looked at Violet's exqui- 
 site face and figure ; then suddenly she rose and went to 
 where she was standing. She made a very condescending 
 bow, and looked into the lustrous eyes. 
 
 " We must dispense with introductions," she said, with a 
 broad smile, " as there is no one to perform that ceremony 
 for us. It seems such a pity to sit and watch this beautiful 
 scene without speaking." 
 
 Violet made a bow that would have befitted a queen. 
 
 " You are very kind," she said. 
 
 And Mrs. Carstone looked up in wonder, both at the 
 loveliness of the face and sweetness of the voice. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Carstone," she said. u I am staying here 
 with my husband and son. We came to St. Philipo to pur 
 chase antiquities." 
 
 " And I," said Violet, " am staying here with my hus- 
 band, Mr, Randolph, who came in search of the pictur- 
 esque." 
 
 A shadow of disappointment passed over the comely face 
 of the elder lady; she had thought this girl, who looked 
 like a young empress, would have proved to be " somebody 
 of consequence." 
 
 " An artist, I suppose ? " she said, languidly. 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 81 
 
 tt Yes," replied Violet, proudly ; u my husband is an art- 
 ist." 
 
 There was a light on her face and in her eyes. Mrs. 
 Carstone saw that the young girl had a profound respect 
 for the profession of her husband. 
 
 " Shall we go to the end of the balcony, Mrs. Randolph ? n 
 she said. " We shall see better there." Then, as they 
 paused by the side of the young man, who was still stand* 
 hig there, she added, " My son Oscar," by the way of intro- 
 duction. 
 
 So the three sat down together at the end of the balcony, 
 the young man being already hopelessly in love with 
 Violet's exquisite face. 
 
 " A beautiful scene," he said at length ; " there is noth- 
 ing approaching it to be found in England." 
 
 " Oh, Oscar, do not say that ! There is no place like 
 home." Mrs. Carstone had an occasional difficulty with 
 her h's ; but as a rule, she Was fairly successful. " There 
 is no place like home, Mrs. Randolph ; and these fireworks, 
 to my mind, will not compare with those so frequently to 
 be seen at the Crystal Palace." J2^X 
 
 " Oh, mother," cried the se^'w^wi a sigh, " who would 
 mention St. Philipo and t^^Cj^al Palace in the same 
 moment." 
 
 44 My son is so sentimerf&i3' Add the comely lady* 
 tt Give me comfort first let jerpjarthing else give place to 
 that. Do you not think th&arvery g{K>d doctrine, Mrs, 
 Randolph?" ^ JP 
 
 " I like comfort," said Violet ; ** but there are many 
 things I prefer to it." 
 
 The quick gray eyes turned upon her. 
 
 " No one could look at you, Mrs. Randolph, and believe 
 that the doctrine of comfort is yours." 
 
 " What should you imagine my favorite doctrine to be ? >? 
 asked Violet. 
 
 " Daring romance,'* he replied, after looking at her for a 
 few minutes. 
 
 How she laughed ! How she enjoyed it I He could not 
 quite understand her laughter, though he rejoiced in it and 
 thought he had caused it by his own wit. 
 
 " You are sentimental," she said at last. u In all my hife 
 I have known no romance." 
 
 But as she said the words there came to her a recoUeo* 
 
| VHQJINS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 tion of the hour in which she had stood before her et^ei 
 young lover with the scarlet geraniums glowing on hel 
 breast. If that were not romance, it should have been. 
 Her heart smote her and her face flushed. There was cer 
 taiuly everything conducive to romance in the circum 
 stances of her marriage. 
 
 " Sentiment is one thing and sense another," said Mra 
 Carstoiie ; at which obvious platitude Violet laughed again 
 
 Oscar Carstone turned to her. 
 
 " Do you remember Moore's fine old ballad : 
 
 " * Common sense and genius 
 
 One night went out a ramble'? n 
 
 " Yes I remember it. I like it very much," she replied. 
 
 " Give me common sense ! " said Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " Give me genius 1 " cried her son ; while Violet laugh 
 ingly added : 
 
 " Give me a proper and judicious mixture of both ! w 
 
 And the three deliverances were quite characteristic rf 
 the three people, 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " I AM a self-made man," said Robert Carstone, " and 1 
 am proud to own it. I have carved my own fate, as thl 
 poets sa} 7 ; I have made myself what I ain." 
 
 And Violet's beautiful e}^es were raised to his face with 
 such a look of exultation that Lord Ry vers longed to sec 
 him fall from the terrace into the lake below. 
 
 44 That is what I like, what I admire ! " she cried, clasp 
 Ing her pretty white hands. " I think every man is noble 
 srho is the architect of his own fortunes," she continued, 
 * That which we win for ourselves must be much bettef 
 than that which is given to us by others." 
 
 Lord Ryvers looked up quietly, but with stern indigna- 
 tion in his face ; he could not endure to hear such senti- 
 ments from those beautiful lips. 
 
 " Violet," he said, " would it not be better to talk about 
 what you understand ? " 
 
 Her face flushed at those, the first words of disapproval 
 tie had ever uttered to her. 
 
 Oscar had t!io * A *!.* lo answer for her. 
 
THOEN8 AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 8* 
 
 * I think Mrs. Randolph's ideas are perfectly just, and 
 rery generous." 
 
 The young heir of Ingleshaw felt indignant that " the 
 artist " should contradict his sweet young wife, and on such 
 a point, too. 
 
 " The artist w contented himself by giving Oscar a look 
 that made him at least uncomfortable. 
 
 This little scene took place one evening when the twf 
 English families had met on the great terrace that over 
 looked the ornamental lake. Lord Ryv u-s' fear was real- 
 ized they had all grown intimate. Violet liked good- 
 natured, comely Mrs. Car stone, and merely laughed at her 
 patronage ; it did not hurt her, but very often amused her. 
 If Mrs. Carstone had been a lady of title, and had used 
 the same patronizing manner to her, Violet would have re- 
 belled hotly ; but from the wife of that glorious piece of 
 humanity, a self-made, man, it did not come so much amiss. 
 Mrs. Carstone had a vast amount of worldly knowledge, 
 which to Violet, brought up, as it were, outside the world, 
 was most attractive; and Lord Ryvers, after a few days, 
 ceased to make any objection to the intimacy. It mattered 
 but little, he thought ; these people knew nothing of him, 
 and were never likely to know anything. In all human 
 probability, when they left the hotel, they would never meet 
 again ; and, if his beautiful Violet liked to go out with 
 them and enjoy herself with them, he certainly would not 
 object. Let her be happy in her own fashion ; but he fer- 
 vently hoped she would not expect him to care for them. 
 It was now for the first time really that he saw the great 
 gulf between himself and his wife. He had all the in- 
 stincts, the prejudices, the strong likes and dislikes of his 
 class ; she had the same ; hers being strengthened by the 
 curious training she had received. It began to dawn upoij 
 him that he might as well try to change the color of Lei 
 eyes or of her hair as to change the tone of her ideas and 
 thoughts. What she thought admirable in these people 
 their rise from the ranks, the fact of their being " seli- 
 pade "seemed to him more or less contemptible, 
 
 " You cannot have such a thing as a self-made gentle- 
 man," he said to her one day, when they were arguing the 
 point. " The very term is a contradiction." 
 
 " I do not see why," she replied. 
 
 " Because you will not, Violet. You are justness am} 
 
86 THOENS AND ORANGE-BLOS&QM& 
 
 fairness itself on every other point but this one of class. A 
 '- gentleman,' using the word in its true sense, is the result 
 of generations of careful cultivation. A man may have 
 gentlemanly instincts, yet not be a gentleman. The human 
 race is, to say the least of it, quite as susceptible of culti* 
 vation as flowers. How much cultivation is required to 
 .sliange a weed into a flower ? " 
 
 44 Then I may suppose," said Violet, saucily, " that ordi 
 aaiy men are the weeds and gentlemen the flowers ? " 
 
 44 You exaggerate, my dear ; but you must admit that 
 generations of careful training, of cultivation, of refinement 
 must tell." 
 
 44 They should ; but I am not prepared to admit that it is 
 so," she replied. " Randolph," she asked, suddenly, " ia 
 your own mind, do you call yourself a gentleman ? " 
 
 All the hot blood of his grand old race flushed in his 
 face, his eyes flashed fire, his strong white hands were 
 clinched ; then he restrained himself; he had not wooed her 
 en gentilhomme and he owned himself caught in his C'vn 
 trap. 
 
 " I hope I am, Violet." 
 
 " You are not consistent, then," she declared, delighted 
 at rousing him. u You tell me that a man can be a gentle- 
 man in the true sense of the word only when he belongs to 
 an ancient and cultivated race, Now you claim for your- 
 self the title of gentleman, yet you belong to no such race* 
 You work for your living." 
 
 44 Art ennobles all its followers," he replied loftily. 
 
 44 Then you must have two kinds of gentlemen," she said 
 
 " Violet," said her husband, gently, " come and kiss me. 
 Your lips are so sweet and the dimples so charming that it 
 is a waste of time for you to use theni in argument, Kis* 
 lie, and do not let us argue again." 
 
 She did as he desired, and then laughed. 
 
 "That is a complete confession of defeat," she said; 
 * nothing could be more complete. But we will not argue j 
 we shall never agree on that point. Frankly, Randolph, 1 
 am a hundred times prouder because you can paint beauti- 
 ful pictures than I should be if .you were a nobleman." 
 
 44 1 quite believe it, Violet," he said, meekly, with a little 
 wonder as to how it would end, and what terrible thing 
 she would do when she knew the truth. 
 
 For some few days they did not argue again, and during 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, *87 
 
 that time Violet had grown very intimate with the Car- 
 stones. On this evening they met on the terrace, and Lord 
 Ryvers with difficulty concealed his distaste for their 
 society. 
 
 44 That young artist seems to give himself great airs," 
 said Oscar Carstone, to his mother. 
 
 44 Such people always do," replied the good lady, who re- 
 Joiced in platitudes, and knew as much of artists as she die? 
 of Arabs. 
 
 44 1 cannot think," said Oscar, 4t how he persuaded that 
 beautiful girl to marry him.' 1 
 
 44 My dear, she is nobody," said Mrs. Carstone, in a tone 
 of remonstrance. 
 
 44 She might be somebody," replied the son. " If she 
 were in Lor don, she would soon be somebody* The pro- 
 fessional beauties would all be outshone. I did not see a 
 face in London like hers." 
 
 44 She is a beautiful girl," allowed Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 Oscar looked very thoughtful. 
 
 44 Mother," he said, " cultivate her ; we have plei^ of 
 money, but no standing. Now, if we went to town, and 
 could introduce a beautiful woman like Mrs. Randolph, we 
 should become popular with her." 
 
 44 1 do not know whether she woujd let me introduce 
 her," returned Mrs. Carstone ; " although she is only an 
 artist's wife, she is very proud." 
 
 44 She would like it well enough," declared Oscar. " I 
 am a good reader of character, and I understand her. Al- 
 though her husband with his foolish notions about art, 
 keeps her secluded, she loves the world and would enjoy it. 
 It is true the husband would be a drawback. His manner 
 is not to be compared with hers. In fact, I do not consider 
 him well bred he is too brusque." 
 
 44 He is very high and mighty," said Mrs. Carstone. " 1 
 was talking to him yesterday, and saying how pleased your 
 father would be to give him a commission for painting some 
 good pictures for the gallery at Ingleshaw, and I was 
 frightened. He looked at me savagely, as though he would 
 bite me." 
 
 4t I do not like him ; but I like his wife," said Oscar ; 
 44 and, if you want to attract London society, mother, ask 
 her to visit you m town next year. She is no languid 
 beauty either. How bright and animated she is ! I saw 
 
88 THOfiNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 my father laugh this morning as he seldom laughs while 
 she was talking to him." 
 
 So it happened that, after this brilliant suggestion of 
 Oscar's that Mrs. Randolph should, by her beautiful lace, 
 open the gates of society to the family, Mrs. Carstone 
 sought her more assiduously than ever. Seeing the young 
 husband and wife on the terrace, she, with her son and hus- 
 band, joined them. It was then, with a thumb in each arm 
 hole of his waistcoat, and his chest well spread out, that 
 Mr. Carstone said : " I am a self-made man ; " it was then 
 that Violet looked up with enthusiastic face and admiring 
 eyes ; it was then for the first time, that the adoring young 
 husband felt really angry with her, and realized that his 
 wife's feelings were more in unison with those of the Car- 
 stones than with his own. 
 
 44 1 am not going to say anything against the aristocracy 
 and nobility of this land," continued the retired corn-factor. 
 w In my humble opinion many of them are merely old 
 women, and most of them no better than the}' should be. 
 But, if you want to know the class of men that make the 
 sinews and muscles of old England, I say, sir, it is the sel 
 made men, and I am proud to call myself one." 
 
 " Those are my very thoughts, Mr. Carstone," cried 
 Yiolet, delightedly ; "you have just put them into words. 1 ' 
 And she did not observe how dark was the frown that 
 spread over the high-bred face of her husband. 
 
 44 You will allow every man to form his own opinion on 
 that as well as on every other point," said Lord Ryvers, 
 courteously. 
 
 44 Oh, certainly, every man may think as he likes ! * re- 
 plied Richard Carstone. 
 
 y " Then you must allow me most emphatically to contra- 
 ;dict you. I believe, if you want to find the sinews and 
 muscles of old England, you will find them amongst the 
 grand old races whose fathers fought and bled for the lib- 
 erties which have made England what she is." 
 
 44 Therein we differ," said the corn-factor, slowly. 
 
 44 Why, Richard," interrupted his comely wife, " no one 
 loves a lord better than you do ! How delighted you were 
 when Lord Brooks shook hands with you at Batwell ! " 
 
 Richard Carstone for one minute looked slightly red and 
 uncomfortable. He could not deny the fact. 
 
AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 60 
 
 a My dear," he said, " while a lord is an English institu- 
 tion, we must respect him." 
 
 44 For my part," declared his wife, " I am like Mr. Ran* 
 dolph here ; I admire the aristocracy, and I should like to 
 be one of them. As for your beautiful young wife here, 
 Mr. Randolph, she is far more fitted to be a duchess than an 
 artist's wife." 
 
 The very grandeur of his bow dismayed the good-natured 
 lady. 
 
 " If I did not know he was an artist, I should say he was 
 an earl at least," she said to herself. " I never saw such a 
 high way with any one before." 
 
 " Give me a self-made man ! " continued the complacent 
 corn-factor. " A man who has made his money enjoys 
 spending it. What is more, he enjoys touching it. I do. 
 It is a pleasure to me to take up a handful of sovereigns." 
 
 " If you heard a nobleman boast in that fashion of his 
 rank or his Jfetle, wbfcfc would you think of him ? " asked 
 Lord Ryvers.W 
 
 " Think of mm 1 "^fepaed Mr. Carstone, growing very red 
 fn the face. " I shotlcjItUtnk he had very little to boast 
 of." \ 
 
 " And I," said Lp^Il^ vers, quietly, " think that the 
 self-made man has raft less." 
 
 So it rose in thii^g&utiful sunlit evening the cloud no 
 bigger than a man's hand. How dark it was to grow, how 
 widely spread, none of the five standing there together on 
 the terrace could foresee. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE Carstones were of a type common enough in these 
 jays. " The self-made man," as Mr. Carstone so proudly 
 called himself, had started with the usual six-pence in his 
 pocket^ and had risen by degrees from the rank of errand- 
 boy to the positions of porter, clerk, confidential manager, 
 and finally partner, in one of. the largest businesses in En- 
 gland. He had worked hard, honestly, and well ; he was 
 marvelously shrewd and wonderfully sure in all his trans- 
 actions ; he was scrupulously honest and in business hon- 
 esty is perhaps the best capital. After many years of hard 
 industry, he retired, thinking that he should enjoy the re 
 mainder of his life in quite a new capacity. 
 
90 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOWL 
 
 He was exceedingly rich. Looking at his gains, he mar- 
 veled at them. He had but one child, Oscar, and to him the 
 corn-factor had given the best education possible. If he 
 erred at all in that direction, it was that he had rather over- 
 educated him. In his heart Richard Car stone longed for 
 daughters. He was one of those men never so happy as 
 when surrounded by pretty and amiable women ; but, when 
 lie realized what his life's work had done for him, he was 
 well pleased that he had a son and heir. He had recently 
 purchased a fine estate, called Ingleshaw, although it was 
 not precisely the abode one would have thought suitable for 
 a self-made man. It was a magnificent old mansion, stand- 
 ing in the midst of extensive grounds. It had none of the 
 newness that is at times so dear to the soul of the newly 
 rich. The choice of Ingleshaw was due to the influence of 
 Oscar. 
 
 " There is nothing like antiquity, father," he said ; " by 
 the time my children succeed, it will seem as though our 
 family had lived here for hundreds of years. The corn will 
 be forgotten." 
 
 And it was strangely inconsistent with the theories of the 
 self-made man that this influenced him. 
 
 Ingleshaw was purchased. Oscar declared that there was 
 a strange fitness in the name " the Carstones of Ingle- 
 shaw " and, after a few weeks, Ingleshaw became the very 
 pride of the old man's life. He was fortunate enough to 
 meet with a house decorator and finisher who spoke his 
 mind. 
 
 " Do not spoil that place, sir, with new furniture and gild- 
 ing," he said : " it will be quite out of keeping. Everything 
 must match the house. You want old tapestry, old carv- 
 ings, old pictures, old china, old furniture, antiques of all 
 kinds ; you want Oriental bronzes, grand enamels, old buhl 
 work ; you want ancient plate, quaint old German glass, 
 and ancient armor." 
 
 " All of which," replied Richard Carstone, solemnly. " I 
 will have. But where and how shall I get them ? " 
 
 " I will get some on commission ; the rest you can pur- 
 chase." 
 
 And it was when making inquiries as to them when Rich- 
 ard Carstone heard about the old-fashioned town of St. 
 Philipo, that treasury of hidden art. 
 
 " You c*n buy anything there," said his informant* 
 
TROHN8 AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 u vases and jasper and malachite, china that once belonged 
 to the famous Du Barry, pictures by the old masters/ 1 In 
 fact, there was no end to the art-treasures of St. Philipo. 
 
 Richard Carstone never dreamed that it was written in 
 the scroll of fate that here his life and the fortunes of a no- 
 ble English family should meet and cross* 
 
 He went to St. Philipo, taking with him his comely 
 good-humored wife, and his son Oscar, of whose opinion L 
 stood in no little awe. A few thousands, more or less, we, 
 nothing to him, and he meant to make Ingleshaw famous. 
 
 " They shall see what a self-made man can do wr.h W 
 money, Oscar, 5 ' he said. " I will put some of thf*r old 
 houses to shame." 
 
 He was looked upon as a perfect godsend by the shop- 
 keepers of St. Philipo. Of couse they called him " milord ; " 
 and it was strange, for a self-made man, how the title de* 
 lighted him indeed, when addressed as " milord," he never 
 disputed the price of an article, nor found it too high, a fact 
 which was soon discovered. 
 
 He had made a magnificent collection, and had spent a 
 small fortune. He had not cared much for St. Philipo ; it 
 was not the style of place for him at all ; and when Lord 
 Ryvers came to the hotel he was delighted. There would 
 be some one to join himself and Oscar at the solitary bill- 
 iard-table. But the " artist " did not seem to appreciate the 
 honor and condescension. 
 
 44 Holds himself pretty high," he said to his son ; " but 
 then, no doubt, he is a genius. Many of those painters are, 
 I suppose." 
 
 And his son told him the story of the French King who 
 had picked up the brush a great painter had let fall, and the 
 rethed corn-factor looked somewhat doubtful. A king is & 
 king. Still, in spite of many rebuffs, he persisted in court 
 Ing the society of the supposed young artist. 
 
 u He might be such a help to us, Oscar," he said, " if he 
 would but speak out, I like him in spite of his high and 
 mighty fashion." 
 
 But Lord Ryvers never would speak ; when his opinion 
 was asked on works of art or pictures, he either avoided 
 the subject or gave a careless answer. The corn-factor 
 would glance ruefully from him to his son. 
 
 " If he would but speak out ! " he sighed. 
 
 There was no particular good feeling between the young 
 
*& THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 men. Lord Ryvers did not like Oscar, and the dislike was 
 returned with interest. The party would not have held to- 
 gether long but for the two ladies ; and they were excellent 
 friends. Violet really liked Mrs. Carstone, and was amused 
 and interested when with her ; and Mrs. Carstone had a 
 real affection for the young girl, whom her son called " a 
 jbeauty wasted." 
 
 The Carstone family caused many disagreements betweer 
 msband and wife. One afternoon, when they were all to 
 gether, Oscar said to Violet : 
 
 " How much you like orange-blossoms 1 I see you always 
 wear them." 
 
 " They are my favorite flowers," she said, " orange-bios- 
 sorns and Lenten lilies." 
 
 The next day Oscar, when he returned from some neigh- 
 boring city, brought with him a magnificent bouquet of 
 orange-blossoms, the largest, finest, and most fragrant it was 
 possible to find. Yiolet was charmed with it. She hast- 
 ened with it to her husband. 
 
 " Oh, Randolph, see 1 Look up, dear! See what beauti- 
 ful flowers that good Mr. Oscar Carstone has brought for 
 me!" 
 
 Perhaps for a very loving, slightly jealous young husband 
 jt vvas not the most pleasant thing in the world to see his 
 wife's young face brightening over the gift of another man. 
 Lord Ryvers, usually one of the sweetest-tempered men in 
 the world, frowned angrily. 
 
 " Did that snob bring you those flowers, Violet ? How 
 dared he take such a liberty ? " 
 
 " What did you call him, Randolph f " asked his wife. 
 " Never mind what I called him; I say it is a liberty, an<* 
 V T ou. ought not to have taken them." 
 
 He alwpys thought of his wife as Lady Ryvers of Ryvers 
 well, and expected people to treat her with the consider* 
 rttion due to her rank. He was apt to forget that that rank 
 was hidden from the eyes of every one else. 
 
 " The world must change for me," said Violet, " before 1 
 consider it a liberty for a gentleman to bring me flowers, or 
 before I should be so foolish as to refuse them." 
 
 " I would not core if the man were a gentleman," cried 
 Lord Ryvers. 
 
 " My dear Randolph," said his wife, " you forget that he 
 holds t- higher position than we do M 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 93 
 
 If she had struck him in the face, he could not have re* 
 coiled more. Again the hot, impatient blood of his race 
 rose to his brow ; again he controlled the angry words that 
 rose from his heart to his lips. 
 
 " You are not a competent judge," he said, slowly. 
 
 " I am." 
 
 Yiolet swept him a courtesy that would have done honoi 
 k> a grand duchess. Lord Ryvers went on, angrily : 
 
 " The man presumes to admire you, Violet ; and you 
 know it." 
 
 " You did the same thing, and you consider yourself a 
 good judge," laughed Violet. 
 
 " That is quite a different matter," replied Lord Ryvers, 
 hotly. " The admiration of a man of that class is an in- 
 sult." 
 
 " I do not think so," said Violet, calmly ; " and I do not 
 understand your constant allusion to 4 class. 7 " 
 
 Lord Ryvers turned away abruptly ; in another moment 
 he would have betrayed his carefully guarded secret. He 
 could not endure even half-angry words from the lips he 
 loved. He silently resolved that he would never argue 
 with her again ; but he would speak to that " young snob " 
 himself. Violet was so young, so simple, and had seen so 
 little of the world, that, even if he made love to her, sh^ 
 would not know it. 
 
 " This is the worst of my Quixotic idea," he said, tc 
 himself. " It brings me into contact with this kind of 
 people, and every instinct of my nature rises against 
 them." 
 
 He would not own to himself that he was jealous the 
 very idea was preposterous, Jealous of the son of a retired 
 corn-factor I Surely the ancient race of Ryvers would blush 
 for him. Certainly he was not jealous ; yet there was r 
 yery uncomfortable feeling in his heart, a very warm flusL 
 on his face, an angry light in his eye. 
 
 " I shall certainly put a stop to it," said Lord Ryvers to 
 himself. " If he had brought her any other flowers except 
 orange-blossoms, it would not have seemed so marked. It 
 is intolerable ! " 
 
 He was not jealous ; but he followed Oscar Carstone 
 with angry eyes. He waited his opportunity for speaking, 
 and, when they were in the billiard-room of the hotel, he 
 said abruptly i 
 
84 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 a One word with you, Mr. Oscar Carstone." 
 
 M Twenty, if you like, Mr. Artist," was the reply* 
 
 " I have a name, sir," said Lord Ryvers. 
 
 " And a profession ; probably the profession is the noblef 
 of the two," retorted Oscar, who was beginning to dislike 
 "ihe artist most cordially. 
 
 " I want one word with 3 7 ou," repeated Lord Ryvers, 
 soolly. " I object and that very strongly, to your present- 
 Big flowars to Mrs. Randolph." 
 
 " Why, may I ask ? " 
 
 " That is my affair : I object to it. Mrs. Randolph "~ 
 he could not bring himself to say " my wife," " is very 
 young, and is as simple as a child. I know the world my- 
 self, and object to floral flirtations." 
 
 " I heard Mrs. Randolph say that she liked orange- 
 blossoms, and, seeing some very fine ones, I brought them 
 to her. I see nothing but a common act of courtesy in 
 that," declared Oscar. 
 
 " We do not all see these matters in the same light," said 
 Lord Ryvers ; " and my wish is to be respected." 
 
 " If you choose to deprive your wife of such a simple lit- 
 fie pleasure, it does not affect me," sneered Oscar. " I am 
 only sorry that you find it needful." 
 
 Hot words and blows would have followed, but that some 
 ftt rangers came into the room. From that hour it was not 
 dislike, but hatred, that existed between the two. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " I SHOULD take no notice of it, Oscar," said Mrs. Car* 
 stone. u I have always thought he was jealous. Not that 
 fou have given him any cause. Most probably the young 
 man has never been in such society as ours, and does not 
 understand the little acts of courtesy so natural between 
 ladies and gentlemen. I myself have always thought the 
 custom of presenting flowers very harmless." 
 
 " He gives himself the airs of a grand duke ! " cried the 
 indignant Oscar. " The idea of saying he would not tol- 
 erate a floral flirtation ! If I had my own way But for 
 
 her sake I must be silent and say nothing." 
 
 " That will be best," replied his mother. " Young men 
 always quarrel where a pretty woman is concerned," 
 
THOMNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, m 
 
 a Mother," said Oscar, feelingly, " do not call Mrs. Ran- 
 dolph a pretty woman. It jars upon me." 
 
 " What is she, my dear ? " 
 
 " She is perfectly, superbly beautiful," he cried, with en- 
 thusiasm, " and far too good for that * 
 
 " Nay, Oscar say no more about him," interrupted Mrs, 
 Carstone. 
 
 " I will not, mother ; but, as sure as the sun shines above 
 us, I will repay him for his insolence ! " 
 
 And in the time to come he kept his word. 
 
 Meanwhile letters from England became more urgent 
 The Dowager Lady Ryvers, quite unconscious that she 
 %"as a dowager, wrote to her son continually. She. was 
 growing anxious concerning his absence. It was quite 
 unnatural that he should stay from home with such a 
 Brilliant career before him. She could not understand it ? 
 and she had confided to her married daughter, the Countess 
 of Lester, that she feared there was some entanglement. 
 But the Countess reassured her. Randolph was the 
 last person in the world to associate with anything of 
 that kind ; she said his devotion to art was his grand pres- 
 ervation. 
 
 " There is a silver lining to every cloud, mamma," said 
 the Countess. " It seems most deplorable that Randolph 
 should devote a life that ought to have been given to other 
 duties to painting. But after all, art purifies and exalts 
 those who love it. You need fear no entanglement for 
 him." 
 
 " Heaven grant that you are right my dear," said the 
 anxious mother. u Any disappointment with regard to 
 Randolph would be my death ; all my hopes are centered in 
 him." 
 
 " You will have none, mamma," the Countess of Lestei 
 assured her. 
 
 Still- Lady Ryvers looked anxious. 
 
 " Randolph has always had peculiar ideas," she said. 
 
 "True, mamma ; but they were always the ideas of a 
 gentleman. You know that to the very core of his heart 
 Randolph is a gentleman." 
 
 " I know it," said Lady Ryvers, gently. " Still I shall 
 be very pleased when he returns." 
 
 She wrote again and again ; but the letter that really 
 reused the young man from his dream was the one in whiefe 
 
m THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 she suggested that, if he had really found such charming 
 quarters that he could not leave them, the best thing would 
 be for her to visit him. Then he knew that he must take 
 active measures soon. 
 
 Lord fly vers was net quite happy ; there were shadows 
 in the eyes that had once been all light and love, lines on 
 the beautiful face whicL should not have appeared for many 
 fears yet. Life was not quite the dream of happiness that 
 He had hoped it would be. He had given up all the world 
 for love, but love had not paid him. He found himself in a 
 terrible dilemma. He dreaded telling his secret to Yiolet$ 
 whose ideas and opinions seemed to grow stronger every 
 day, and he dreaded giving his mother pain. 
 
 Still he was too loyal even to ask himself whether he had 
 done an unwise thing. If it were to be done over again, 
 with double the risk, double the difficulty , he would do it 
 for Yiolet was all the world to him. There was some doubt 
 in his mind as to how he should get through his difficulties { 
 but he was not troubled with regret. 
 
 He was thinking deeply, when Yiolet came into his studia 
 
 " Randolph," she said, " you are busy this morning ? " 
 
 " Never too busy to attend to you, my darling," he re* 
 plied. " What do you want ? " 
 
 " If you are engaged, and do not really wish me to sit 
 with you, I should like to go out with Mrs. Carstone." 
 
 " Where is she going ? " was the natural question. 
 
 " To visit some friends who have just taken one of those 
 beautiful villas on the hill," she replied. 
 
 i: English people ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; but I forget the name. I should like to go; Mrs. 
 Carston says they are such nice people." 
 
 The handsome face grew dark. 
 
 " It seems to me, Yiolet," he said, gently, " that you pay 
 jut little heed to my wishes. I have told you so often that 
 I do not wish for any English acquaintances." 
 
 " I think my feelings and inclinations are to be con* 
 sidered as well as yours," she replied. " I like English 
 people, and no other." 
 
 He looked perplexed ; then he crossed the room to 
 where she was standing. 
 
 " Let my wishes prevail in this instance, Violet," he 
 said, gently. " Believe me, I have good reasons. I do 
 not like the Carstones, and do not care to know their 
 
THORNS AND ORANQE-BLOSSOm. 09 
 
 triuAtis. Be your own sweet self, and please me by not 
 accoinpiiyiiig Mrs. Carstone this morning." 
 
 But she had still lingering in her ears Oscar's half* 
 laughing, half-taunting words when his mother gave her 
 the invitation. 
 
 u It is of no use, mother," he had cried, laughingly. 
 " Our friend the artist is quite a Bluebeard ; he will not 
 let her go." 
 
 fc Nonsense ! " Violet had rejoined, with some little 
 vexation. " Just as though I could not go where I 
 liked ! " 
 
 And now his words were verified. 
 
 " Randolph," she cried, angrily, " do you know that 
 you treat me very much like a child ? n 
 
 u You are a child, woman, and queen, all in one," he 
 said. 
 
 " Yet in none of those capacities can I pay a little visit 
 when I wish," she replied. 
 
 " Ah, my darling," he cried, w do not add to my per* 
 plexities ! Violet, I am in trouble." The handsome face 
 drooped over hers, and he laid his arms caressingly round 
 her shoulders. " I am in trouble, Violet." 
 
 Her fair face paled a little. 
 
 " Ah ! " she said. " You have been spending too much 
 money. I have been afraid of it." 
 
 He did not undeceive her. Better that she should 
 think it a money-trouble than know the reality just yet 
 above all, until he had decided what course to pur- 
 sue. She must not run the risk of meeting English 
 people. 
 
 " Of course," she said, gravely, " that alters everything. 
 Oh, Randolph, darling, I am so grieved 1 And I know 
 I am sure that you have run all this risk for my sake. It 
 is for me you have gone to all this expense. But, my 
 dear, my dear, you need not, you must not. Believe me } 
 I should be as happy with you in two little rooms as in 
 this grand hotel nay, happier ;. for, my darling Randolph, 
 this does not suit you, you have not been half so happy 
 lately. I have never heard you sing i June's palace paved 
 with gold ' since we have been here. You have done all 
 to please me, I know. How thoughtless and cruel I have 
 been not to have foreseen this ! " 
 
 Then he fetfled her more tightly in his arms, and kissed 
 7 
 
08 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 
 
 with passionate, vehement love, the beautiful face. It 
 was worth it all all the pain, the difficulty, the doubt- 
 to be loved so entirely for himself. Thank Heaven, he was 
 loved for himself not for his money, not for his rank, not 
 tor his title ! 
 
 She wondered a little at the passionate kisses that he 
 rained on her face. 
 
 " Why, Randolph," she said, " you are more of a lover 
 chan ever ! " 
 
 " And you, my darling, more worthy of being loved," he 
 replied. 
 
 " I will go back to Mrs. Carstone, and tell her that I 
 cannot go with her," she said ; and her face was more 
 radiant than if she had just heard that a large fortune had 
 been left to her. " Then, Randolph, we will talk about 
 ways and means. Let me work, dear, do I should be so 
 happy ! This life does not suit me or please me ; I want 
 more to do. I will not be long. Now, give me one smile 
 before I go; and and if I have been tiresome, do for- 
 give me, Randolph darling." 
 
 When he was alone, he wondered if she had given him 
 the greatest love of which she was capable. How radiant 
 her face was when he kissed her ! Was it possible that in 
 chat pure, noble soul there were depths he had not 
 reached ? He thought of her words in Paris " Love can 
 be made perfect only through suffering." There had been 
 no shadow over her love ; no suffering had come near her. 
 Ha had no thought of the future, of the intolerable anguish 
 that was to be his. He began to wonder, if Violet had 
 met Oscar Carstone first, whether she would have loved 
 ran, He wished that she had more opportunities, that 
 vihe had seen other men, that she had seen more of the 
 world. She seemed to have many ideas in common with 
 Jscar Carstone, far more than she had with him. Then he 
 uughed aloud at himself. 
 
 4 1 am jealous," he said "jealous of the simple, beauti- 
 ful Violet who has bloomed for my eyes alone." 
 
 He smiled to think that she should imagine he was 
 troubled over money matters. How simple and innocent 
 she was ! Ah ! Heaven, thank Heaven, he had won that 
 pearl above all price a woman who loved him for 
 self* and himself alone! 
 
ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.} 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 FOR some days after that little interview matters went 
 on more smoothly. Violet's affection for her husband was 
 quickened and roused* by the thought that he was in 
 trouble, and that the trouble was caused by his having 
 spent too much money on her. Her generous, noble na* 
 tu re warmed to him ; she cared more for him during the 
 next few days than she had ever done, and he was in the 
 seventh heaven of delight. One thing that puzzled him 
 just a little, although he did not give much thought to it, 
 was the strange attitude of the Carstone family toward 
 him ; there was a kind of subdued pity in their manner, 
 and once more Richard Carstone began to urge him to 
 accept commissions for pictures. He never dreamed that 
 Violet, in her absolute simplicity and ignorance of the 
 world, had frankly told them that her husband was 
 troubled about monejr. To her there was nothing to be 
 ashamed of in the fact. No one that she had known ever 
 had enough money ; it seemed to her the chronic state of 
 half the world. She had no idea, not even the faintest, 
 that all the virtue and talent in the world would not cover 
 the most fatal of all wants want of money. 
 
 "We must be careful," said Richard Carstone, whose 
 pockets were lined with gold. " After all, I am almost 
 glad that the man has kept aloof from us. If we had 
 been very intimate, he would have begun to borrow 
 money ; it is the first thing these improvident men do. I 
 should not be surprised, Mary, my dear, if he is staying 
 here because he cannot pay his hotel bill." 
 
 " I hope it is nothing quite so bad as that," said the 
 kindly wife. " If it is, I must do something to help the 
 girl, for I am really fond of her." 
 
 But a delicate litle investigation, carried on by Oscar > 
 proved just the contrary. There seemed to be" no lack 
 of ready money. The landlord told him, in strict con- 
 fidence, that the English artist was the best payer in the 
 hotel, that his donations to the servants and waiters and 
 his gifts to the poor showed that he had plenty of money 
 at command. 
 
 " It may be, mother," sakl Oscar, " that he has had 
 plenty until now, and that he foresees a shortness I 
 
XflO THORNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS, 
 
 have thought lately that he had something on his mind; 
 he looks so thoughtful, or rather so uneasy. I am quite 
 sure there is something wrong. Perhaps his pictures will 
 not sell." 
 
 " In that case you would imagine that he would be only 
 too pleased to accept your father's offer." 
 
 " I do not think so. He does not like any of us, and be 
 is jealous of me." 
 
 Lord Ryvers was thoughtful. More than once Oscar 
 Car stone had found him walking on the terrace, his 
 handsome brows knitted, his lips tightly drawn, a frown 
 on the open brow, and the shadow of deep thought in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Money," said the heir of Ingleshaw to himself 
 " money ! Nothing but want of money ever makes a man 
 look like that." And, although he was by no means ill- 
 natured, he was not altogether sorry that the man who 
 would persist in treating him as an inferior was in some 
 trouble. (l I would lend him a few hundreds myself," he 
 said, " without sa} r ing anything to my father, if he would 
 humble himself even ever so little, but never while he car- 
 ries himself like that." 
 
 Violet saw her husband pacing up and down the terrace ; 
 and the sight of his troubled face went to her heart. She 
 remembered how sanguine he had been, how he had lav 
 ished everything upon her, alwa} r s telling her that he 
 could afford it. She went up to him, and placed her arm 
 in his. 
 
 " Let us share the walk and the thoughts and the 
 trouble. You look worried, Randolph. Is it about money ? " 
 
 " Certainly money has to do with it," he replied, vaguely. 
 
 " Cheer up, Randolph 1 While we have youth, health, 
 and strength, it seems to me a sad thing to be troubled 
 about money. I would not be so troubled," she added, 
 with a bright laugh. " Wiry, Randolph, you need not be 
 down- hearted ! You know you carry your fortune in those 
 clever fingers of yours." And, with a quick, graceful 
 motion, she bent down and kissed his hands. 
 
 " You are the sweetest comforter in the world, Yiolet," 
 he said. His honest heart beat with delight, his honest 
 face cleared and brightened. 
 
 " When I talk to you about money, Randolph," she re- 
 marked, " you always begin to praise me." 
 
THORNS AND ORANQE-BLQ88Om Ml 
 
 u Because I think you the least mercenary, person in the 
 World," he replied; " and, just as I detWt thfetfctfliary, sol 
 love unmercenary, people." , , , 
 
 " I hope I shall always have enough to eat find to' clrhif%' 
 and a roof over my head, with just a few simple pleasures ; 
 beyond that I care but little," ^ r iolet declared. 
 
 He bent down and kissed the beautiful face; such a 
 grand, noble, generous soul shown out of those violet eyes, 
 
 " It is for that I love you so, my darling 1 '' he cried. 
 
 44 Randolph," she said, after a short pause, " I wish you 
 would be a little more worldly wise." 
 
 44 Do you? But I thought you did not care about 
 worldly people." 
 
 44 I do not ; but there is a proper kind of worldliness. 
 Now listen patiently ; promise me beforehand that you wilt 
 not be cross." 
 
 u I will not," he replied. 
 
 Still she hesitated, with a curious kind of hesitation. 
 
 44 I am half afraid," she said, with a little tremuloua 
 laugh ; and that admission made him very tender toward 
 her. " I do want you to be more worldly wise," she went 
 on, " I can see how you might make a great deal of 
 money." 
 
 44 Tell me how," he said. 
 
 " By being a little more amiable to the Carstones. They 
 are rich people oh, Randolph, they are so rich, and they 
 give such great sums of money for pictures ; and they like 
 us!" 
 
 44 Well," he said, for she had paused abruptly, " what 
 then, Violet?" 
 
 44 They like us," she repeated ; " and I am quite sure, 
 Randolph, if you would be just a little more agreeable to 
 Mr. Carstone, he would buy as many pictures as you could 
 paint. That would not be losing your independence ; he 
 would have far more than the value of his money." She 
 wondered at the amused smile that played round his lipa. 
 w You are not angry, Randolph?!' she said. 
 
 44 Not in the least," he replied. 
 
 44 And you promise to think about it ? " 
 
 44 1 promise," said Lord Ryvers. 
 
 44 Will you go further still, and promise to make an 
 effort to be more sociable with the Carstones f " she safaL 
 
 ** I will proiniae even that," lie replied. 
 
idfc TWJRN8 AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 
 
 <c Now I will test you/ 1 " she said. u Mrs. Carstone hae 
 been to 8e':ifee: tjlis morning, and we have both of us 
 both, mind, Randolpha great favor to ask from you." 
 : f\ ilo be vieallf gallant, I ought to say that it is granted, 
 but it "will i>e wiser to know what it is before doing so.'' 
 
 u Every year, on the feast of St. Philipo, there is a ball 
 given by well, I do not know what they are called here 
 but in England we call them the mayor a/id the corpora 
 tion. The ball is given for the visitors. They go to im 
 mense trouble and expense over it, and the visitors make & 
 point of going. Mrs. Carstoue wants to take me." 
 
 " And you ? " he said, gently. 
 
 " Oh, Randolph, I long to go ! I have never been to B 
 ball ; I should enjoy it so much." 
 
 He knew that to give his consent to her going to this 
 ball was the most imprudent thing he could do ; but he did 
 Hot know how to refuse her ; she had just been so kind and 
 loving to him. 
 
 u My dearest Violet," he said, " I would rather that you. 
 gave up the idea of going, unless you wish it greatly I 
 would much prefer your not going." 
 
 " Oh, Randolph, do you refuse ine, dear ? I have never 
 even seen a ball ; and they say this will be magnificent 
 such flowers, such lights! And I long to dance, just as a 
 caged bird longs to fly." 
 
 " Would it be such a great pleasure to you, my darling t* 
 be asked. 
 
 The beautiful face raised to his was very wistful. 
 
 " It would be the greatest possible pleasure," she aiv 
 ewered. 
 
 u But, Violet, darling, you cannot dance." 
 
 u I can learn," she cried, eagerly. " It comes quite 
 naturally to me to move to the measure of music." 
 < That I believe," he said. 
 
 " Mr. Oscar Carstone says he will teach me the steps, 
 and to waltz." 
 
 " Mr. Oscar Carstone will do nothing of the kind ! " her 
 husband cried, his face flushing. u I will teach you myself." 
 
 " Can you dance, Randolph ? " she asked, looking up at 
 him in laughing wonder. 
 
 He was about to answer that he had been considered one 
 Df the best waltzers in London, when he stopped abruptly 
 
 w I should not have thought you had had sufficient leis> 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 103 
 
 are in jour life to think of dancing. It seems so strange. 
 When will you teach me, Randolph ? " 
 
 " If you go, I will take you, and, if you wish to dance,! 
 will teach you," he replied. 
 
 She kissed him in a transport of delight ; and he was 
 touched at finding how she longed for a little pleasure. 
 
 " You shall go, Violet," he said, decisively. " I cannot 
 refuse 3 r ou. But you have no idea of the trouble of pre- 
 paring for a ball." 
 
 " Trouble ! " she repeated. " Why, Randolph, I should 
 call it unbounded pleasure." 
 
 " You must have a ball-dress," he said, looking at the 
 beautiful figure, with its graceful lines and curves. 
 
 Violet looked up at him shyly. 
 
 " I know you will not be willing, Randolph," she began, 
 with some hesitation ; " but Mrs. Carstone is going, and 
 she will wear white moire. She that is I you will not, 
 I know but she seemed so very anxious too that I 
 should have one like it." 
 
 " You mean," he said, " that she has dared offer to give 
 you a ball-dress ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but she did it so kindly ; and, do you know, Ran- 
 dolph, she seemed half frightened, as though she hardly 
 liked doing it." 
 
 " 1 am sure she meant kindly," he replied. " I hope you 
 have all the dresses and everything else you need, Violet. 
 Surely Mrs. Carstone has not imagined that you require a 
 dress? " 
 
 " I have too many dresses, rather than too few," she said. 
 
 " I will buy you a ball-dress, and you will like it all the 
 better because it is my choosing." 
 
 " You will not spend much money over it, Randolph f 
 Remember, it will be a grief to me not a pleasure if 
 7011 do that." 
 
 u I will not give one farthing more than I can afford," he 
 said. " I feel that I have committed an imprudence In 
 agreeing to let you go ; but how could I refuse you ? " 
 
 " I love such imprudence," she declared. " Aunt Alice 
 said our marriage was a cruel imprudence : but it has not 
 been less happy. The ball will be an imprudence, yet I 
 dare say we shall both enjoy it." 
 
 But, if she could have foreseen all that would spring 
 
104 THOENS AND OSANGE-BLOSSOm. 
 
 from the ball at the HOtel de Villd, she would not have 
 
 gone to it. 
 
 " I knew," said Oscar to Mrs. Carstone, " that he would 
 not let me give her a dancing-lesson. How delighted she 
 was when I suggested it ; and how I should have enjoyed 
 it ! I will take care of one thing no matter what he saya 
 or does, I shall dance with her 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Carstone felt slightly uncomfortable, 
 
 " You must remember, Oscar," she said, " that a good 
 wife is always obedient to her husband." 
 
 " That is all right," he returned, impatiently. " I do 
 not want to interfere between husband and wife ; but he 
 might be a little more amiable. Why not let her practice 
 dancing with me? It could not hurt him." 
 
 " No ; but perhaps it is as well to be careful, Oscar. You 
 are not the worst-looking man in the world, and she is but 
 a young girl." 
 
 He was just a little flattered; but his dislike for Lord 
 Rj^vers increased from that hour. More than once he said 
 to himself: 
 
 " Only let me have the chance, and I will pay him for 
 every slight and every insult he has given me." 
 
 The chance and the time for such payment were both 
 nearer than he thought, for strange events were about to 
 happen, and the cloud that had been no bigger than a 
 man's hand had grown and hung dark overhead* 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 VIOLET RANDOLPH was standing in her pretty sleeping- 
 room, where the green vine-leaves shaded the window, a 
 picture of pleased wonder and surprise. A handsome ball 
 dress la} r spread out before her. She said to herself that it 
 was a realized dream of what a ball-dress should be a 
 rich white silk, draped with the most exquisite lace, and 
 trimmed with lilies of the valley ; and with it lay every* 
 thing needful for a ball-room toilet, even down to the white 
 silk shoes, that might have been intended for Cinderella. 
 There was a superb fan, with lilies of the valley most ex- 
 quisitely worked on the white satin, a soft, warm sortie du 
 bal of rich satin, embroidered with lilies, a magnificent 
 bouquet of white lilies shrouded in their dark-green 
 and a spray of pearls, shaped like lilies, for the hair. 
 
TROSNS AND OBANGE-ELOSSOM& 10ft 
 
 Violet, as she looked at her treasures, thought more of 
 Sheir beauty than their cost. It was not in girl-nature to 
 keep the sight of these beautiful things to herself. She 
 *reno to Mrs. Carstone, and found that lady in a state of 
 subdued ecstacy, because her milliner had made a train of 
 rich ruby velvet for her dress of white brocade. 
 
 u Will you come and look at my ball-dress ? " Violet said, 
 after she had duly admired her friend's. " I should like to 
 hnow if it is suitable. I have had no experience." 
 
 As the stately lady sailed along the corridors, she re- 
 solved to be very kind and condescending. She must 
 praise the dress, no matter what it looked like that was 
 imperative No doubt it was some cheap pretty costume 
 that Mrs. Randolph had bought. Bu f , all her condescen* 
 sion vanished in a mist of wonder wheo sh# saw Violet's 
 magnificent toilet. 
 
 " It is exquisite ! " she cried, with upraised hands " per 
 fectly exquisite ! You must let Barton, iny maid, dress 
 you. Then she examined the lace. " Why, this is real 1 " 
 she cried. " This is real lace, Mrs. Randolph I " 
 
 " Is it ? " asked Violet, serenely, without the least idea of 
 the value of real lace. 
 
 Then Mrs. Carstone looked fixedly at the beautiftii, 
 queenly girl before her. 
 
 u My dear," she inquired, in a strange tone of voioe t 
 * what is your husband ? " 
 
 "My husband!" echoed Violet, in a tone of wonder at 
 the question. " He is an artist, you know, Mrs. Carstone." 
 
 " He must be a very successful artist to give you a toilet 
 of this description." 
 
 " He is successful," said Violet, proudly. " How can he 
 be otherwise with his talent ? " 
 
 u He must make a great deal of money to purchase such 
 things as these; and I pray do not think me rude, my 
 dear I understood you to say that he had some little trouble 
 about money. Do you know the cost of this really mag- 
 nificent present ? w 
 
 "No/ laughed Violet; "I have never bought such 
 things." 
 
 u Including the lace, which is real, and the pearls, which 
 are very line ones, your husband could not have paid leg* 
 than two hundred pounds for it," said Mrs. Carstone. u I 
 
106 THORNS AND OR A KG E- BLOSSOMS. 
 
 fcave a lace flounce, not so fim as this, which cost rne ove* 
 eighty guineas." 
 
 " Two hundred pounds I' 7 cried Violet, aghast, "It 
 surely cannot be ! " 
 
 " 1 should think it was more, if anything," replied Mrs 
 Carstone, 
 
 " Do excuse me for one minute," Yiolei, exclaimed, hast 
 ily. " I will not have it, Randolph must send it back 
 again." 
 
 Then she flew, rather than walked, to her husband^ 
 studio. 
 
 u Randolph,'' she cried, " Mrs. Carstone says the things 
 you have purchased for me have cost two hundred pounds ? 
 Is it true ? " 
 
 u Xo," he replied ; " they were within that sum." 
 
 " I am so glad," she said, her face brightening. u They 
 are so beautiful, and I should like to keep them -, but I 
 would not if tLuyy cost that sum." 
 
 u Yiolet, never mind Mrs. Carstone ; trust me. We art- 
 ists have opportunities of purchase known only to our- 
 selves. Wear your pretty dress, my dear, and rest assured 
 that I have not in the least exceeded my means." 
 
 She was comforted, and hastened back to Mrs. Carstone 
 
 " It is all right," she said to that astonished lady ; "Mr. 
 Randolph says I need not be in the least uneasy about it." 
 
 " Of course, my dear, he knows his business best," said 
 Mrs. Carstone. " The dress is fit for a duchess, and you 
 will look magnificent in it ; but you must never talk about 
 your husband having a money trouble again never." 
 
 " I will not," replied Yiolet, simply. 
 
 No more was said ; but Mrs. Carstone did not feel quite 
 satisfied. There was some mystery, she felt sure ; and she 
 could not rest until she told her husband. 
 
 " I cannot say that I am surprised, Maiy," he remarked, 
 after listening attentively to his wife's disclosures. " I 
 have alwa} 7 s thought there was something mysterious 
 about Mr. Randolph. She is open and frank enough ; but 
 1 have never understood him," 
 
 " What can be wrong with them ? " asked Mrs. Car- 
 stone. 
 
 Ht I should not like to offer an opinion, my dear," replied 
 her husband" in fact, I could not guess ; but I am quite 
 tb,ere> is sometiiiag &miss ? even if we n^yer find it out. 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-fiLOSSOMS. 10* 
 
 f should not trouble about it, Mary ; they are respectable, 
 and he is an artist a clever one, no doubt. I quite agree 
 with Oscar if you can get Mrs. Randolph to visit you ill 
 London, your position will be made." 
 
 4 I felt, when I saw her, that she was to bring good luck 
 to me," said Mrs. Carstone ; " but I should like to know 
 what this mystery is." 
 
 u You may depend upon one thing," remarked Mr. Car- 
 stone u Mrs. Randolph will be the belle of the ball ; and, 
 *vhen she has been seen, we shall have all the grandees in 
 the neighborhood inviting her. If you play your cards 
 well we shall be invited too, Mary." 
 
 " It seems a strange thing that a beautiful face can gain 
 admittance where money cannot," said Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " The world is full of strange things, my dear," rejoined 
 the retired corn-factor. " I think myself that a beautiful 
 woman is far more to be admired even than a moneyed 
 man." 
 
 And then Mrs. Carstone forgot her doubts, fears, sus- 
 picions, and everything else, in her great anxiety about the 
 ball 
 
 No one dreamed that that night would bring about a 
 crisis in many lives. 
 
 The H6tel de Yillfe was brilliantly illuminated. It was a 
 grand building, with fine old carvings and arched windows 
 a noble specimen of architecture ; there was an excellent 
 band, the flowers were magnificent indeed, the scene alto 
 gether was one of great brilliancy and animation. 
 
 The guests were numerous and select. By far the most 
 beautiful woman present was Violet Randolph. As she 
 stood under the great chandelier, the light falling full on 
 her goiaen hair, with its spray of pearls, on the beautiful 
 face, with its dainty flush, on the exquisite figure, with its 
 graceful floating draperies, she made as fair a picture as 
 could well be imagined. 
 
 Of course she was the queen and the belle ; admiring eyes 
 followed her ; a little crowd of worshipers gathered round 
 her. She was overwhelmed with entreaties for a dance } 
 feut as she knew nothing except the waltz, she was com- 
 pelled to refuse many invitations. 
 
 " Violet," whispered her husband, u etiquette or not, ] 
 shall Lave the first dance with you. It is your first 
 your first waltz, and it must be with me." 
 
108 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 
 
 She complied laughingly. 
 
 Oscar, on seeing this* and hearing such warm praise of 
 the beautiful pair, was disgusted. He relieved himself in 
 some measure by opening his mind to his mother. 
 
 " This shows," he said, " that I have been right in my es 
 timation of the man ; lie is no gentleman. Would a gentle 
 man monopolize his own wife ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Mrs. Carstone. 4k But, Oscar, ] 
 hear that there are some distinguished English people hera 
 Is it true?" 
 
 u I heard something of the same kind ; but I was too 
 Yexed to listen," he replied. 
 
 44 Never mind Mrs. Randolph now," said his mother : 
 44 discover who these people are. Mind, Oscar if they ar* 
 worth knowing, be sure and get some introductions." 
 
 He returned after a few minutes, looking somewhat ex 
 cited and interested. 
 
 4fc A good old English family," he said in ' a low voice 
 44 the Forest-Hays. Lady Forest-Hay will be pleased to 
 know you ; they are staying at the * Lion d'Or.' I wish w* 
 had gone there, instead of to the English hotel." 
 
 44 What and who are the Forest-Hays ? I have nevei 
 heard of them," said Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 44 Every one knows them," replied Oscar, in a tone of 
 surprise. " Lord Forest-Hay is one of the Tory leaders. 
 It seems that St. Philipo is there favorite place of resort in 
 the autumn. I like the son Hubert ; I have been talking 
 to him." 
 
 " Can we introduce the Randolphs ? " asked Mrs. Car 
 stone, anxiously. 
 
 " I should not just at first," was the cautious reply 
 44 Mrs. Randolph, of course, one would be proud to present , 
 but her husband is so queer, he would do us no credit." 
 
 Presently an introduction took place between Lady For 
 est-Hay and Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 Hubert, the son and heir, who had already made a name 
 for himself in Parliament, seemed interested, and talked for 
 some time about the ball. 
 
 " My mother likes St. Philipo," he said ; u she spends a 
 month or two here every year. My father does not care 
 about it ; he and I generally go further south. There are 
 gome pretty girls here; but who is that golden-haired girl 
 to white silk?" 
 
THOENS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 109 
 
 a That is Mrs. Randolph," replied Oscar, " an English 
 lady staying at the English hotel." 
 
 * I do not think I have ever seen a more beautiful 
 woman," declared the young man. 
 
 And then Oscar Carstone felt anxious to have the honor 
 of introducing this perfectly beautiful woman to his new 
 acquaintance. 
 
 u The Randolphs are great friends of ours," he said, eag- 
 erly ; " we are staying at the same hotel. I shall be very 
 pleased to introduce you, if you like." 
 
 " And I shall be delighted to have the opportunity of 
 making the acquaintance of such a peerless woman," said 
 his companion. " 1 am fortunate ; I shall find quite a pleas- 
 ant circle here. If my expectations are realized, I shall re- 
 main for some time in St. Philipo. I saw an old college 
 chum of mine as we passed through the rooms ; he did not 
 see me, and I had not time to stop and speak to him." 
 
 " An Englishman ? " asked Oscar, anxiously. 
 
 "Yes and a very famous Englishman, too Lord Ryvers 
 of Ryverswell." 
 
 u Is he here, do you say ? " asked Oscar. 
 
 " I saw him in one of the reception-rooms," replied Hu- 
 bert Forest-Hay. 
 
 " It is strange that I have not heard the name," said Os 
 car, " I thought I knew all the English people in St. Phil- 
 ipo. Where is he staying ? " 
 
 u I do not know. He was with me at Oxford. I know 
 him well, and like him much." 
 
 " I should like to see him," said Oscar. 
 
 His companion glanced round the room. 
 
 " He is not here; but I am sure to see him again. I will 
 introduce 3^011, if you wish. Ryverswell is, to my thinking, 
 one of the finest places in England. That Mrs. Randolph is 
 a beautiful woman. What is the husband like ? " 
 
 " He is not to be compared with her, not for a moment , 
 he is an artist and a snob." 
 
 " Yet the husband of such a grand creature as that I " 
 
 ^ Yes. I cannot tolerate him; but I admire his wife 
 None of us like him." 
 
 " Is he here ? " asked Hubert Forest-Hay. 
 
 " Yes ; he brought her. He would not let her come with 
 us. JM/y mother, who is good nature itself, wanted to chap- 
 her- He positively danced the first waltz with her*" 
 
AND 
 
 Tne young politician laughed 
 
 " Ah," he said, suddenly, and Lis face brightened, " 
 is my old friend Lord Ryvers/* 
 
 " Where ? " asked Oscar. 
 
 " That tall, handsome man leaning against the white 
 statue." 
 
 Oscar Carstone looked at him with a strange expression 
 almost of terror, on his face. 
 
 " Do you mean the man with the flower in his coat ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied his companion " that is Lord Ry vers.*' 
 
 " That Lord Ry vers ? Why, he calls himself 4 Mr. Ran 
 dolph ' ! He is the husband of the golden-haired girl, and 
 he lives at the English hotel with us 1 " 
 
 And for some moments the two stood looking at each 
 other in silent wonder. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 " You must surely be mistaken ! " cried Hubert Forest- 
 flay. u You must be dreaming. I assure you that that 
 gentleman is Randolph, Lord Ryvers of Ryverswell, of 
 Mount Avon in Hampshire, of Avon Villa in the Isle of 
 Wight, of Glenfair in Scotland, and Avon House, May fair. 
 You see, I know his titles and possessions by heart. His 
 father has been dead many years, and he has succeeded to a 
 vast fortune, the savings of a long minority. His mother, 
 Lady Ryvers, is well, I should certainly say, one of the 
 proudest women in England. He has two sisters ; one lives 
 with Lady Ryvers, the other is a great leader of fashion 
 the Countess of Lester. You see, that I cannot be mis- 
 taken in his identity." 
 
 Still Oscar Carstone looked at him with vague, wonder* 
 ing eyes. 
 
 44 And I know him as * Mr. Randolph,' a clever but by 
 no means well-known artist. He has been staying with Mrs. 
 Randolph at the English hotel for some weeks. There must 
 be some mistake. His wife told my mother some few days 
 iince that he was in some trouble concerning money." 
 
 Here Hubert Forest-Hay laughed aloud. 
 
 " Money troubles ! Wh m y, Lord Ryvers is one of the rich* 
 est men in England. If he has any trouble with regard to 
 money, it is that he has so much, he does not know whattf 
 do with it-." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. Hi 
 
 Are you quite sure that is Lord Ry vers ? " asked Oscar 
 
 " I am as sure of his identity as I ain of my own," replied 
 Hubert Forest-Hay. 
 
 " Who is the lady ? " Oscar Carstone asked suddenly, " If 
 you know Lord Ryvers so well, you must know his wife." 
 
 But Hubert Forest-Hay shook his head gravely. 
 
 " I assure you I have never seen her before ; and, now 
 that I reflect, I never heard that Lord Ryvers was married 
 I remember hearing that he was struck with the last new 
 beauty, Gwendoline Marr, Lord Marr's daughter." 
 
 " Was this lady Miss Marr ? " asked Oscar. 
 
 " No. Gwendoline Marr is one of the most beautifttl 
 women in London, but a brunette a perfect brunette. I 
 met Lady Ryvers last week I was with her for half an hour 
 and she said nothing about her son being married not 
 one word ; and I think, knowing that he was an old chum 
 of mine, she would have told me." 
 
 Again the two men looked blankly at each other. 
 
 " I am sorry I came," said Hubert Forest-Ha}^ slowly ; 
 ** I am sorry I have seen him. There is no mistake about 
 it. The man I know to be Lord Ryvers you know as Mr 
 Randolph." 
 
 " There is no particular harm in any gentleman laying 
 aside his title if he chooses," said Oscar. 
 
 " No, there is no harm in that," was the answer " none 
 whatever." 
 
 Both young men were silent ; their eyes were fixed on the 
 beautiful face shining under the light of the great chandelier 
 
 " Is it a private marriage, should you think ? " Oscar 
 said, in a low voice. 
 
 " Only Heaven knows," replied his companion ; u I cannot 
 say. It is no business of mine. I wish I had not come." 
 
 Oscar Carstone bent down and whispered a few words hi 
 his ear. Hubert Forest-Hay looked up with a horrified face 
 
 " I am almost afraid you are right," he said. " Yet Ran< 
 dolph Ryvers was one of the most honorable and loyal of 
 men. He can never have fallen so low." 
 
 Again Oscar Carstone whispered to his companion, who 
 answered : 
 
 " I am afraid it is so ; it looks like it. You say that he 
 avoids all English people ? " 
 
 " That he certainly does," was the answer. " But, if it lx 
 as we surmise, I am sure that girl has been foully, cruelty 
 
lit TBOSNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 
 
 deceived I " His face flushed and his eyes flashed fire. u Do 
 you know," he added, fiercely, " it seems a strange thing to 
 say, but, if it be true, and she is free, I would make her my 
 wife to-morrow ! You do not understand that ? " 
 
 " I do not understand what I consider perfect madness,' 1 
 said Hubert Forest-Hay, coldly. 
 
 " If I thought it true my suspicions true," cried Oscar 
 * " I would shoot him j-ust as I would shoot a dog ! " 
 
 " My good friend, if you were to shoot every man who 
 does a wrong of that kind, you would leave the world half 
 empty." 
 
 u But look at her 1 She is lovely and proud, imperial 
 and gracious. Would any one dare wrong a woman like 
 that ? " 
 
 " It is quite possible that there may have been no 
 wrong," said Hubert Forest-Hay. " We have no right to 
 judge by appearances, although I confess that in this case 
 the appearances are black enough. Had you no suspicion 
 that he was masquerading ? It seems to me that any one 
 could tell Lord Ry vers mixed in the highest circles." 
 
 Oscar looked slightly crestfallen. He did not wish hir 
 newly made friend to think that he was deficient, or could 
 not recognize a gentleman by birth when he saw one. 
 
 " To tell you the truth," he said, " I have been very much 
 puzzled. I never thought he was what he represented him- 
 self to be ; but I must also own that I never guessed him 
 to be what he is. Why, he has worked as hard as a pro- 
 fessional man 1 He has a studio in the hotel, which he has 
 had fitted up at his own expense." 
 
 u He was always fond of painting. I remember now 
 hearing that he had gone on a sketching-tour ; but that was 
 more than a year ago. Do you know anything of the girl's 
 antecedents what* her name was, or where she came from?" 
 
 " Not one word," replied Oscar. " She is not reticent 
 either ; but it so happens that I have never heard her speak 
 of herself at all. I can answer for one thing that she is 
 an an.arel. My mother loves her." 
 
 * He introduced her to your mother then ? " said his 
 companion. " It must be all right." 
 
 " The introduction came about accidentally. The thing 
 that has annoyed me always is that he never seems to think 
 my mother or any of the rest of us good enough acquaint? 
 ances for her." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 113 
 
 M That seems more hopeful, I think," said Hubert Forest- 
 Hay. " Lord Ryvers is a man of the strictest honor." 
 
 " What shall we do ? " demanded Oscar, breathlessly. 
 
 " Do nothing. The safest rule is to leave other peopled 
 affairs entirely alone." 
 
 " But it cannot go on ! " cried the other. 
 
 t: What right have we to interfere ? " said Hubert-Forest 
 Hay. 
 
 v The right of the strong to protect the weak," replied 
 Oscar. 
 
 " But you do not know that the lady is weak. Remem- 
 ber, this is all supposition. Even if your worst suspicions 
 were verified, what could you do ? It is no business of 
 yours ; nor can you by any possibility make it so." 
 
 "It ought to be the business of every honest man to 
 right a wrong when the opportunity occurs for doing so," 
 declared Oscar. 
 
 " Very good in theory, but in practice difficult of accom- 
 plishment," rejoined his companion. " You must remem- 
 ber another thing and let it make you cautious. Suppose 
 you interfere in the matter, and then find out that you have 
 made a foolish mistake, and that that golden-haired girl is 
 Lady Ryvers. It would be awkward, to say the least of it. 
 Take my advice, and say nothing at all." 
 
 " But that seems cowardly," remarked Oscar. 
 
 " I am incapable of counseling cowardice, as I am of ad- 
 vising useless, idle, and vain interference," said Hubert 
 Forest-Hay, calmly. " You see, we have come across a 
 certain fact that is incomprehensible. It may hide a wrong? 
 or a mystery. In either case, it has npthing to do with 
 us. I tell you', candidly, my feeling in the matter is a very 
 strong one. I have nothing to do with the private life of 
 in old college friend. If I had had even the faintest idea 
 of anything unusual, I should not have mentioned Lord 
 Ryrers' name. I shall keep the whole affair a profound 
 secret, and I should advise you to do the same." 
 
 But Oscar was almost too excited to understand. 
 
 " I shall not remain here now," said Hubert Forest-Hay. 
 " A friend of mine has been urging me to go with him to 
 Sicily, and I shall accept the invitation, starting to-morrow, 
 I should not like any unpleasant complication to arise 
 through me." 
 
 " That is carrying chivalrv too far," said Oscar. 
 & 
 
114 THORNS AND OHANGE-BLOSSOM& 
 
 *' I do not think so. I know his family ; I know Lad 
 Ryvers and the Countess of Lester well ; and, because \ 
 know them, I am anxious to know no more of his affair* 
 than I can help." 
 
 " Then, if the marriage is legal, the lady we have been 
 calling Mrs. Randolph is Lady Ryvers ? " 
 
 " Certainly she is ; and all that I have to say upon the 
 matter is this, that when he takes Lady Ryvers to Eng* 
 land, he will remember the day. Now you take my counsel 
 and say nothing. I shall go back to the ' Lion d'Or '; I 
 should not care to meet him. My family do not know 
 him. 7 ' 
 
 " I am sorry you are going," said Oscar. 
 
 4 Walk with me as far as the hotel," said Hubert Forest- 
 Hay, who by this time bitterly repented what he had said. 
 
 He was one of those men who would sooner do a good 
 turn than a bad one. In his heart he had a great liking for 
 Lord Ryvers, and would not have done him any harm. He 
 had spoken without thinking ; it had never occurred to him 
 that his old friend was living under any disguise. 
 
 As they walked through the quiet streets, the moon 
 shining brightly and throwing quaint graceful shadows on 
 the white roads, Hubert Forest-Hay turned to his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " It is a strong case against Lord Ryvers, I must admit," 
 he said ; " but he was always the very soul of honor. I can 
 remember some cases in which he was chivalrous, I may 
 even say Quixotic. It will be far more prudent for you to 
 say nothing of what you have discovered or what you 
 suspect." 
 
 " If there has been anything wrong or underhand, he 
 deserves to be shot, even though he were the descendant of 
 a hundred earls I " declared Oscar, hotly. " She is the 
 most beautiful, just as she is the most simple and innocent 
 of girls." 
 
 " We will try to think there is nothing wrong," said his 
 companion ; but I wish with all my heart I had never seen 
 this place, or, at least, had never seen my old friend in it. 
 Good night, Mr. Carstone, and pray remember that in this 
 instance, as in every other, discretion is the better part of 
 valor, or, if I may quote a little proverb, 4 Speech is silver. 
 tot silence is gold.' " 
 
THOHNS AND QRANQ&BLOSSQm, 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 OSCAR CAESTONE returned to the ballroom. He could 
 hardly realize even now all that had happened. He was not 
 like his father, " a dear lover of a lord," but he had a cer- 
 tain amount of respect for the nobility. He felt half be- 
 wildered when he remembered how he had disliked the man, 
 iiow he had treated him with something like contempt, as 
 being of decided social inferiority and, after all, he was 
 ihe wealthy Lord Ryvers of Ryverswell. All that had ap- 
 peared a mystery was clear to him now the fees to serv- 
 ants, the free expenditure of money ; all that had seemed 
 strange to him in an artist was now easily understood in a 
 wealthy nobleman. 
 
 " How astounded my mother and father would be if they 
 knew it ! " he thought. 
 
 He could not even form an idea as to why Lord Ryvers 
 should be living there under an assumed name, his marriage 
 a secret from the whole world. It was a weighty secret for 
 him to hold, and for some time he held it well. He went 
 back to the ballroom ; but he did not seek Mrs. Randolph 
 now ; he was content to watch her from the other end of 
 the room, and watch her in wonder. 
 
 If she had been in any way deceived, if her marriage 
 were not legal, then Lord Ryvers was certainly the great* 
 est villain under the sun. But, looking at the girl's queenly 
 face, his doubts and suspicions in some measure died. No 
 one would dare deceive her. She was too beautiful, toe 
 queenly. But, yet, if the marriage had been a perfectly 
 lawful marriage, why was he lying here under a false 
 name ? Why was he so desirous of keeping everything 
 from observation ? Why not meet his friends? Why not 
 tell his family of his marriage ? 
 
 Lord Ryvers, who knew nothing of what had passed, 
 teased his wife on the defection of her admirer. 
 
 " My frowns are as successful as your smiles," he said. 
 " Your smiles attract, my frowns repel." 
 
 " I do not see why you wish to repel Mr. Carstone," she 
 returned , gravely. " You must remember what you 
 promised me." 
 
 " If he would always keep his distance as he has doiut 
 to-night, I should not find him so objectionable. w 
 
116 THORNS AND QRANGE-BLOSSOfflL 
 
 But Violet would not listen. He had promised to be 
 courteous and civil to the Carstones* She would not let 
 him laugh at them. 
 
 " Madame looks magnificent to-night," said Lord Ryv- 
 ers. " The ruby velvet train is a really artistic touch* 
 Violet." 
 
 " She is a kind, good woman, Randolph, and she looks 
 nice because she is good. You shall not laugh at her ! ' 
 cried Violet. 
 
 " That is a new idea of the fashion-books," he said. 
 " But I am not laughing. Who would laugh at such a 
 gorgeous dame ? I cannot quite understand your friend 
 to-night ; he seems to avoid me," he went on. " He looks 
 strangely at me, and his manner is different. But why need 
 I trouble myself about him ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed ! " laughed Violet. " I was just think* 
 ing so." 
 
 u Have you nearly had enough of this, Violet? " he 
 asked. " I shall be glad when it is time to go." 
 
 " Not yet," she cried, with such fervor that he was 
 amused " not yet, I am so happy, and I have so many 
 partners." 
 
 " Be happy then, my darling," he said, " Enjoy your* 
 self in your own bright fashion." 
 
 An hour later Lord Ryvers found himself near Mrs, 
 Carstone, to whom also the evening had been a delightful 
 one. She was vigorously using her fan, and looked up at 
 him as he passed. 
 
 " I have had a very pleasant time, Mr. Randolph," she 
 said. 4 * I have met some realty nice people." 
 
 But Lord Ryvers was not sufficiently interested to ask 
 who the people were ; so that, for some time at least, he 
 did not know the discoverer of his secret. 
 
 " How much your wife has been admired ! " Mrs. Car* 
 stone continued. 
 
 " Not half so much as she deserves to be," he replied, 
 laughingly. 
 
 And Mrs. Carstone thought to herself, " There is a great 
 deal of good, after all, in the young man." 
 
 Violet looked fresh as the morning breaking in the skies 
 when they returned to their hotel. 
 
 Richard Carstone had been very much impressed by the 
 ball : h<* had had a glimpse of a new world, and he had 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 111 
 
 found that there were many things money could never 
 purchase. 
 
 Mrs, Carstone had enjoyed herself supremely; she had 
 talked to Lady Forest-Hay, and had been introduced to 
 several ladies whom she had long desired to know. But 
 Oscar was strangely silent. He hardly spoke in answer 
 to any remarks that were made to him. His silence con- 
 tinued until the next day at noon. He had a desperate 
 struggle with himself. He felt that the proper and manly 
 thing to do was to keep silence with regard to a secret 
 of which he had accidentally gained possession. Then 
 he pictured to himself his mother's wonder and his father's 
 consternation were he to reveal what he knew ; and finally 
 he decided to tell his mother, come what might, and she 
 might please herself as to what use she would make of her 
 knowledge. 
 
 It so happened that Mrs. Carstone quite inadvertently 
 led up to the subject. 
 
 " Oscar," she said, when she found herself alone with 
 her son for a few moments, " you seem very absent this 
 morning ; and you were very strange last evening. Will 
 you tell me what is wrong ? " 
 
 " I was just on the point of confiding in you," he an* 
 swered. " The fact is, I have discovered a secret." 
 
 He uttered the last word in such a portentous and in> 
 portant tone that Mrs. Carstone turned pale. 
 
 " A secret I " she cried. " Oh, my dear, Oscar, what 
 is it ? " 
 
 " Hush, mother ! Remember, walls have ears," he 
 said ; " and no one must hear one syllable of what I have 
 to say." 
 
 " My dear boy, what can be the matter ? " Mrs. Car- 
 stone asked, in some alarm. 
 
 " Come out on the terrace with me," he said ; " no one 
 will overhear us there." 
 
 Mother and son went out together. Mrs. Carstone laid 
 her hand on her son's arm as they walked slowly up and 
 down, for Oscar appeared in no haste to impart his news. 
 
 14 I have discovered a secret," he said, at length, " and 
 one that seems to me of great importance. I was advised 
 not to mention the subject ; but I must tell you." 
 
 " You are quite right, Oscar," his mother declared, de- 
 " You may rely upon my prudence. I always 
 
118 THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS, 
 
 say to your dear father that women are the safest confi- 
 dantes, after all. What is your secret ? " 
 
 " I hardly know how to tell you," he replied. " I 
 ha re never been so surprised in all my life. You know 
 that we have none of us liked Mr. Randolph, as he calls 
 himself. We thought he gave himself great airs ancf 
 graces." 
 
 u So he does," agreed Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " Who in the world do you think he turns out to be, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Himself, I should say," she replied. " My dear Oscar, 
 who else could he be ? " 
 
 " Mother, you will be astonished. He is no artist at 
 least, he is not a professional artist ; he is Lord Ry vers of 
 Ryverswell, one of the richest men in England" 
 
 " Lord Ryvers ! " she gasped. " Lord Ry vers ! And we 
 have been so uncivil to him I Oh, Oscar, what shall we do, 
 what shall we do ? " 
 
 " I am not concerned with regard to ourselves, mother," 
 he replied. u It is this which troubles me if he is Lord 
 Ryvers, who is the beautiful girl he calls Mrs. Randolph ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear," cried Mrs. Carstone, piteously, " what 
 can you mean ? Surely no harm to bright, beautiful Violet 
 -surely none to her ! " 
 
 " I do not know. I hope not, mother. But I want to 
 know what you think about it. The whole matter has to 
 me a very awkward look. This main is realty Lord Ryvers 
 of Ryverswell. He has several fine estates, is reputed to 
 be enormously rich, and holds a very high position. Now, 
 why should he be living here under an assumed name ? 
 When people take a false name, it is because they want to 
 deceive some one. The question is, whom does he wish to 
 deceive or mislead ? " 
 
 " My dear Oscar, how clever you are ! " cried the per- 
 turbed lady. " How well you argue the point ! " 
 
 " The only person I can see he deceives is bright, beau- 
 tiful Violet, as you call her, mother. It is quite evident 
 that she is ignorant of all these things. She does not 
 knows his name, his rank, or anything about him. She 
 believes him to be an artist working hard for his living. 
 The question is, why has he deceived her ? And I fear there 
 can be but one answer." 
 
 " What an awful thing 1 " cried the kind-hearted woman 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 119 
 
 " 1 have always heard that young noblemen are very fool- 
 ish and willful ; but, Oscar, he seems such a good man 1 " 
 
 " Seeming and being are different things, mother," r* 
 plied Oscar, sententiously. " What is your own opinion f 
 If everything be quite right and straightforward, what 
 n-eed of disguise ? " 
 
 " Very true. Oh, Oscar, what a lawyer you would have 
 made 1 " 
 
 " Never mind me, mother ; I want you to think of this 
 girl, not of me. If she has been cruelly deceived, as it 
 seems to me she must have been, is it not our duty to 
 open her eyes ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Car stone looked very grave. 
 
 "Do you think it does any good to try to open people's 
 eyes ? " she said. " I am not very wise, my dear, or very 
 clever ; but I have learned one thing from experience, and 
 it is not to interfere with other people's affairs." 
 
 " That is right enough in the abstract, mother ; but 
 this is a peculiar case. What would you^think if Mrs. 
 Randolph, as we have learned to call her, were a daughter 
 of your own ? You must do to her what you would wish 
 any Christian, under similar circumstances, to do to a 
 daughter of yours. My firm belief is that the marriage, 
 even granting that there has been one, is illegal, and that 
 he knows it. If it be so, it is our duty, mother, to rescue 
 the girl ; it is indeed." 
 
 " How can we rescue her ? " asked Mrs. Carstone 
 
 a j )? 
 
 ' You must do it, mother," he cried, vehemently. 
 " How can we sit by in silence while we see such deceit 
 practiced upon a helpless girl ? " 
 
 " But, Oscar, perhaps she knows ; perhaps they have 
 some reason for concealing their rank and position which 
 they do not choose to make known. I thought fashionable 
 people great people,! mean often traveled under another 
 name, so as to avoid all fuss and ceremony." 
 
 " Royalty does that. It is hardly probable that an 
 English lord would give himself the trouble. In fact, 
 mother, be as charitable as I may, I find no other solution 
 of the difficulty but this that Lord Ry vers has chosen to 
 hide his name and rank purposely to deceive that beautiful 
 girl. If such be the case, it is right that the fraud should 
 be exposed Your own reason, your own sense, must tell 
 
120 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 you so, mother. We could not let any one go straight to 
 ruin in that fashion without trying at least to save them, 
 ould we ? " 
 
 " Let us tell your father, Oscar, and see what he says,* 1 
 said Mrs. Cars tone. "I do not remember ever feeling so 
 utterly bewildered in my life before." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " TELL her ? " cried Richard Carstone. ** Why, most 
 certainly she ought to know ! She must know 1 My 
 dear," he continued, turning suddenly to his wife, " you are 
 the person to do it. Women understand women best. You 
 must manage it. I could not as an Englishman stand by 
 silently while so cruel a wrong was perpetrated. The girl 
 may be motherless, she may be friendless ; it is our duty to 
 interfere.' 7 
 
 And, when Richard Carstone once became convinced that 
 to do a thing was his duty, he did it. 
 
 " I dread to undertake such a task," said Mrs. Carstone, 
 44 Suppose it is all right she will be angry that we have 
 suspected anything ; so will he. She will be sure to tell 
 him. And, on the other hand, if it be all wrong, what am I 
 to do with her ? She will break her heart." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said her husband, curtly. u This is no 
 time for hesitation or to be influenced by fine scruples. I 
 hope you will make an opportunity for seeing Mrs. Ran* 
 dolph to-day, and get to know, first of all, whether she 
 understands her true position. Indeed you must lose no 
 time about it. Try to see her this morning." 
 
 Fate favored Mrs. Carstone. Lord Ryvers went to a 
 neighboring town to make some purchases, and Violet, as 
 she always did in his absence, came to see her new friend. 
 The color and light faded out of that lady* face when she 
 saw her, for she did not like her task. 
 
 " You are not well, Mrs. Carstone," said Yiolet, after the 
 first greetings were over. " I am glad that I have a few 
 hours to spare this morning. My husband has gone to pur- 
 chase some wonderful paints." 
 
 " And you have come to spend your leisure time with 
 me/' said Mrs. Carstone. " That is really good of you. 
 Shall we go out? The sun shines, but it is not toe 
 warm." 
 
THORNS AND OEANGE-BLOS8OM9L 121 
 
 There was a little green square amongst the orange* 
 trees, where a large vine had been trained over pretty 
 trellis- work, and little stands and chairs had been placed 
 underneath. Here Mrs. Carstone paused. 
 
 " Sit down, my dear," she said. " I cannot walk far to- 
 day." 
 
 Violet wondered a little at her strange manner it was 
 BO nervous, so timid, so unlike Mrs. Carstone's usual kind, 
 unconcerned way. And, above all other topics, Mrs. Car- 
 stone chose to speak of her wedding-day. 
 
 " We always keep up the anniversary of our wedding* 
 day," she said. "We have quite a little /#<?. Do you, 
 Mrs. Randolph ? I think it is a very nice custom for all 
 married people to observe." 
 
 " I have had but one anniversary," she replied, with a 
 smile , u but I quite agree with you , it is a very pleasant 
 custom. I must tell my husband that we also must plan a 
 fete for next year." 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Carstone, trying to speak care* 
 tessly , " what is your husband's Christian name f " 
 
 " Randolph," Yiolet replied " the same as his sur- 
 name." 
 
 " That is a strange thing very unusual, I should nn* 
 agine," observed Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " Yes, it is unusual," said Yiolet. " I knew Philip 
 Philips, and I have read of an Owen Owen." 
 
 u Speaking of names and marriage," said Mrs. Carstone t 
 u what was your maiden name ? " 
 
 " Beaton; " replied Yiolet; " I am always proud of my 
 name, because it is in the old ballad : 
 
 *' * There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton, 
 And Mary Carmichael, and me.' " 
 
 " But, my dear," said Mrs. Carstone, with something 01 
 awe, u do you really belong to a family so ancient as that ? " 
 
 " No," laughed Yiolet ; " I should say not. * Beaton ' is 
 by no' means an uncommon name. I have never thought as 
 to whether I was descended from the Beatons mentioned in 
 the song or not." 
 
 Still Mrs. Carstone felt that she was no nearer the knowl- 
 edge she wished to obtain. 
 
 " I was married at St. John's, in the City," she said* 
 4 Where were you married, Mrs. Randolph t " 
 
122 THORNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Violet, who knew of no necessity for keeping the circum* 
 stances connected with her marriage a secret, answered 
 readily enough : 
 
 " In one of the prettiest of old churches at St. Byno's 
 where I lived." 
 
 " Then she was married," thought Mrs. Carstone. " Tell 
 me about your wedding," she continued ; " I like to hear 
 about love-stories and weddings." But her hands trembled 
 as she spoke, and there was great anxiety in her eyes. 
 
 u There was nothing very remarkable attending my wed- 
 ding," said Violet. u Mr. Randolph and I were married on 
 the twenty-second of September, and it was one of the lov- 
 iiest days that even a poet could imagine." 
 
 u And you were very happy, my dear? " she said, gently. 
 
 " Yes, very happy. The only drawback to my happiness 
 was that my aunt, with whom I had always lived, detested 
 men, love, lovers, and marriage. She prophesied the most 
 terrible things for me." 
 
 " None of them have come true, I hope ? " said Mrs. Car- 
 stone. 
 
 " No,'\laughed Violet, blithely, " not one of them; and 
 they never will." 
 
 " Your aunt went to your wedding with you, I suppose ? w 
 said Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " Yes, she was present, but, as Mr. Randolph said after- 
 ward, it was like a Death's-head at a feast. She never smiled, 
 and she looked profoundly miserable all the time." 
 
 " It must be all right," thought Mrs. Carstone. " This 
 aunt was evidently a keen woman. If there had been any 
 flaw in the proposal, she would gladly have seized upon it. 
 Certainly there must have been a marriage. The only ques- 
 tion that remains is whether it was a legal one." 
 
 "Why did you marry an artist ? " she asked, as though 
 the idea had suddenly occurred to her. 
 
 But there was no consciousness on Violet's face as she 
 answered : 
 
 " It must have been my fate." 
 
 Evidently she had no idea that her husband was anything 
 but an artist. 
 
 " You must forgive me if I say that, with your beautiftil 
 fece, you might have done much better. You might hava 
 married a lord." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 123 
 
 M A lord 1 " cried Violet, with indignant scorn. " I would 
 not have married a lord to have saved my life." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Mrs. Carstone, wonderingly. 
 
 " I hate all aristocrats ! " cried Violet, " So did my aunt ; 
 she brought me up to hate them." 
 
 " How strange ! " said Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 But she never thought of the connecting link. It did not 
 occur to her that perhaps Lord Ryvers had hidden his name 
 and title to win his wife. She looked at the beautiful face 
 that would have graced any station. 
 
 " Do you know, Mrs. Randolph," she said, " } r ou are quite 
 an original character ? You are unlike any one I have ever 
 met." 
 
 Then her doubts assailed her again. That inarrige could 
 not have been legal, or why had Lord Ryvers kept it so 
 secret ? 
 
 " I do not see that I differ from others," Violet replied, 
 44 except that I have strong likes and dislikes, and I am true 
 to them." 
 
 Mrs. Carstone did not believe that such a thing was pos- 
 sible as a true dislike to the aristocracy. It made no im- 
 pression on her. Her one desire now was to find out if the 
 marriage were legal or not. 
 
 " Do you visit your husband's family at all ? " she said, 
 trying to speak as though the idea had occurred to her 
 quite accidentally. 
 
 " No," was the girl's reply. " I do not know anything 
 of them. My husband has never spoken to me of them." 
 
 " That seems strange," said Mrs. Carstone ;" but of 
 course they know he is married." 
 
 " I do not know. It is a subject we have never discussed, 
 Mrs. Carstone." 
 
 " A young husband is generally so proud to introduce his 
 wife to his friends. It is one of the first things of which he 
 would think. My husband was delighted, I remember, to 
 take me home." 
 
 " I have never thought of it," replied Violet. " I should 
 think my husband is very much like myself, almost alone 
 in the world." 
 
 And again Mrs. Carstone felt at a loss what to say. 
 
 " Do you think have you any reason to think that your 
 husband has married without the knowledge of his family ? * 
 she inquired 
 
124 THOMNS AND OMANGE-JSL08SOMSL 
 
 " No," laughed Violet ; " I have not tnougM or ms 
 fly, nor do I think that he himself has. I must ask him." 
 
 " Would it vex you to find that he had dons so ? " Mrs. 
 Carstone asked. 
 
 " No, I do not think it would, "replied Violet. " I should 
 feel sure that he had some reason for it. If he had rela* 
 tives living for whom he cared, he would have talked 
 aoout them." 
 
 " Has your husband always been an artist ? " the other 
 pursued. 
 
 " Yes, so far* as I know. At least, he must have been ; 
 he is so young now, and he has been studying all his life. 
 He could not have been anything else." 
 
 " You do not seem to know much of his past, my dear, 51 
 remarked Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " Mrs. Carstone," the girl said, suddenly, w you have 
 something to tell me. All these questions and suggestions 
 make me feel quite sure of it. You are, as Mr. Carstone 
 would say, beating about the bush. Now, tell me at once 
 what it means." 
 
 There was an energy, a vivacity about her, which con 
 siderably startled Mrs. Carstone, and made her feel at A 
 loss how to continue the subject. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " You are so quick, my dear," said Mrs. Carstone. 4i Too 
 must give me time to think and to speak. You must not 
 hurry me." 
 
 " Then you have something to tell me ! " cried Violetr 
 " I felt quite sure of it. What is it, Mrs. Carstone ? " 
 
 " I do not like my task at all. I would not have under* 
 taken it, but that my husband and son insisted upon it." 
 
 u Your husband and son I " said Violet, proudly. " What 
 have they to do with me ? " 
 
 " Nothing ; but they felt that the mystery ought to be 
 cleared up." 
 
 " What mystery ? There is no mystery concerning me," 
 said the young girl, more proudly still. 
 
 " Unfortunately there is a very unmistakable mystery," 
 replied Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 Then Violet rose from her pretty garden-chair, and stood, 
 erect and haughty, before her companion. 
 
TSORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 12 
 
 " You must say more, now that you have said so much,* 
 she declared. "To my mind, the very word * mystery 1 
 is distasteful, and I am proud to say that there is none at 
 tached to me." 
 
 She stood erect and haughty enough, most fair to see. 
 her dress of pale blue sweeping the ground in graceful 
 folds, the slanting sunbeams falling on her golden hair and 
 beautiful face a face flushed now with indignation. The 
 proud, sweet lips trembled, and the white hands toying 
 with the vine-leaves were not quite steady. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Carstone, what is the mystery ? " she per* 
 sisted. 
 
 " If you are going to be angry with me," said Mrs. Car- 
 stone, " I cannot tell you all. 7 ' 
 
 And she looked so distressed that Violet's heart smote 
 her, 
 
 " I am not angry," she replied. " Why should I be ? I 
 am quite sure of one thing you would not do or say any- 
 thing knowingly to hurt me." 
 
 " I wish I knew how to tell you in such words that could 
 not annoy you. Perhaps you will think it is not my busi- 
 ness, and that I need not have spoken. Still it seems right 
 that you should know. Mrs. Randolph, your husband is 
 not what he seems to be." 
 
 Violet's face grew paler and prouder. 
 
 a In what way ? " she asked, " I will believe nothing but 
 what is good of him." 
 
 "He is not what he seems to 'be," repeated Mrs. Car- 
 stone. " He calls himself 4 Mr. Randolph,' and he pro- 
 fesses to be an artist, in both respects acting untruthfully. 
 Your husband's name is not 4 Randolph,' neither is he an 
 artist." 
 
 " Who and what is he, then ? " asked the girl, in a low, 
 aoarse voice. 
 
 It seemed to her impossible that he should be anything 
 but the gallant, loyal lover she had always known. 
 
 " He is Lord Ryvers, of Ryversdale, one of the wealthiest 
 men in England." 
 
 The effect Mrs. Carstone's words produced was quite dif- 
 ferent from what she expected. The beautiful face before 
 her grew white to the very lips, and the light died from the 
 violet eyes. 
 
126 THOtiNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " I do not believe it ! " the girl gasped, at length. " 1 
 will not believe it ! I should hate him if it were true I " 
 
 " It is as true as that the sun shines in the heavens,* 1 
 replied Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 u I will not believe it ! " Violet repeated. 
 
 " It is most positively true," said Mrs. Carstone. " H< 
 s Randolph Lord Ryvers, and he belongs to one of tlu 
 grandest old families in England ; he is a thorough aristo 
 crat." 
 
 " An aristocrat!" cried the girl; and the word, as it 
 came from her lips, was worse than a sneer, " I I hate 
 them! " she gasped. " I will not believe it." 
 
 " It seems to me that, if I had told you your husband 
 was a thief, or a forger, instead of a nobleman, you couk 
 not be more angry," said Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " I should not be one half so angry," declared her compan- 
 ion. " You cannot understand ; you have not been trained 
 as I have been. Hatred of all such runs with the blood w 
 my veins." 
 
 "It is very foolish," Mrs. Carstone said, astonished; 
 " there is no sense nor reason in it." 
 
 But Violet flashed a look from her grand eyes whlcfe 
 almost silenced her. 
 
 " You cannot understand," she said, loftily. 
 
 And Mrs. Carstone felt that she spoke the truth. Such 
 sentiments as Violet had uttered were beyond her compre- 
 hension. The girlish, graceful figure was drawn up to it* 
 full height ; the flashing eyes looked down upon her. 
 
 "Why do you say this of my husband?" she asked 
 " And who has told you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Carstone repeated the story exactly as she had 
 heard it. An old college friend of Lord Ryvers had recog 
 nized him, and had gone away lest any complication or un* 
 pleasantness should arise through his recognition. 
 
 " I do not believe one word of it," declared Violet, env 
 phatically, when Mrs. Carstone had finished her recital. 
 " He has been deceived by Mr. Randolph's resemblance to 
 some one else he knows. Such a thing frequently happens. 
 It is easier for me to believe every man in the world mis 
 taken than to doubt the honor and integrity of my own 
 husband." And in that moment, while she was defending 
 him, she cared more for him than she had ever done. " The 
 more I think of it," she said, " the more sure I feel that I 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. lf 
 
 ^4 Jight. My husband would never have won me by 
 fraud." 
 
 Mrs. Carstone looked at her with profound pity. How 
 Httle she suspected even what might possibly await her ! 
 
 u It is out of their true liking and affection for you that 
 my husband and son desire that you should understand 
 your position. If it be true that your husband has married 
 you in this secret fashion, that he is living here under a 
 fialse name and is hiding, you must ask yourself what is 
 the motive." 
 
 u He can have no motive," replied Violet ; " therefore I 
 say it is untrue." 
 
 " You will be compelled to believe what I have told you 
 on proper authority," said Mrs. Carstone. " Ask yoursell 
 why your husband should live in such seclusion. There 
 must be a reason for it ; there must be a reason for his 
 avoidance of all English people." 
 
 " I will not believe it ! " reiterated Yiolet. 
 
 Yet, when she remembered how he had in all truth 
 avoided mixing in English society, her heart sunk. 
 
 " I must tell you frankly," continued Mrs. Carstone, see- 
 ing that hints and allusions were all in vain, " that my hus- 
 band and my son are afraid for you." 
 
 " Afraid of what ? " asked her companion, wonderingly. 
 
 And the kindly woman, who had found her task so much 
 more difficult than she had expected, shrunk from the flash 
 of the glorious eyes. 
 
 "When a rich young nobleman hides his rank and his 
 name, assumes a disguise acts, in fact as your husband 
 has acted there is but one interpretation to be placed upon 
 his conduct." 
 
 " And what is that ? " asked Violet, so proudly that Mrs. 
 Carstone was almost afraid to answer. 
 
 " I had better tell you," she replied, " though I know you 
 <vill be angry. I cannot help it. You ought to know ; you 
 must know. When a man acts as your husband has acted, 
 the inference is that either he is not married at all, or that 
 his marriage is not legal. Any one who heard the story 
 would form the same opinion." 
 
 It was the white heat of rage that changed the beautiful 
 face of the woman who listened into something almost too 
 terrible to behold. Yet she controlled herself, though hef 
 lips were white, and quivered as she spoke. 
 
128 TROMNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," she said, " that any one 
 lives who dares throw even the least shadow of doubt on 
 my marriage ? " 
 
 u My dear Mrs. Randolph, you must be calm and listen. 
 Every one who hears your story will draw the same con- 
 elusion that we have done." 
 
 " Then the world is a vile wicked place, and the people 
 in it are vile and wicked, too. My marriage was as le 
 gal, as honorable, and as secure as though I had been a 
 queen." 
 
 " Then it has been a foolish thing to make all this 
 mystery about it," said Mrs. Carstone. " One thing is 
 quite certain your husband's friends know nothing of 
 it. They have, if all be true that I hear, very different 
 views for him. You know, of course, that there are some 
 formalities in the marriages of noblemen under age. I 
 cannot tell what they are I only know that they exist 
 and it is just possible that in your case they have not been 
 complied with." 
 
 " Why should any one think that ? Why suspect it ? " 
 " Because of the mystery," replied Mrs. Carstone. 
 14 If all were as it should be, why need your marriage have 
 been performed so privately ? I do not say there is any- 
 thing wrong ; but I do think appearances are so much 
 against you that those who have the truest interest in you 
 should make inquiries, and see that all is right." 
 
 44 No one is interested in me," said Yiolet, " except my 
 Aunt Alice and she is far away." 
 
 41 1 beg your pardon," rejoined Mrs. Carstone, " we are 
 ill interested in you my husband, my son, and myself. 
 We are your true friends ; we would do anything to serve 
 you. My husband was most indignant when he heard 
 what an imposition had been practiced upon you. If you 
 Till give him authority, he will sift the matter for you 
 tind will give himself just as much trouble as if you were 
 his own daughter." 
 
 44 You are very kind," said Violet, proudly ; " but I need 
 no assistance ; I have my husband. Nothing will ever 
 shake my faith in him." 
 
 " Let me find Mr. Carstone, and then he can advise 
 you," said Mrs. Carstone. " We have been talking about 
 
 3U all the morning. I assure you that our only anxiety 
 to serve you r 
 
fHORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 129 
 
 u I am grateful to you. My husband will serve me. 
 No, you need not send for either Mr. Carstone or your 
 son. I was startled when you spoke to me at first ; I have 
 recovered from my surprise. My trust is in my husband. 
 I feel sure the whole story is a mistake a case of mistaken 
 identity, I should think." 
 
 " I am afraid you will not find it so." 
 
 " I shall go to my husband at once," continued Violet, 
 heedless of the interruption. il I have never heard him 
 speak one false word. I will repeat to him all that you 
 have told me. and ask him to let me know the truth. He 
 mil not aeceive me." She was hastening away, when she 
 turned suddenly to Mrs. Carstone. 44 Whatever happens, 77 
 she added, " I must thank you. You have done what you 
 thought kind and wise. You mean to befriend me, but I 
 am sure there is a mistake." She raised her head with 
 the proud gesture of an insulted queen. " I shall come 
 back to tell you what nonsense it is. I do not know 
 whether my husband will laugh or be angry at the idea of 
 being mistaken for an English nobleman." 
 
 As she crossed the grounds and re-entered the hotel, she 
 laughed contemptuously at the idea. He who loved her so, 
 who worshiped her, who had tried so hard to win her he 
 HO have deceived her 1 It was absurd ! 
 
 She had an hour to wait before Lord Ry vers came in, 
 and, as she sat watching from the window of her room, 
 she thought of all that had happened ; and at the end oi 
 that time her faith was so far shaken that she felt it would 
 he a pleasure to hear his denial. 
 
 Suddenly she saw him coming. She hastened to meet 
 him. 
 
 " Come straight to my room, Randolph ! " bhe cried, 
 eagerly. " I have something to say to you something a 
 t nou sand times more important than life or death to me." 
 
 Then husband and wife stood face to face with the great 
 question of their lives at issue between them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 LORD RYVERS wondered at his wife's strange haste and 
 excited manner ; she was pale, trembling, and agitated. 
 When they had entered her room, she closed the door 
 carefully behind her, and then stood against it. He held 
 
ISO THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 out his arms as though he wished to embrace her. She re 
 pelled him by a proud gesture that startled him. 
 
 " You must not touch me ! " she cried. " I have some- 
 thiuk to ask you which is more important to me than life 
 or death. Tell me, tell me," she continued, with eager, 
 flashing eyes, " was my marriage with you perfectly legal 
 and in accordance with all the forms necessary ? " 
 
 " Most certainly it was," he answered. 
 
 " I did not doubt it I " she exclaimed. " Always re* 
 member that I did not doubt it. Others have done so ; I 
 did not. That doubt and myself would never have lived 
 one minute. You have answered me one question ; an- 
 swer another. Are you Randolph Randolph, an artist, 
 painting for your daily bread, or are you Lord Ryvers of 
 Ry ver swell, a noble and wealthy baron ? Answer me." 
 
 But he was so startled that he shrunk a few paces from 
 her ; his face, usually so bright and debonair, grew white 
 and lowering, his eyes filled with an angry light. 
 
 " Why do you speak to nie in this fashion ? What do you 
 mean ? " he asked. 
 
 " That is no answer to my question," she replied. " Are 
 you an artist or a nobleman ? " 
 
 Her eyes were fixed intently on him. They seemed to 
 hold him so that he could not look away from her. 
 
 * I am both," he said, drawing a deep breath. 
 
 " You are Lord Ryvers ? " 
 
 " I am Lord Ryvers, my darling ; but I am your true 
 lover and true husband in spite of that." 
 
 " Then it is true," she cried, wringing her hands with a 
 
 festure of despair. " It is true and I swore it was false ! 
 f you have deceived me in one thing, you have doubtless 
 deceived me in more." 
 
 " I have not deceived you, Yiolet, darling. Do not look 
 so horrified. There is nothing the matter. I merely sup- 
 pressed the truth. I told no lie." 
 
 " I see no difference," she declared. " If you would do one 
 thing, you would do another." 
 
 " Be reasonable, Yiolet. I have done you no harm," he 
 said, gently. 
 
 " You have done me harm ; you have deceived me. If 
 I had known you were Lord Ryvera, I would not hava 
 married you. You have made me false to the habit and 
 training and teaching of ray whole life ; you have made 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMSL IS1 
 
 me false to every instinct of my own heart ; you have 
 married me by fraud. I shall leave you ; I will not re* 
 main with you." 
 
 She looked so beautiful in her indignation that he only 
 loved her the more. 
 
 " You have married me by fraud," she repeated " you 
 who professed to be the most honorable, the most loyal of 
 men ! " 
 
 " Will you listen to reason, Yiolet ? " he asked. 
 
 " There is no reason in it," she replied, growing more 
 angry as she saw him growing more pained. 
 
 " You speak as though I had injured you, Yiolet," he 
 Baid. 
 
 u You have done so. . You have injured me in a way I 
 shall never forget. You have taken from me my own 
 self-esteem ; you have made me false to all my thoughts, 
 ideas, and instincts ; you have placed me in a false posi- 
 tion ; you have exposed me to almost unbearable insult 
 And comment. Do you know what those who know your 
 secret are saying ? " 
 
 " How should I know ? n 
 
 " I will tell you," she cried, with a burning blush that 
 rose even to the roots of her golden hair. " I am ashamed 
 to repeat the words, but I was compelled to listen to 
 them. I, the girl you affected to worship, have been ex- 
 posed to insult ; I have had to listen when those who 
 knew of your disguise wondered whether my marriage 
 were legal or not. Do you think I shall ever forget that 
 disgrace or recover from it ? " 
 
 His face grew perfectly white, and a look such as she 
 had never seen upon it before spread over it. It was 
 deeper than pride, more bitter than contempt; it was 
 more of outraged dignity than anger ; it was the expres> 
 sion of a man mortally wounded. 
 
 " Who has spoken so ? " he asked. 
 
 " Those who found out your disguise," she replied. 
 
 " Who are they, Yiolet ? " asked Lord Kyvers. 
 
 And she told him the whole story as it had been related 
 to her. He listened attentively. 
 
 " My old schoolfellow, Forest-Hay ! " he said. " A stone 
 thrown by the hand of a friend cuts doubly sharp. Why 
 did he uot come to me? Could he possibly imagine that 
 
138 THOXNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 
 
 there was anything in common between such people as tha 
 Carstones and me?" 
 
 " Such people as the Carstones do not marry under false 
 names," she retorted. u Of what use is a title to a man 
 who is not a gentleman ? " 
 
 " Do you mean that I am not a gentleman, Violet ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Not in my eyes and you never will be again," she rei 
 plied, angrily. " You have deceived me and subjected me 
 to insult ; you have placed me in an utterly false position. 
 I repeat that no gentleman would behave in such a manner 
 to the girl he loved." 
 
 " I have not consciously or willingly exposed you to in- 
 suit," he said, slowly. " The suspicions you have named 
 would arise only in coarse minds. One word from me will 
 disperse all these foolish doubts as the wind disperse* 
 vapor. Violet, believe me, they are not worth resenting 
 It is only people like the Carstones who would think of 
 such a thing." 
 
 " Your own friend evidently had his ideas on the sub 
 ject," said Violet, proudly, " or he would not have gon* 
 away." 
 
 " My friend in a . Well, it is useless to blame him, 
 
 1 wish that he had spoken to me instead of to Mr. Car 
 stone. You seem very angry, Violet, even more so than I 
 feared you would be when you learned who I really am." 
 
 " I am so angry," she cried, " that from this time all is 
 over between us ! I consented to be the wife of an artist, 
 of a man equal to myself in position, who would have to 
 work for his living, and to whom I could be a helpmate. I 
 never consented to be the wife of a rich nobleman nor 
 will I. My feeling on the matter is so strong that I would 
 rather die ! " 
 
 " My darling, do not say such cruel words." 
 
 " I mean them," she declared. " You seem to forget that 
 from my very cradle I have been taught to hate and 
 despise the class to which you belong. See how right my 
 aunt was, after all, in teaching me that people of your 
 position are not to be trusted ! You are an aristocrat. 
 What have you done? Deceived a very ignorant girl, 
 taken advantage of inexperience and innocence ! " 
 
 " Violet," said Lord Ry vers, gently, " do you not know 
 that all class hatred is wrong ? It is utterly impossible lot 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 133 
 
 all men to be equal ; as long as the world stands there 
 must be different grades of society." 
 
 " I acknowledge no such thing," she replied. " I never 
 disguised my sentiments from you, and you ought to have 
 respected them." 
 
 u Violet," he said, with a gentle patience she would have 
 admired in any one else " Violet, darling, listen to me. I 
 was your faithful lover from the happy day in June when I 
 first met you, dear, until the day in September when you 
 became my wife. Was it not so ? " 
 
 u Yes," she answered. 
 
 " During that time, when, my darling, for your sweet 
 sake I gave up the whole world, when my life was but one 
 dream of you, did you see anything wrong in me, anything 
 to condemn ? " 
 
 Almost reluctantly she answered " No." 
 
 " Did you find me untruthful, unfaithful, light of pur- 
 pose, light of love, mean, ungenerous, false, wanting in 
 courage ? Think before you answer." 
 
 And again she said " No." 
 
 " I thank you," he replied. " We have been married 
 rather more than a year. During that period have you 
 seen anything in me to dislike, to despise, or condemn ? " 
 
 " No," she replied, u I have not honestly, I have not." 
 
 u Until to-day I had your love and respect ? " 
 
 " Yes," she admitted, " you had both." 
 
 " To-day you find out that I am a nobleman, and not an 
 artist, and you withdraw all that you have given me, and 
 intend to leave me. I am the same man I was yesterday 
 my moral and mental qualities have not changed in the 
 least ; yet, because I have more money than you thought, 
 you talk of leaving me. Is it just?" 
 
 " You are not just," she replied. " It is not because you 
 have more mone}^ than I thought that I I shall leave you. 
 It is because you have deceived me. That is the thing I 
 can never forgive." 
 
 Still he lost none of his gentle patience. 
 
 " I loved you, Violet," he said. " The moment my eyes 
 fell upon your face you became the one woman in the wide 
 world for me. I lost sight of everything else. I saw you, 
 my darling only you." 
 
 But Violet listened unmoved. He had deceived her, and 
 she was one of those who never forgave an act of deceit. 
 
134 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " I loved you so much," he said, " that to have lost you 
 would have been worse than death. Death is the end of all 
 pain ; life with an unhappy love is all torture. When I 
 thought that I might fail in winning you, I could not work, 
 or eat, or sleep, or rest. Oh, Violet, believe me, darling, 
 that no man has ever loved a woman as I love you ! " 
 
 " Still you deceived me," she reiterated, in a cold, clear 
 tone. 
 
 " Answer me just one question, Violet," he said, plead- 
 ingly. " If you had known that I was, what I most un- 
 fortunately am, Lord Byvers of Kyversdale, would you 
 have married me ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, quickly ; " you know that I would 
 not have married you." 
 
 " Then you do not love me so very much, Violet, after 
 all," he said, sadly " not half so much as I love you. Oh, 
 my darling, I thought I had all your heart 1 " 
 
 Some wives would have relented at once ; but Violet's 
 beautiful face grew colder and harder. Her heart was not 
 touched in the least ; her pride was aroused and all in 
 arms. She could think but of one thing he had deceived 
 her. There could be no extenuation of that fact. 
 
 " Violet," he cried, despairingly, " I did not think a 
 young girl could be so cruel. I know women of the world 
 often are ; they enjoy the misery and torture of men ; 
 some of them walk through life over the bleeding hearts 
 of men. One expects cruelty from such ; but you, fresh 
 of heart as you are fair of face one could not expect 
 cruelty from you." 
 
 " I am not cruel ; I am only just," she replied. 
 
 ' Then may Heaven preserve you from such justice ! " 
 he cried. " If I had injured you, if I had brought you to 
 poverty or to worse, if I had offered to you a tarnished 
 name, you could not have been more angry." 
 
 " The chances are I should not have cared so much," she 
 replied. 
 
 " But, my darling, this must not be," he said, earnestly ; 
 w you must forgive me. You cannot be so cruel as to pun- 
 ish me my whole life long for one act of deception, when 
 that deception was practiced solely and entirely for the 
 sake of winning you." 
 
 " You could never be the same to me again," she replied, 
 coldly. " I could never like you as much as I did." 
 
THOENS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 13* 
 
 " I will not believe you," said Lord Ryvers. " You can- 
 not change in one day from a loving, gentle-hearted girl 
 into a cold, heartless woman." 
 
 " I am only taking example by you 1 " she cried, angrily. 
 " In one day you have changed from an honest artist to a 
 dishonest nobleman ! Am I worse than you ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 LORD RYVERS went up to his wife. She was standing 
 with her hands clasped ; he took them gently in his own. 
 She would have resisted, but in any struggle, however 
 slight, she would have had little chance. So now she 
 merely turned away her face. In spite of his sorrow and 
 dismay, he smiled. It was so exactly the action of a for- 
 ward, willful child. 
 
 " You will not let me look into your face, Yiolet ? " he 
 said. " Come with me. You need not stand like a sen- 
 tinel at the door. Come and let me talk to you." 
 
 He took her to the great bay-window, where they could 
 see the grand sweep of water and the blue sky above it. 
 Perhaps he thought the golden sunshine and the song of 
 the birds might soften her heart ; but they did not. 
 
 " Yiolet," he said, " will you forgive me ? This is my 
 only sin against you, and it was committed solely for love 
 of you. You see there could have been no other motive. 
 Will you forgive me ? " 
 
 She raised to his a face white as snow, cold as ice, frozen. 
 
 " I have told you," she said, " that you can never be the 
 same to me again." 
 
 " But will you forgive me ? " he persisted. " I am sorry 
 now. If the time were to come over again, I would not do 
 it. I see now that it would have been much better had I 
 told you the truth and left my fate in your hands ; but it 
 did not seem so to me then. Yiolet, my darling wife, will 
 you forgive me ? " 
 
 " I may forgive you," she said ; " but you will never be 
 the same to me again never. I have lost my faith in you ; 
 it will never return." 
 
 " How cold you are to me, my wife ! Still I love you the 
 more. I know that most girls would be overwhelmed with 
 delight at finding themselves mistress of Ryversdale. 1 
 bow to the nobility of character that passes all such advanfc- 
 
I3S TSOBNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 ages by. I love you better, angry, indignant, and scornful 
 as you are, than if you had cried out for joy. But do not 
 let this part us. We have a long life, I hope, before us. 
 Forgive me." 
 
 Still there was no softening in the violet eyes, and the 
 lines round the mouth grew more firm. She was thinking 
 to herself how he must have laughed at her when she had 
 been anxious concerning money, when she had called him 
 to account for lavishing valuable presents on her. The 
 thought of it brought a flush to her face and made her eyes 
 flash angrily. 
 
 " You must have found me very easy to deceive." 
 44 Oh, Violet," he cried, " you stab me to the heart, my 
 dear ! Let me tell you a little story. I had a schoolfellow 
 true he was many years older than I but as a little lad 
 often loves a big one I loved him. His name was Charlie 
 Anchester, and he was heir to the Earldom of Atherleigh. 
 He succeeded to it before I left school. He fell in love 
 with one of the most beautiful girls of the day, Lady Maud 
 Trevor, and they were married. He worshiped her ; but 
 soon after their marriage he found out that she had never 
 cared for him, that she had loved a penniless young cap- 
 tain in the army, and had married Lord Atherleigh for hia 
 money. He was a gentle, sensitive, loving-hearted man, 
 and it broke his heart, Yiolet ; he could not recover from 
 it. He tried to take his place in the world, he tried hard to 
 live for other things, but it was impossible ; and, when he 
 was dying, he sent for me to say good-by, he had always 
 been so fond of me. The doctors had given some long 
 Latin name to his disease, and they said he was dying of it; 
 but he was not. His ailment was a broken heart. He told 
 me so me, his little schoolfellow, the little lad he loved 
 when I went to see him. I was just eighteen years of age 
 then, and it made a great impression upon me. I remem- 
 ber the expression on his face, the pain in his eyes, the 
 pitiful voice ; I remember the room, and the sunlight that 
 came through the window and fell upon the floor. He 
 called me to him ; his hands were so thin and white. He 
 took mine in his. 4 Randolph,' he said, ' my little school* 
 fellow, I am going to die, and I have sent for the little lad 
 I loved so well to whisper one word of warning in his ear.' 
 He drew my face down to his. ' You will be a rich man 
 some day, Randolph ; mind what I say to you. Let no 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 137 
 
 woman marry you for your money. Marry some one who 
 loves you for yourself alone. To be married for money or 
 rank, without love, is to be cursed. My life has beeij 
 cursed ; guard yours.' I never forgot the words, Yiolet 
 I never shall ; and from that moment I made up my mind, 
 even if I never married at all, I would wait until I met 
 some one who cared for me alone. Listen to me, Yiolejt. 
 Women misjudge men because some poet has chosen to 
 write : 
 
 ** 'Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 
 Tis woman's whole existence.' 
 
 Every one believes that to be true ; I say it is not true. 
 Love is quite as much to a man as to a woman, often more; 
 but men say perhaps less about it. Look at my friend 1 
 He died because the woman he loved did not love him. You 
 must not think that all the fret and the fever and the pas- 
 sion of love lies with women ; it does not. Listen to me, 
 Yiolet. You will not turn your face toward me. How 
 can you be so cold to me when I love you so well ? I 
 began my life with this idea fixed in my mind, that I must 
 be loved and married for myself alone. I went a great deal 
 into society. It is true I was only a youth ; but I under- 
 stood why people flattered me, why mothers courted me for 
 their daughters. I will not say more ; I have a chivalrous 
 love for all women, and I cannot bear to speak even against 
 the worldly ones. It is enough to say that it was my 
 wealth and title that were the attraction, and not myself; 
 perhaps with one or two it may have been different. 
 People said, but I never believed them, that Gwendoline 
 Marr would have married me even if I had been penniless. 
 I cannot say ; she was not to my taste." 
 
 Slowly enough the fair head turned, and the beautiful 
 face was raised to his. There was a faint gleam of interest 
 in the violet eyes. 
 
 " Who was Gwendoline Marr ? " Yiolet asked. 
 
 u Gwendoline Marr is a wealthy heiress, the daughter of 
 Lord Marr of Marsland, and considered to be the most per* 
 fectly beautiful brunette in England." 
 
 " Why did not you marry her ? " 
 
 " Because, my darling, I loved and married you. Gwen- 
 doline Marr is nothing to me ; I have never cared but fo? 
 one woman in my life. Now listen to me, Yiolet. I began 
 
538 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 life, as I have told you, with this determination not ta 
 lose my one chance of happiness, but to wait until I found 
 some one to love me for myself. I found there was very 
 little notion of love in my own circle. My eldest sister, a 
 calm, serene woman with a beautiful face, was going to 
 marry the Earl of Lester ; and, during all the time I heard 
 my mother discuss that marriage, I never once heard the 
 word 4 love.' She talked of settlements, of diamonds, of 
 dress, of anything and everything but love. I determined 
 then that, whatever else might be missing at my marriage, 
 love at least should be there. I can safely say, Violet, that 
 my heart was never touched even ever so" faintly by any of 
 the beautiful or graceful girls I met in society. I liked 
 Gwendoline Man*. She was a great friend of my sister's 
 and my mother liked her. As for love, my heart and soul 
 were sleeping when I met you. I had always been very 
 much attached to my favorite art painting. I must tell 
 you also that, having been so many years under my 
 mother's influence and training, I perhaps stood a little 
 more in awe of her than most young men do of their 
 mothers. I told her the one great desire of my heart, 
 which was, before I entered on my life-long duties as heir 
 to a large fortune and estate, to spend one year in a sketch* 
 ing tour, to go where I liked without any ceremony, to stay 
 wherever picturesque scenery attracted me, to have, in fact, 
 & complete and perfect holiday. My mother did not like 
 the idea at all ; she declared that she had a foreboding that 
 it would result in no good; but my sister, the Countess of 
 Lester, persuaded her to accede to my request. Was it fate 
 that brought me to St. By no's, to find that my wife was 
 waiting for me there ? I had no thought at first of deceiv- 
 ing you, as you choose to term it, Yiolet. True, I thought 
 to myself that I would woo you and win you as a poor 
 man. Then you told me about your strange training, how 
 your aunt had inculcated in you a hatred of the aristocracy. 
 I used to wonder when I heard those beautiful lips utter- 
 ing such words. It was then I sinned against you, if sin 
 it can be called. Would to Heaven there were no worse ! 
 When I asked you one day if you would marry an aristo- 
 crat, you answered, ' No ; ' you would rather die. Then 
 what was I to do ? I could not endure the thought. I 
 knew your ideas were all nonsense, the result of foolish 
 and mistaken training. So I made up my mind that tkere 
 
THOENS AND OK ANGE- BLOSSOMS* IM 
 
 would be no great harm in mj keeping the secret of my 
 position from you. I thought, as you grew older and 
 wiser, as you saw more of the world, 3^ou would change 
 your views for others more just. In that I sinned against 
 you ; in no other way. Since we have been married I have 
 frequently longed to tell 3^011 the truth ; but you have been 
 bitter in your prejudices. See even how 3^011 have liked 
 these Carstones and glorified them because they are * self 
 made ! ' Now do you think, after all, that I have acted sc 
 badly ? " 
 
 " My opinion of what you have done," she said, " re 
 mains unchanged." 
 
 " Then you are a cold-hearted, cruel woman, Violet I " h, 
 cried. "How can you be so fair and so cold ? I humble 
 myself. I acknowledge that I ought to have told you the 
 truth. I did wrong, yet it seemed to me right at the time. 
 That wrong I ask you to forgive me." 
 
 He looked so handsome, so imploring, that most women 
 would have been glad to forgive him then and there. A 
 world of love shone in his face ; his e3 r es were filled with a 
 tender light. Perhaps he pleaded too much ; perhaps if he 
 had seemed a little less anxious, his proud beautiful wife 
 would have 3 r ielded. As it was, in proportion as he grew 
 more desperate she hardened her heart against him. 
 
 " Violet," said Lord Ry vers, " yeu make me no answer. 
 I will not believe that any woman can be so cruel as to re 
 fuse to forgive a sin if you call it a sin committed 
 entirely for love of her." 
 
 " J have told you that I forgive it; but nothing can ever 
 be the same between us again nothing." 
 
 u That is ,fanc3^,and a very cruel fancy," he replied. 
 Why, Violet, how unlike you are to other girls 1 Most of 
 them would be well pleased to be Lady Ryvers of Ryver* 
 erell." 
 
 She flushed crimson at the words. 
 
 u That is not my name," she cried, angrily, " I am Mrs* 
 Randolph." 
 
 " You are not Mrs. Randolph," he said, with a smile. 
 ' fc You are the young, beautiful, and beloved Lady Ryvera 
 of Ryvers well." 
 
 But he could have used no words so fatal to his cause as 
 uhose. 
 
 u If you have anything more to say," cried Violet, a if 
 
140 W&OKN8 AND ORANQE-BLOSSQM8. 
 
 you wish me to listen, do not call me by that name again 
 it i* hateful to me." 
 
 " Hateful 1 Yet I have given it to you. Oh, Yiolet, b 
 more just, be less cruel ! " 
 
 " You cheated me into taking it," she replied. " If any 
 one lives who treats all titles with contempt, it is I. You 
 think so much of a title ; it is but an empty word." 
 
 " Nay," he interrupted, " it brings honor with it." 
 
 " I do not think so. The title of King did not save 
 Charles from the scaffold ; the title of Queen did not save 
 Marie-Antoinette's head from the block. A title does not 
 maks a man honest, loyal, or true ; on the contrary, it is 
 Dftea a license for a bad life." 
 
 " STou are too bitter, Yiolet," he said. " Where can a 
 girl so young and fair as you have formed these ideas ? It 
 eeeias incredible to me." 
 
 " They are mine, and I cherish them ; they are part of 
 myself. I would not be called Lady Ryvers for anything 
 In the wide world. 1 " 
 
 44 You are very hard and bitter in your prejudices," he 
 said ; and, as he looked at her, so cold, so proud, he won- 
 dered if he had been mistaken in his estimate of her char- 
 acter, if she were less gentle, less amiable, less loving of 
 heart than he had thought. " I do not know my wife," he 
 went on, sorrowfully. " This beautiful woman who will not 
 let me hold her in my arms, who turns her head from me 
 and will not let the light of her e}^es fall on me, is not my 
 bright, loving Yiolet ; this proud, cold woman whose lips 
 will not utter one loving word of forgiveness is not surely 
 the girl I learned to love in the woods of St. Byno's 1 Oh, 
 Violet, speak to me ! " 
 
 " I do not recognize my husband either," she said ; " 1 
 tnarried an honest artist." 
 
 " And you find an equally honest nobleman ," he rejoined. 
 
 " I loved the artist, I do not love the nobleman," she de- 
 clared, hastily. 
 
 " I must submit to the inevitable," he said. " I wooed 
 and won you as an artist ; now I must begin to woo you in 
 my true character and I have some hope that I ^hall win. 
 Yiolet, promise me one thing that you will not leave me.' 1 
 
 " I shall never again be happy with you," she said, slowly. 
 * I would rather, much rather, go back to my Aunt Alice 
 t St. Byno's." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. W 
 
 a It would be of no use," he remarked. u I should fbt 
 low you and I should pitch my camp in the garden there, 
 and not go away until I had won you a second time. Oh f 
 beautiful Violet, do you not see that Heaven has made you 
 forme?" 
 
 " Heaven did not make you for me," she rejoined. u To 
 think that I, who have been proud of my position all my 
 life, should be degraded into a fine lady I " 
 
 He smiled at her words ; he could not help it I 
 
 " If it were not so pitiful, it would be most amusing," he 
 said. " Come, give me that one promise, Yiolet; I can 
 bear anything else. Tell me that you will not leave me." 
 
 " I cannot decide ; I must think. I wish to do right, but 
 I have been cruelly deceived. I must look at what my life 
 with you will be like before I tell you if I can bear it. My 
 own opinion is that I cannot. Tell me, now that your se* 
 cret is discovered, what do you intend doing ? " 
 
 " I meant to tell you," he said. " I knew that I must tell 
 you before I took you home. I have deferred the evil day, 
 hoping always that you would grow less bitter in your 
 views." 
 
 u And I have not done so," put in Violet, coldly. tt So 
 that I am indebted to strangers for the information as to 
 who my husband really is." 
 
 " Unfortunately so," he said, finding that it was quite im- 
 possible to soothe her, and that contradiction only made 
 matters worse. " I formed my plans from the first hour we 
 were married, and I should like to adhere to them. I thought 
 of writing to my mother and sisters, telling them of my 
 marriage and asking them to By versdale to meet us. I 
 thought, if you were willing, we would go quietly to Ryv- 
 ersdale, and remain there for some time. It will be a new 
 world for you, and you will want some time to study it." 
 
 He winced under the clear, scornful gaze of his wife's 
 proud eyes. 
 
 44 Have you told either mother or sisters any thing of your 
 marriage ? " she asked. 
 
 44 No, not one word," he replied. 
 
 44 The sooner it is done the better," she said. 
 
 His face brightened. This seemed something like a con- 
 cession. 
 
 44 1 will write this very day," he said, quickly. 
 
 44 Even then it will be a year too late," remarked 
 
142 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 She would not give him the least advantage. " Then none 
 of your relatives or friends know anything of your marriage 
 or of me ? " she added. " I may safely understand that ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but they shall soon all know you," he declared. 
 " I shall be proud 
 
 " Never mind," she interrupted ; " I shall not be proud. 
 Of course they will all hate me. I am poor, I am nobody^ 
 and you are a wealthy baron. You have done about the 
 worst thing you could do for yourself in marrying me." 
 
 " I have crowned my whole life with happiness, and I 
 have made you my queen," he said., 
 
 It was hard work to resist him ; but Violet was proud, 
 and she had a little more than her natural share of ob- 
 stinacy. 
 
 u Have you thought," she asked, " what your mother and 
 sisters will think of me ? " 
 
 " No, I have thought of nothing but you," he replied! 
 u I have not had room in my heart for any one else." 
 
 " Tell me all about them," she said, more gently. " I 
 suppose they are quite as prejudiced in their wav as I am 
 famine?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so. Not all, though not Lady Lester. 
 She is not prejudiced. She is one of those grand, serene f 
 calm women, who have no prejudices." 
 
 " Tell me all about them," she said ; and this time she 
 did not shrink so vehemently from his caressing hand. 
 
 " I will begin with my mother," he said ; "and I will sketch 
 really faithful portraits for you. My mother," he continued, 
 " is essentially a proud, dignified, stately woman. The one 
 great pride of her life is that she was born an Alton the 
 Altons, I may tell you, are one of the very oldest families 
 in England." 
 
 He saw the delicate brows contract with a frown ; still 
 she must hear. 
 
 " In my mother, Violet," he continued, " are concentrated 
 all the prides you most dislike pride of race, of birth, of 
 name. She is tall, with a stately figure, and she moves with 
 dignified grace ; there is a certain grandeur about her. She 
 is lavishly generous and kind to all her servants and de- 
 pendents. She thinks much of appearances and of the 
 world ; she rejoices in splendor, and knows nothing of the 
 dark side of life ; she has a grand, condescending fashion of 
 dealing with her inferiors ; she was a most excellent wife ; 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 148 
 
 she has been a most devoted mother. You will nud her 
 still a beautiful woman, although she is 110 longer young, 
 Do you like the sketch, Yiolet ? " he asked, anxiously. 
 
 " I am afraid," said she, " that in everything she is antago* 
 rustic to myself. Tell me where she lives, and all about her." 
 
 "She has lived principally at Ryversdale," he went on. 
 " Ryversdale is the home of our race. My father died when 
 I was quite young, and I was for many years what is called 
 a minor ; my mother was a kind of queen-regent. She lived 
 at the castle Ryversdale is a castle ; and she managed 
 everything, all the estates and their revenues. She has a 
 wonderful talent for government and administration. She 
 has an estate of her own, called Alton Hall, and during the 
 last year she has lived almost entirely there. My mother is 
 one of those who go to Court regularly. She would not 
 miss a Drawing-room on any consideration, and she is, I 
 believe, a great favorite with the Queen." 
 
 Again the delicate brows were daintily arched. Lord 
 Ryvers did not pause to chide, but hastened on. 
 
 " There is not much more to tell you. My mother always 
 looks like a picture just out of a frame. She has three weak- 
 nesses rich black velvet, fine point lace, and rare diamonds.' 5 
 
 " Tell me," said Violet, thoughtfully ; " what would 
 your mother say to or think of a woman like Mrs. Gall- 
 stone?" 
 
 Lord Ryvers laughed* 
 
 " They could not live in the same hemisphere," he an- 
 Bwered. " She would be an impossible woman to my 
 mother." 
 
 " Would Lady Ryvers patronize her ? " asked Yiolet. 
 
 " No, I think not. She would not tolerate her. My 
 mother is the very ideal of well-bred, dainty refinement." 
 
 " I should like Mrs. Carstone best," said contradictory 
 Violet. 
 
 " I care little whom you like, if you will only love me." 
 
 " And your mother, being what she is," said Violet, " no 
 doubt wished you to marry some one like herself." 
 
 The simple-hearted young man fell into the neat little 
 trap laid for him, 
 
 " My mother wished me to marry Gwendoline Marr," he 
 aid. 
 
 44 That will make it doubly unpleasant for me," said 
 
144 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Violet, " if ever I should know her. Now I have a fail 
 idea of youjr mother, tell me about your sisters." 
 
 " That will be easjer," he said. " They are not at all 
 complex characters. My elder sister, Lady Lester, is 
 one of those calm, serene women, the contemplation of 
 whom gives repose. She holds a very high position in 
 English society. Now, Violet, darling, do not draw 
 those pretty brows. Her husband, the Earl of Lester, 
 has a beautiful place at Draynham, and they are, I sup- 
 pose, very happy. Lady Lester has great influence over 
 my mother. She is like her in feature; they are both 
 handsome women. Lady Lester is very much admired, 
 and is very popular. She always seems far abo<Ks tne 
 world, above all common ways. Her eyes are gr&nd, calm, 
 and serene ; her voice is low, and very sweet." 
 
 " Shall I be the proper kind of sister-in-law for oae of so 
 exalted nature ? " she asked. 
 
 He detected the irony in her voice, and colored faintly. 
 He knew that he had done wrong in speaking of his sister 
 in flattering terms. 
 
 " Is she proud, this Lady Lester ? " asked Violet, sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " No ; she is too serene to be either proud or vain,'* 
 said Lord Byvers. " Monica is my younger sister. I do 
 not know her so well; her character is hardly formed. 
 My mother finds fault with her because she is neither an 
 Alton or a Ryvers that is, she does not resemble either 
 side of the family. Another thing my mother complains 
 }f in her is her want of what she calls proper pride." 
 
 " I shall like her," said Violet. " I like your last 
 sketch best of all. If it would be possible for me to make 
 a friend in your family, I should say it would be with your 
 sister Monica." 
 
 " She is bright and pretty with the prettiness of youtk. 
 She is nothing like Lady Lester or my mother.' 4 
 
 (t You have no brother ? " said Violet. 
 
 " I wish I had an elder brother," he replied ; " then I 
 should be without any of those prefixes you dislike so 
 much. You would not object so utterly to me if I were a 
 poor younger son would you, Violet ? " 
 
 " I cannot toll," she answered ; " it seems to me that 
 Would be bad enough." 
 
 !k*rd Ryvers looked afc her. 
 
ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 141 
 
 - Now that you know more of those belonging to 
 How that you stand more face to face with my life, Violet, 
 will you say that you forgive me ? I cannot say more than 
 this, that from my very heart I am sorry, and that, if I 
 knew what to say to appease you, I would say it, if I knew 
 what to do, I would do it." 
 
 But Yiolet was looking from him over the sunlit watery 
 and the words of pardon were yet unspoken. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 a I CANNOT give you an answer at once," said Violet to 
 her husband ; " but I will think the matter over. One 
 thing I will promise I will not go away without telling 
 you my decision." 
 
 And to Lord Ry vers that seemed something gained. 
 
 " Violet," he said, " I wane you to listen to me just 
 two minutes longer. I have that to say to you which will 
 prove my sincerity. You do not like the kind of life that 
 lies before you ? " 
 
 " No ; candidly speaking, I do not," she replied. 
 
 " You will not like to be called Lady Ryvers, nor to be 
 mistress of Ryversdale, nor to be the wife of a rich man 
 you care for none of these things, do you ? " 
 
 " No," she replied ; " I do not." 
 
 *' Then, Violet, to win your forgiveness and to make 
 you happy," he said, " I will give up everything in the 
 world for you. I will let lands, title, and money lie in 
 abeyance. I will paint, and we will live on the money that 
 painting brings. I will give up everything for you, and 
 never remember that I am anything but an artist. The 
 money and the lands, title, and everything else may go 
 go to the next of kin, a little fellow now at Eton ; all that 
 I want is you." 
 
 The romantic generosity of those words touched her. 
 She looked at him with the first sign of softening that he 
 had seen in her eyes. 
 
 " Do you mean that ? " she asked. " Will you really give 
 up everything for me ? " 
 
 " I will," he said. " Oh, Violet, have you to learn now 
 that you are the dearest thing in life to me ? " 
 
 " You will give up everything you will remain abroad, 
 give up all, and work hard at your pictures ? " she asked. 
 10 
 
146 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " I will do it unhesitatingly for you," he replied. u 1 
 would not make the sacrifice for any one else ; but I will 
 for you. I must say myself that I love my name, that I 
 am proud of my race, that I have always been proud of 
 my beautiful place Ry versdale ; but nothing that I have 
 or hold is to be compared with my love for you." 
 
 " And for me you are content to give up all that youi 
 soul holds most dear ? " 
 
 " To keep you, most certainly," he answered. " I love 
 you above and before everything in this wide world. Of 
 what use would it be to me if I were king of the whole un- 
 iverse and had not you ? " 
 
 u You have a great love for me," she said, thought- 
 
 ;t You ought to know it by this time," he replied, earn- 
 estly. " I can give you no greater proof of my love than 
 this that I am willing to die to everything else but you." 
 
 " It would be a noble sacrifice," she said, nausingly. " It 
 would prove a noble love. What if I take you at your 
 ivord, Randolph ? " 
 
 " I wish you to do so. My offer was not mere pretense, 
 A few words uttered for the sake of eloquence or pleading ; 
 I mean honestly what I said. I will give up all I have IP 
 the world if you will forgive me and remain with me." 
 
 She felt that she could not be outdone in generosity, 
 and this was generous beyond all words. She knew that 
 he meant it. She began to realize what a grand love this 
 was. If it had stooped to artifice once, it rose to grandeur 
 now. He was perfectly sincere ; but she could not exact 
 such a promise from him, she could not permit such a sac- 
 rifice. He had touched her at last. He saw that her face 
 had softened, her eyes had brightened. 
 
 " No," she said, slowly ; " you shall not make so great a 
 sacrifice for me. That you are ready to do it is enough ; I 
 want no more. You are willing to make a sacrifice for me : 
 I will make one for you." 
 
 4 My darling ! " he cried, enraptured at the very idea. 
 
 " Do not be too sanguine," she said. " I am not at all 
 sure that the arrangement will succeed. Indeed, if 1 
 know myself, it will not. I begin to see my way more 
 clearly. You are willing to give up everything in the 
 world for me ; I will give up not my prejudices, I could 
 not part with them, but I will give up my indulgence in 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 141 
 
 <&em, for your sake. I will try to share your life. But/ 
 she added, naively, " I am quite sure I shall not like it." 
 
 " Will you give it a trial ? " he asked, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I will," she answered him. 
 
 " A fair, honest trial, Violet, in which you will endure 
 patiently all that you dislike most ? " 
 
 " I will," she repeated. 
 
 " I thank you. Lady Ryvers," he said, " from this 
 noment you shall be known by your right name. After 
 all, it will be a relief; I hate concealment. I shall write 
 to my mother this very day, and tell her that we shall be 
 at Ryvers well when shall we say ? " 
 
 " When you like," she replied, with a little shrinking, 
 which, in his eager delight, he did not notice. 
 
 " Shall you mind if we set out to-morrow ? " he asked, 
 " I shall not like staying here after this ; it would be very 
 uncomfortable meeting the people who are stopping here." 
 
 " I am ready to go at any moment you may wish," sha 
 replied " to-day, to-morrow, when you will." 
 
 She felt conscious that, having an ordeal to face, the 
 sooner she faced it the better. 
 
 " Then we will start for England to-worrow. We must 
 delay a day or two in Paris to buy a few things for my 
 mother and sisters." 
 
 " Randolph," she said, gravely, " I hava told you all that 
 has been said about us. No one can preveat the comments 
 of people ; but they can easily be corrected " 
 
 He interrupted her hastily. 
 
 " You are thinking of the Carstones," he said. " I will 
 make that right. We shall see them on the terrace this 
 evening. Now, Violet, tell me how I am to thank you ? " 
 
 " You have nothing to thank me for yet," she said. " 1 
 have only promised to try." 
 
 '' That means so much, coming from you," he whispered, 
 lovingly. " Oh, Violet, I am so glad that you know the 
 truth at last ! My deception has lain long and heavily on 
 my mind." 
 
 " Do not be too sanguine," she said. " I shal* do my 
 best : but I am afraid that the new life will not suit me, 
 nor the people I shall meet. I am proud and sensitive ; 
 they will be proud and exclusive." 
 
 " I would love any one for your sake," he remarked 
 
W8 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 u You must try to love my people because they are mine 
 Will you, darling ? " 
 
 " I will try," she replied. 
 
 " And you quite forgive me ? n 
 
 " Yes," she answered ; " I forgive you, because you are 
 so nobly generous ; I cannot help it. But well, I will 
 say no more than this I wish it had been otherwise." 
 
 He felt chilled. After all his lavish love and passionate 
 earnestness, those seemed cool words. Her manner, too s 
 was cold not what he had hoped it would be after his full 
 explanation. He said to himself, with a deep sigh, that he 
 would give her time. Of course the disclosure had been a 
 shock to her ; but she would get over that, and all would 
 be well. He had not been prepared to find her so cold, so 
 proud or obstinate ; he had always thought her so gentle 
 on every point except one. 
 
 They talked for a long time. He told her all about Ry* 
 versdale, about its beautiful rooms, its splendid glades and 
 magnificent grounds. 
 
 u You, who love beautiful scenery, must enjoy it," he 
 said ; " you cannot fail to be pleased with it." 
 
 But there was no answering enthusiasm on her face, 
 Then he thought that perhaps the wisest thing would be 
 to say nothing about his home or himself in any way ; so 
 he talked about other things. Yet, it was evident, from 
 the observations she made, that her thoughts still dwelt on 
 the discovery. 
 
 The same evening Lord Ryvers saw the Carstone family 
 on the terrace, and knew that the time had arrived when 
 he must disclose who he was. 
 
 " Violet," he said, " come with me. We will face the foe 
 together." 
 
 "What foe? "she asked. 
 
 " The Carstones. Come with me, and let me introduce 
 you by your proper name and title." 
 
 The beautiful face flushed proudly ; but she controlled 
 the impulse that prompted her to speak in hot resentment, 
 and went with him. 
 
 Did ever man look more gallant and brave, more hand- 
 some and proud, more erect of mien, more dignified in bear- 
 ing than this young lord, as he walked with his wife down 
 the terrace ? 
 
 There was embarrassment and confusion on the faces ol 
 
THORNS AND OEANGE-BLOSSOMSL1 149 
 
 fche Carstones as he came up to the little group. Never did 
 " blood " and " race " show more than in that little scene. 
 
 Lord Ry vers bowed as he took his wife's hand in his own. 
 
 " I have brought an old friend,' 7 he said, " to introduce 
 by a new name, my wife," and he laid great stress on the 
 word. " My wife tells me that you have discovered a secret 
 that I very much wished to keep a short time longer. That 
 being the case, allow me to reintroduce myself and Lady 
 Ryvers." 
 
 Mrs. Carstone's face beamed with good nature and awe. 
 (t was all really true then, and this beautiful, simple girl 
 Was Lady Ryvers. Richard Carstone looked bewildered ; 
 he knew neither what to say nor what to think. The case 
 Was quite out of his experience. He did not know whether 
 he ought to congratulate, praise, or blame ; therefore, like a 
 wise man, he remained perfectly silent ; while Oscar frowned. 
 
 " You have been so very kind to Lady Ryvers," contin- 
 ued the young lord, addressing himself pointedly this time 
 to Mrs. Carstone, " that I feel a few words of explanation 
 are due to you. As to any insolent conjectures about my 
 marriage, they are beneath my contempt, and I treat them 
 BO by passing them by. The dear and honored lady who 
 gave me her love is my wife, as much as the laws of God 
 and man could make her so. The explanation of my secret 
 is very simple. I am sorry to say that Lady Ryvers had a 
 strong prejudice against my class. It was not her fault, 
 but the fault of a false training ; and the prejudice was so 
 strong, Mrs. Carstone, that, if she had known I moved in a 
 high circle, she would not have married me. So I wooed 
 her as a poor artist, and Heaven bless her! she loved me 
 for myself, and married me. Do you not think I was a 
 very fortunate man ? We should have had a few more 
 months in this charming solitude, but for the ball and the 
 visit of my friend, Forest-Hay." 
 
 " I think you are a most fortunate man, my lord," said 
 fche kindly lady ; but neither of the gentlemen spoke. 
 
 " Now that the discovery is made," continued Lord Ry- 
 vers, " I shall lose no time in taking my wife home to En- 
 gland. I kept my marriage a secret for a short time in 
 deference to her prejudices; but, now that the secret is no 
 longer my own, I shall take her to my mother at once." 
 
 " Quite right, my lord," said Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 She owned afterward that he looked so brave, so hand- 
 
150 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 some, so loving, that she longed to clasp her arms round 
 his neck and kiss him. 
 
 " 1 wish you much happiness, my lord," said Richard 
 Carstone, quite unconscious that his words sounded some 
 what satirically. He did not know what else to say. 
 
 i4 Thank you,'- said Lord Ryvers, holding out his hand. 
 
 The frown on Oscar's face deepened. Others might be- 
 lieve what they liked ; he would believe what he chose. 
 
 " We leave here to-morrow,' 7 said Lord Ryvers. " Per 
 haps Lady Ryvers will like to spend an hour or two with 
 you this evening." 
 
 He said that to show her utter fearlessness as to any re- 
 marks they might make. Mrs. Carstone eagerly caught 
 Violet's hand. 
 
 " It will be a great pleasure to me," she said, earnestly. 
 
 And Lord Ryvers went away leaving them together. 
 
 On the morrow the} 7 started for home, staying two days 
 in Paris, where, in his wife's name, Lord Ryvers bought 
 presents innumerable for his mother and sisters ; and then 
 they started for Ryvers well. 
 
 It was the beginning of a new life, in which Yiolet, Ladj 
 Ryvers, mistress of many a broad acre and much wealth, 
 was to find out how long, sharp, and painful were the 
 thorns hidden by the orange-blossoms. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIII. 
 
 was the. delight of artists. It was one oi 
 the most ancient of the many ancient houses to be found in 
 England. It stood in the prettiest part of Kent, where 
 from the summit of the well-wooded hills one caught a 
 glimpse of the sea. It was an abbey once upon a time, 
 said to have been founded in the e k arlier days of the Anglo- 
 Saxons. There was little trace of the old abbey to be founcj 
 now, and the gray friars who owned it had been hundreds 
 of years at rest. But every now and then in the grounds 
 one came across a ruined arch, the trace of a wall, covered 
 with thick ivy, the remains of an ancient crypt, the delicate 
 tracery of a cloister, the outline of a grand old church. 
 There was one especially beautiful ruin that each inhabi- 
 tant of Ry versdale had done his best to preserve ; that was 
 the broken arch of what had once been the great eastern 
 window. It was shadowed now by many trees. Stately 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 151 
 
 oaks stood near, and fragrant limes touched it with their 
 drooping boughs. It was so thickly covered with ivy that 
 the old gray stone could not be seen. 
 
 The Ry verses were a grand, courageous race ; but as 
 time passed on the spirit of the times changed, and they 
 changed with it. Then the family grew less, their power 
 and influence decreased ; they were less known, less famous, 
 until in this the nineteenth century they were no longef 
 conspicuous for anything except the antiquity of their race. 
 
 Yet it was something to be a Ryvers. When the late 
 Lord Ryvers went wooing the stately heiress of the Altons, 
 some said that with her beauty and her money she might 
 do better. But she said " No ; " there were men in En- 
 gland of higher position and greater wealth, but none of 
 more ancient or noble lineage, and that was what she val 
 ued most. 
 
 Ryverswell had been named partly from the river that 
 ran through it to the sea, and partly from the old well 
 called St. Michael's Well, which at one time had been al- 
 most a shrine in its way. It was the most curious of all 
 old wells, lying deep and dark in a huge cave, fed by a sub- 
 terranean current of water that was always fresh and al- 
 ways clear. The Castle was worthy of the grounds. It 
 tad been used for almost every purpose. It had been for- 
 tified in time of war ; it had been the dower-house of & 
 queen; it had once been the refuge of a discrowned king; 
 now it was the peaceful home of a peaceful race, and a very 
 beautiful home too. No element of the quaint or pictur- 
 esque was wanting ; the battlemented towers and tall tur- 
 rets, the rich carvings, the great oriel windows, the grand 
 sweep of the arches, the beauty of the white terraces, all 
 made up a picture that, once seen, was never forgotten. 
 The interior was equally beautiful. The rooms were light, 
 large, and lofty, superbly furnished with treasures of art 
 collected by many generations. Ryversdale was one of 
 those grand and luxurious homes not to be found out of 
 England, and thoroughly appreciated by its owners. 
 
 One morning at the end of October the family were 
 gathered together in the Castle. It was chilly, and Lady 
 Ryvers had ordered fires in all the rooms. The great 
 drawing-room, which had once been the stateroom of a 
 queen, presented a picture of comfort and splendor not 
 often seen. It had been Lady Ryvers' pleasure that this 
 
18 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 spacious and magnificent apartment should be furnished in 
 white and gold. There was no other color ; nothing marred 
 that magnificent harmony. The ceiling was superbly 
 painted; the walls were paneled in white and gold; the 
 pictures were the finest works of modern art ; while 
 statues stood on golden pedestals. The carpet was of 
 white velvet pile, the furniture was covered in white vel- 
 vet, and the hangings were of rich white velvet, embroid- 
 ered with gold. The works of art were treasures brought 
 from every land ; but perhaps the most remarkable, cer- 
 tainly the most beautiful feature was the quantity of choice 
 and fragrant hot-house flowers standing in the jardinieres. 
 The dowager Lady Ryvers was accustomed to say that the 
 love and culture of flowers was a sure sign of a refined 
 mind. It was characteristic of her that, wherever she went 
 and wherever she lived, she was surrounded by flowers. 
 
 There was no smile on her ladyship's face this morning. 
 The October sun shone on the white terraces, the light 
 flashed on the river ; there was a pleasant musical sound 
 from a small fountain ; the rich odor of white hyacinths 
 filled the room, and the cheerful light of the fire added a 
 rich glow of warmth ; yet not one of these comforts, lux- 
 uries, or beauties brought a smile to her ladyship's face. 
 
 Her heart was troubled within her. Yesterday her fair 
 haughty face had hardly a line upon it ; to-day there were 
 several. The greatest sorrow of her life had befallen her, 
 and she knew not how to meet it. Yesterday she was the 
 proudest mother in England, to-day the haught}^ head was 
 bent low. Yesterday she spoke of her son with pride, to- 
 day she would not whisper his name even to herself. Yes- 
 terday she had looked with serene eyes on the pictured 
 faces that graced the old walls, the faces of the Ladies Ry 
 vers long since dead ; to-day the pictured eyes seemed tc 
 mock her. Yesterday she could have declared that in hei 
 whole life she had known no cloud ; to-day it seemed to hei 
 as though the darkness of her grief and the shadow of 
 shame would never pass away. Only this morning she had 
 received a letter from the son she idolized, the son on whom 
 all her hopes had been fixed, telling her that he was mar- 
 ried, that he had been married a whole year, and that he 
 was bringing his wife home to Ry versdale, where he begged 
 his mother and sister to meet them. He added that his 
 wife Violet was the daughter of a doctor, a simple, beauti 
 
T&ORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 153 
 
 till girl, without fortune, but with the grace and loveliness 
 of a queen. 
 
 Lady Ryvers was in London with her daughter Monica 
 when she received the letter. She read it, and sat for some 
 time in a stupor of pain and wonder. The marriage of her 
 daughters had been a matter of great moment to her, the 
 marriage of her son was of far greater importance. It was 
 the pivot on which all her life was to turn. She could not 
 believe or realize what she read. Randolph had always, 
 been the most obedient and devoted of sons to her. The^ 
 had agreed on every subject except one that was his de- 
 votion to art. The choice and the purchase of pictures 
 was right enough ; but, according to her ladyship's creed, 
 the painting of them was quite another thing. She would 
 far rather that her son had employed his time in any other 
 fashion ; still she was patient, because it was the only fault 
 she had to find with him. And now he had taken the most 
 important step in life without consulting her ; he had mar- 
 ried without even asking approval of his choice, and she 
 felt justly aggrieved. When she had read the letter 
 through again, she rang the bell. 
 
 " Tell Miss Ryvers that I wish to see her," she said to 
 the servant who answered it. 
 
 A few minutes afterward Monica Ryvers entered the 
 room where her mother awaited her. 
 
 " Monica," said Lady Ryvers, " read that. It has broken 
 my heart." 
 
 , Monica took the letter from her mother's hand. She 
 read it carefully, and then looked with wondering eyes into 
 her mother's face. 
 
 "Randolph married, mammal What a strange thing 
 that he never wrote to tell you of his intention 1 And he 
 has married a stranger I " 
 
 " It has broken my heart," repeated Lady Ryvers. " To 
 think that he should have chosen the daughter of a country 
 doctor, and he might have married Gwendoline Marr ! I 
 shall never face the world again, Monica." If she had 
 heard that her only son had committed a forgery or a mur- 
 der, Lady Ryvers could not have been more affected. " A 
 penniless, nameless stranger," she said " and he my only 
 eon 1 He has spoiled my life ; he has indeed, Monica." 
 
 " Mamma," said the girl, " J have never seen tears in 
 
154 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 your eyes before; that distresses me more than Randolph** 
 marriage." 
 
 " He was so gifted. He had a larger fortune and brighter 
 prospects than any young man I know ; handsome, gifted, 
 heir to a grand old name and a grand old estate, }^et he has 
 spoiled his life by marrying a doctor's daughter. My dear 
 Jionica, words fail me." 
 
 44 Dear mamma, she may not be so hopelessly bad if s^e 
 is very beautiful." 
 
 4t Hush ! " said Lady Ryvers, with an imperious gesture 
 44 1 must bear my troubles as the R3^verses of old bore 
 their reverses on the battle-field. The world is my battle- 
 field, This is my first great defeat ; I must bear it. But 
 do not offer me any weak words of consolation ; for a sor- 
 row like mine there are none. My only son, my only son ! " 
 
 44 You should have received this letter two days since, 
 mamma," said Monica. " It has been sent here from Mount 
 Avon. To-day is All Hallows' Eve." 
 
 4; Then we must go by the first train this morning. Send 
 a telegram to Draynham, asking Marguerite to meet us. 
 Do not tell her what is wrong ; it might distress her." 
 
 Monica smiled at the thought. She had never seen that 
 serenely calm sister of hers distressed in her life. 
 
 So it was arranged that Lady Ry vers and her daughter 
 should travel to Ry vers well that same da}r. 
 
 44 We shall be in plenty of time to meet them," said Lady 
 Ryvers, with the calm of despair. 44 If they are coming 
 from Paris, as I understand from Randolph's letter, they 
 cannot reach Ryverswell to-night. I am not a woman 
 given to emotion," she added ; 44 but I cannot realize that I 
 am going to see my son's wife." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IN the drawing-room at Ryversdale Lady Ryvers sat> 
 awaiting what in her heart she called her doom. Monica 
 Uad done her best ; but, finding that all attempts at conso- 
 lation only made her mother more irritable, she left her 
 alone. Lady Lester was expected, and the youngest 
 daughter trusted much to the influence of the elder one, to 
 her cairn wisdom, her serene manner of dealing with all 
 difficulties. 
 
 Hard thoughts must have been in Lady Ryvers' heart. 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 165 
 
 for they were written on her face when her two daughters 
 entered the room. 
 
 The Countess of Lester had just reached Ryversdale, 
 and was anxious to know what was the matter. She went 
 up to her mother and embraced her. 
 
 u I am afraid you are in trouble, mamma," she said, 
 calmly, so calmly that her words contrasted curiously 
 enough with her face and manner. " You must be, or you 
 would not have telegraphed for me. Arthur wanted very 
 much to come with me ; but it was impossible. I had to 
 travel with Fisher. What is wrong, mamma ? You are 
 not ill yourself, I am glad to see." 
 ' " Did }'ou think I was ? " asked Lady Ryvers. 
 
 At times like these, when she felt irritable, the calm 
 serenity of her fearless daughter tried her just a little. 
 There was enough resemblance between Lady Ryvers and 
 the Countess of Lester to show they were mother and 
 daughter. They had the same dark imperial beauty, the 
 same grand carriage, the same delicate brows and exquisite 
 profile ; but the character of Lady Ryvers' beauty was 
 pride, that of Lady Lester's serenity. Lady Ryvers was a 
 wonderfully preserved woman who looked ten years younger 
 than she really was. 
 
 On this morning Lady Lester looked especially well. 
 She wore a graceful dress of Indian silk and neat Parisian 
 bonnet that rendered her if possible more charming. 
 
 Ske had been summoned to meet her mother ; but she 
 stood there, calm, unruffled, no wonder in her lovely dark 
 eyes, few questions on her lips, ready to hear anything, and 
 not to be surprised. If she lived to be seventy, there 
 would be no wear and tear of emotion on her smooth face, 
 no wear or tear of passion ; the calm, unmoved loveliness 
 would be the same when she lay in her coffin. 
 
 She had come to listen to her mother's troubles ; but she 
 was careful how the folds of her dress fell, as though she 
 were posing for a statue. It was wonderful to see the face 
 of Monica, who stood watching her with something be 
 tween a sigh and a smile. 
 
 " Shall I ring ? Will you go to your room first, Mar- 
 guerite, or will you wait ? " 
 
 " I will wait, mamma. I am anxious to know why you 
 aent for ine, 7) 
 
:&6 THORNS AND OMANGE-BLOS80M3. 
 
 " To tell you, nvy dear, the worst news you ever heard in 
 your life," cried Lady Ryvers " the very worst ! " 
 
 Not an eyelash on the beautiful face quivered, the dainty, 
 delicate bloom underwent no change. 
 
 " Bad news, dear mamma ? Is it anything about Arthur ?" 
 
 " No; what could I know about Arthur 1 You have just 
 left him strong and well, I suppose. It is much worse, 
 much more important. Briefly, Marguerite, it is this. 
 Four brother Randolph, rny only son Heaven help me ! * 
 das married without my knowledge ; I will not speak of mj 
 consent." 
 
 " Randolph married ! " cried Lady Lester and for once 
 the delicate brows were arched " married without inform* 
 ing you, mamma ? That is very wrong." 
 
 " I knew you would feel it, Marguerite, although you are 
 Dot given to displays of emotion ; I knew you must feel it. 
 Monica persists in attempting to comfort me ; you will not 
 try. You know such a blow as this has has shattered 
 me!" 
 
 Then Monica came forward. If she loved any one on 
 earth, it was her brother Randolph, with his beautiful face 
 and poet's soul. She formed a complete contrast to her 
 stately mother and sister. Monica Ryvers was not tall, 
 she had a slight, girlish figure, about which there was 
 nothing remarkable except its supple grace. She walked 
 well, danced well, moved well. She had not the statuesque 
 elegance that distinguished Marguerite, Countess of Lester. 
 She would have flown through six rooms while the stately 
 beauty crossed one. Her charm lay in her quick, light, 
 active movements. She was the very child of impulse. 
 She was not beautiful, in the common acceptation of the 
 word, although she had Irish eyes, and hair that was black 
 and waving. Hers was a face that, without being notice* 
 ably lovely, yet flashed intelligence, was full of sparkle and 
 of fire, full of wit and humor, and capable of any amount 
 of pathos. With smiles and tears always close together, 
 she was a girl whom it was impossible for her lady mother 
 to understand. 
 
 " Why do you laugh ? " she would ask her at times ; and 
 again, " Why do you cry?" she would say, when the girl's 
 face flushed with passion or paled with emotion. 
 
 Lady Ryvers would have found it easier to have read a 
 Qreek volume or translated Hebrew than to have under' 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 1#J 
 
 stood her charming, impulsive, gifted child* She came for* 
 ward slowly now ; that constant reference to her attempt at 
 consolation troubled her, 
 
 44 Mamma, dear, if I knew what better to say, I would 
 say it," she said. 
 
 44 It is better to be silent than to give utterance to foolish 
 platitudes," returned Lady Ryvers. " How many times 
 this day have you told me that what cannot be cured must 
 be endured ? " 
 
 44 It is perfectly true, mamma," said the girl. 
 
 44 So it may be ; but that is no earthly reason why you 
 need repeat it." 
 
 44 Monica," said Lady Lester, " it would be better for you 
 to be silent ; you never did understand mamma." 
 
 " I only want to comfort her. I cannot bear to see het 
 30 unhappy." 
 
 44 But I tell you jbhere is no comfort ! " cried Lady Ryvers- 
 u Oh, Marguerite, my heart is broken 1 " 
 
 44 Nay, mamma, let us hope it is not quite so bad a3 
 that," laid Lady Lester. 
 
 But she asked no questions as to who her sister-in-law 
 was, or anything about her. 
 
 " It is as bad as can be, Marguerite. He has married 
 gome poor obscure girl without birth, fortune, or anything 
 else to recommend her." 
 
 44 Except beauty," put in Monica. 
 
 " Yes," allowed Lady Ryvers, with some irritation, " ex- 
 cept beauty. Now what is to be done? It is our social 
 ruin. He is the head of the House of R>y vers. What is to 
 be done, Marguerite ? " 
 
 When that most serene of women did utter an opinion, 
 it was very often what her sister, with some justice, called 
 a " crusher." This was the sort of opinion, she uttered 
 now. 
 
 " It is a mischievous affair," she said, " and I cannot see 
 how it is to be mitigated. I always thought," she added, 
 slowly, 4 ' that Randolph meant to marry Gwendoline Marr." 
 
 44 He ought to have married her," replied Lady Ryvers. 
 44 Marguerite, I shall never face the world. I shall leave 
 England, and never return." 
 
 The Countess of Lester sat for some time in silence, and, 
 curiously enough, this silence was more consoling to hef 
 mother than all Monica's well-meant efforts, 
 
158 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " Mamma," said Monica, as though she had just made a 
 sudden discovery, "you may rely upon it, Randolph has 
 married for love." 
 
 u Then he ought to be doubly ashamed ! " cried Lady 
 Ryvers. " The head of a house like ours, and to take such 
 nonsense into consideration ! He has acted, no doubt, like 
 some untaught and untrained schoolboy; he has been 
 charmed with some rustic blooming face, and has married 
 the girl without any consideration as to how we should like 
 it, or any thought of his own position. Oh, Marguerite, 
 what shall we do? It is the first low marriage in the 
 family." 
 
 " You cannot call it a low marriage, mamma," put in 
 Monica. " ' Low ' means something disreputable, does it 
 not? Randolph said she was a doctor's daughter. She 
 must be educated and refined." 
 
 " A country doctor 1 " groaned Lady Ryvers. " And the 
 professions in these days are thrown open to every one,, 
 Oh, Marguerite, what shall we do?" 
 
 " I cannot see that there is anything to be done, mamma > 
 the affair is hopeless," said Lady Lester. " In this case a 
 young man married is indeed a young man marred. Ran- 
 dolph has ruined his career." 
 
 " Another crusher," thought Monica, who would fain 
 have uttered a word in praise of her brother. 
 
 "Beauty," she said, "as you know mamma, goes for 
 something in these days. I read yesterday that one of the 
 peculiarities of the nineteenth century was the power and 
 influence of beauty. If Randolph's wife be, as he says, so 
 lovely, surely that will atone in some degree for other defi* 
 ciencies will it not ? " 
 
 " Beautiful women are not so rare in our family," an- 
 swered Lady Ryvers, musingly. 
 
 " Randolph has plenty of taste," said the Countess of 
 Lester. " I do not think any rustic beauty would charm 
 him." 
 
 " He has married for love," remarked Lady Ryvers, 
 piteously ; " and love is proverbially blind." 
 
 " Randolph was never blind," said Monica. " Mamma, 
 do not be so unhappy. Wait until you see her." 
 
 On some pretext Lady Ryvers sent Monica from the 
 room. 
 
 " Marguerite," she cried, hastily, tt I want just one word 
 
T&ORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 18D 
 
 With you before she returns. I have been wondering if 
 this marriage be legal." 
 
 " Legal, mamma! I should say so. Randolph may have 
 been very imprudent, but he would take good care of that.'* 
 
 " I am not so sure," said Lady Ryvers, thoughtfully. 
 " There are many formalities, many things needed to 
 make a marriage legal I do not know what they all are 
 such as residence in parishes, consent of parents, guardians, 
 and many other things." 
 
 u But, mamma," cried Lady Lester, " you would not 
 surety part them if there should be any flaw ? " 
 
 " Most certainly. I would part them to-day if I could 
 find the least flaw in a marriage which is perfectly distaste- 
 ful to me." 
 
 " That would be wicked, mamma," said the young 
 Countess. 
 
 " Not at all, my dear. I consider the marriage wicked. 
 I would undo it if I could. It is monstrous and unnatural 
 the head of a house like ours to marry in this under- 
 hand fashion of a girl of that kind and that class I It is 
 enough to make his father rise from the grave." 
 
 " My dear mamma, what a dreadful idea 1 " said Lady 
 Lester. 
 
 " I sent for you, Marguerite," continued Lady Ryvers, 
 " because I know that, although you are so quiet, and 
 understand the world. I want to consult you. Do ycu 
 not think we had better keep this unfortunate matter 
 quite quiet, for a few weeks at least, until we see what 
 she is like, and whether there is any chance of undoing the 
 mischief done ? " 
 
 " I should think it would be as well not to make it pub- 
 lic for some time at least. But, mamma, I will have 
 nothing to do with the undoing of the marriage. I do not 
 believe in it. I cannot think that the want of some little 
 legal form can render invalid a religious ceremony." 
 
 "If you take high grounds, certainly not," said Lady 
 Ryvers. 
 
 " There are no other grounds to take," returned the 
 Countess, serenely. " But I should certainly advise you to 
 keep the whole story quiet so long as Randolph will allow 
 you ; and in the meantime, if she spends some few weeks 
 here with you and Monica, you will see what she is like| 
 and whether it will be possible to do anything with her." 
 
$00 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 <c I wish, Marguerite, you would stay ; you would be so 
 much more useful than Monica. Arthur would come if 
 you ask him.' 1 
 
 " I am sure he would, and I should like it, mamma. I 
 know that I could be of use to you. 51 
 
 And so it was arranged. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 IT was seven o'clock dinner had been ordered fot 
 eight and there was a subdued air of excitement in the 
 Ryversdale household. It had been found needful to tell 
 the servants that the young lord was bringing home a 
 wife. Lady Ry vers would fain have kept it from them if 
 she could. Her one idea was to keep it secret from all the 
 world. In spite of all that conscience said about the mat- 
 ter, she was quite resolved that, if it were possible to find a 
 flaw in the marriage, it should be annulled. 
 
 How keenly she suffered, no one could guess. She had 
 been so proud of her son ; she had been so contempt- 
 uously pitiful to other mothers whose children had made 
 Wretched marriages. In a perfectly refined and well-bred 
 manner she had boasted of her son, and she had been 
 much courted for his sake. There was no doubt that 
 Randolph, Lord Ryvers, was one of the best matches in 
 England. His mother knew it. On the strength of it 
 she had patronized duchesses with large families of daugh- 
 ters. True, she was a very popular member of society on 
 her own account, but she was doubty so 011 account of her 
 son. Princess Saxon, who had four plain daughters all 
 unmarried, never ceased to court her. The Duchess of 
 Inverary, one of the most exclusive queens of society 
 eagerly sought Lady Ryvers, and said openly how much 
 she should like an alliance between the two houses ; and 
 Gwemdoline Marr, the most beautiful and wealthy heiress 
 of the day, had more than once shown her preference for 
 Uim. 
 
 Not only were all these triumphs ended, but a series of 
 terrible mortifications had begun. How should she face 
 the world when the pride of her life was gone ? How 
 could she bear the sneers of those ladies at whom she had 
 sneered, and who would not in their turn spare her ? She 
 knew exactly the tone of affected commiseration in which 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 161 
 
 they would address her. She knew how they would sting 
 her under the guise of pitying words. 
 
 " He might have married any one," she cried ; u and he 
 has brought me to this, that I shall be ashamed to show 
 jaiy face where, until now, I have been an honored guest 1 
 I can just imagine Princess Saxon, with that sweet, lan- 
 guid smile of hers, saying, ' What is this story about your 
 /son's marriage, dear Lady R}^vers ? I have not believed 
 one word of it ; ' and I shall have to own that it is all true/ 
 
 For the time the proud lady almost hated her son ; and 
 she hated with double bitterness the girl he had married. 
 
 Seven o'clock had struck, and every minute she ex 
 pected the carriage. It had been sent to Ryverswell rail- 
 way station, and the three ladies awaited its return. 
 Lady Ryvers would not have owned such a thing for the 
 world she would have called it theatrical and ill-bred 
 but she had chosen the great drawing-room in which to 
 receive Randolph's wife, hoping the sight of its grandeur 
 would annihilate her. For the same reason she had 
 chosen her richest dress of black velvet, her finest point- 
 lace, and some of her most superb diamonds. She looked 
 majestic and magnificent, yet in her heart she half de- 
 spised herself. What did it matter, after all, whether a 
 creature so utterly insignificant were crushed or not ? Lady 
 Lester looked beautiful as a dream. She wore a dress of 
 pale amber brocade, with some fine rubies. Monica wore 
 white with blue hyacinths. 
 
 " I don't know how I shall meet them," said Lady 
 Kyvers. " I have never felt that it was impossible to be 
 civil before. Marguerite, what shall I do ? My sense and 
 tact fail me." 
 
 With half closed eyes Marguerite, Countess of Lester, 
 lay back in her chair. She held a richly jeweled fan in hei 
 hands ; and the family crisis, as Monica irreverently called 
 it, had not troubled her. When Lady Ryvers spoke, the 
 elder daughter opened her magnificent dark eyes. 
 
 " Do not trouble, mamma," she said. " Let me use one 
 of Monica's platitudes what is to be will be. You have 
 anticipated the worst. It is just possible that we may 
 have an agreeable surprise." 
 
 "My dear Marguerite," cried Lady Ryvers, "I must 
 EISS Her. If I do not, Randolph will be mortally ofc 
 II 
 
162 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 fended. Yet how can I ? I wish they were here, and it 
 
 was all over." 
 
 " Mamma, shall you go into the hall to meet them?* 
 Monica asked, a short time afterward, when the sound oi 
 carriage-wheels was heard. 
 
 " Certainly not," replied her ladyship. " Why should 
 [ ? That is Randolph's voice. Oh, Marguerite, how my 
 tieart beats ! It has not beaten so quickly for years." 
 
 In the agitation of the moment the three ladies drew to- 
 gether. They formed a striking group. The door was 
 opened they never knew how or by whom and Randolph 
 entered the room. They saw the tall figure and the bronzed, 
 handsome face ; they saw that he led by the hand a graceful 
 girl, whose face was hidden by a traveling-veil. It seemed 
 for a moment as though they were all paralyzed ; then the 
 rich, cheery voice broke the spell. 
 
 " Mother, Marguerite, Monica all here ! How good of 
 you ! " 
 
 The next minute the graceful figure of the girl was seen 
 standing alone, and Randolph had flung his> arms veh * 
 mently round his mother. 
 
 " O, mother," he said, as he kissed the haughty, hand* 
 some face, "it is good to see you again ! Marguerite, I am 
 delighted ! " and he kissed the Countess of Lester 
 M Monica, my darling I " and that was the warmest greet 4 
 ing of all. 
 
 Then, with a look of pride on his face and a bow such 
 is a courtier would have made before a queen, Lord Ryvers 
 stepped back. He took the hand of his wife and led her to 
 Lady Ryvers. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " this is my wife, Yiolet ; Violet* 
 ny mother, Lady Ryvers." 
 
 She lacked all her accustomed grace and dignity when 
 she said : 
 
 " I bid you welcome home." It was a great effort to say 
 it. The voice was cold and hard ; there was no smile on 
 the face, no light in the eyes ; but she held out her jeweled 
 hand in greeting. " Welcome home," she repeated ; but 
 her voice was frigid. 
 
 " Mother," said Randolph," she is my wife and your 
 daughter. Have you no warmer greeting for her than 
 this?" 
 
 The lips with which she touched, not the girl's face, bat 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 163 
 
 the veil that covered it, were white as the lips of death \ 
 but Randolph seemed content. Then he led his wife to the 
 Countess of Lester. 
 
 u Marguerite," he said, " I bring you another sister." 
 
 The beautiful Countess, with the most serene expression 
 possible on her face, and with a most innocent expression 
 in her eyes, made a courtesy that would have done honor tc 
 a princess. She did not commit herself either by a frozen 
 kiss or a touch of the hand ; she murmured a few words 
 that were quite inaudible. Violet never knew whether they 
 were of praise, blame, welcome, or rejection ; but she felt 
 jliat her welcome was of the stateliest possible kind. 
 
 u Monica, my darling sister," said Lord Ryvers -" my 
 tvife." 
 
 No words could describe the proud exultation of his voice, 
 the ring of tenderness and passion ; and Monica, for her 
 brother's sake she thought only of him flung her arms 
 round the young girl's neck and kissed her warmly. 
 
 Then there was a pause. Lady Ryvers and Lady Lester 
 made a mental commeniyHlthe young wife's dress. " Worth," 
 said the CountesfttelMW^" and Worth at his best." The 
 traveling-dress 1H8$ g& j|Clj so elegant in its simplicity 
 dark-gray velvet ^tmmefi with a slight edging of fur 
 a, 'id it fitted the girl's figure perfectly, showed the beautiful 
 linos, the graceful curves, the fine contour. It was the 
 dress of a lady ; they felt it instinctively. 
 
 Violet did not raise her veil; she stood perfectly still t 
 but, when her husband turned to her, and said, " Darling; 
 you are welcome home at last ! " a quiver ran through her 
 
 She thanked him in her heart ; but she spoke no word. 
 
 u You are tired, probably," said Lady Ryvers ; and, try 
 as she would, she could not take the pride and hauteur from 
 her voice. 
 
 u I am very tired," said Violet ; " we had a rough pas 
 sage." 
 
 How eagerly they listened for her reply 1 The voice was 
 sweet and musical, the accent refined, the intonation perfect. 
 
 " You will like to go to your rooms," said Lady Ryvera 
 ' Have you brought a maid with you ? " 
 
 u No," replied Violet. 
 
 " I thought you would be kind enough, mother, to recom* 
 mend one," her husband interposed, " Violet has not had 
 much experience in that way*" 
 
164 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 44 1 have never had a maid," said Violet, " and should 
 hardly know how to engage one." 
 
 " Never had a maid ! " repeated Lady Ryvers ; and her 
 accent was one of undisguised horror. 
 
 The Countess of Lester smiled the smile of one who waa 
 learning strange things. 
 
 " My maid Fisher would not perhaps mind," said Lady 
 Ryvers, doubtfully. " She is clever ; but one hesitates in 
 these days to ask favors from servants." 
 
 " I should not ask favors ; I should issue commands," put 
 hi Randolph, at which a faint gleam of approval was visi- 
 ble in the eyes of the Countess. 
 
 " Mamma," said Monica, timidly, a if you will permit me, 
 I will take " then she paused for a moment, as though at a 
 loss for a word " I will take Lady Ryvers to her rooms." 
 
 She saw by the sudden flush that covered her mother's 
 face, the sudden, angry light that flashed in her eyes, that 
 she had done wrong. It was almost more than proud Lady 
 Ryvers could brook to hear the name she had borne so long 
 given to another. 
 
 " If you wish, you can show your brother's wife to her 
 rooms, Monica,*' she said, stiffly. 
 
 " Which rooms have you given to us mother ? " Lord 
 Ryvers asked, anxious to make a diversion. 
 
 " The white suite in the western wing, just for the pres* 
 ent ; you can make your own choice afterward," she replied. 
 
 Lord Ryvers did not know whether to feel pleased or 
 angry. The white suite, as the beautiful set of apartments 
 was called, was generally set apart for visitors ; but there 
 were handsomer suites in the house. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, simply. " I am sure we shall find 
 them comfortable." 
 
 For the whole world his mother could not have refrained 
 from a slight toss of her head. If those rooms were not 
 good enough for this young person from the country, she 
 would like to know what were. 
 
 Monica saw the danger-signals, and hastened from the 
 room, taking Yiolet with her. 
 
 Then on the three left behind there fell a strange, uncom- 
 fortable silence : Lord Ryvers was the first to break it. 
 
 " You were surprised to hear of my marriage, mother," 
 he said. 
 
 "I was something more than surprised, she replied 
 
TffOXNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 168 
 
 w We had better not discuss it yet, Randolph; I have not 
 recovered from the shock." 
 
 " I ought to have written. I own frankly, mother, that 
 I ought to have consulted you ; but love must be my ex- 
 cuse. You will try to love Violet for my sake ? " 
 
 " I can make no promise, Randolph. I would rather not 
 discuss the matter yet. It has been a terrible blow to me. 
 I must recover from it." 
 
 " Marguerite," said the young man, his voice full of pas* 
 sion and tenderness, u you will be kind to my wife ? " 
 
 The Countess looked at him. 
 
 " I think mamma is right," she said, gently ; " we must 
 have time. You see, Randolph, this young lady has be- 
 longed to quite a different class from ours, and it will be 
 some time before she will understand us or we shall under- 
 stand her. You have made an experiment ; you must pa- 
 tiently await the result." 
 
 " Violet is a lady," he said, quickly. 
 
 His mother held up her hands. 
 
 " Do not Discuss the question," she cried ; tt I cannot en* 
 dure it." 
 
 " At what time do we dine ? " asked Lord Ryvers. 
 
 " Eight o'clock. The first bell will ring in a few minutes ; 
 you will be late, Randolph," replied his mother. 
 
 And that was her welcome home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE two ladies left alone, the dowager sunk down in an 
 attitude of despair. 
 
 " He is just as infatuated as ever, Marguerite," she said. 
 "What shall I do?" 
 
 "What do you think of her? "asked the Countess oi 
 Lester, with some little interest. 
 
 " I did not see her face," replied Lady Ryvers. " She 
 did not raise her veil." 
 
 " I was favorably impressed," said Lady Lester. She has 
 certainly a perfect figure, and she dresses with perfect taste. 
 I liked her voice and her accent. I noticed another thing 
 that pleased me : she evinced 110 curiosity. I do not think 
 that she saw even the beauty of the room. A vulgar girl 
 would have shown some surprise, if merely to gratify you." 
 
 " You are very kind. Marguerite. Certainly, there is 
 
166 ITHORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 some comfort in what 3^011 say. But, my dear, I trust 
 Monica will not be familiar with her ; if she is, she will undfl 
 all the good that we can do. 77 
 
 " Monba is very impulsive," said the Countess. " No one 
 can ever foresee what she will do or say." 
 
 " She is neither an Alton nor a Ryvers," complained Lady 
 Ry vers. " I feel, Marguerite, as though I should never get 
 over this trouble. How little I thought that the coming 
 home of my son's wife would be like this. I had a dream 
 of some great pageant, of a wedding exceeding all others 
 in magnificence, of a coming home that would be remem- 
 bered in the county for many years, of a daughter-in-law 
 after my own heart. Do you know, Marguerite, one of my 
 happiest anticipations has always been the thought of pre- 
 senting Randolph's wife to the Queen ? " 
 
 44 It may be realized, mamma," said the Countess. " From 
 the roughest marble a skillful sculptor shapes the most 
 beautiful statues. You cannot tell what change a few 
 months of your training will make." 
 
 " My dear," returned Lady Ryvers, witli some irritation, 
 * I shall not have patience. I shall never be able to con- 
 trol my dislike to the girl. To think of the difference be- 
 tween what might have been and what is ? " 
 
 In the meantime the two young girls had made their way 
 to the white suite of rooms. If Violet felt startled at the 
 magnificence of the house, at the beauty of the paintings 
 and statues, she said nothing, and Monica admired her reti- 
 cence. The real thing that oppressed her and lay heavily 
 on her mind was that one day this must all be hers. Mon- 
 ica Ryvers little dreamed what was passing in the mind of 
 her companion. Her eyes fell on the crest, on the coat of 
 arms, on the hundred and one insignia of that patent of 
 nobility which she so completely and thoroughly despised. 
 Monica felt almost shy with this tall, stately girl who was 
 so silent. 
 
 " Mamma selected these rooms, because there is such a 
 beautiful view from the windows," said Monica. " You 
 will choose your own now." 
 
 Yiolet bowed. There was no pleasure, no elation, in her 
 manner ; and Monica wondered more and more what man- 
 ner of girl was this who saw so much beauty and so much 
 magnificence, yet was quite unmoved by it. She opened 
 the door of a room, the luxurious appointments of which 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. IGI 
 
 might have extorted a cry of admiration from a Stoic. A 
 fire burned cheerfully in a bright grate, the soft light of in* 
 numerable wax-tapers filled the room. No word came from 
 Violet. She had made up her mind as to one thing before 
 she entered the house nothing should draw from her one 
 word of admiration ; her husband's relatives should not 
 think her overwhelmed with their grandeur. 
 
 " I will adopt the nil admirari system," she said to her* 
 self. " They will fancy that I shall be overwhelmed by 
 their grandeur and magnificence. I would rather have my 
 old home at St. By no's." 
 
 u I hope," said Monica, " you will find everything com- 
 fortable and as you like it." 
 
 Yiolet glanced round carelessly. 
 
 " If I require anything more, I will ask for it," she said. 
 
 A gleam of appreciation came into Monica's eyes. 
 
 " That little speech was worthy of the Countess of Les 
 ter 1 " she said to herself. " We shall have a lively time ol 
 it at Ryversdale ! " 
 
 Then Yiolet went to her and laid one hand on her arm. 
 
 a I thank you," she said, " for the kindly greeting you 
 gave me I shall never forget it also for the kiss. Your 
 kindness touched my heart." She was about to add, " I 
 thought nothing would ever touch it again ; " but she re* 
 framed. Better to keep her own secrets locked in her heart, 
 
 Then Monica, with kindly hands, unfastened the thick 
 veil and the pretty traveling-bonnet. She was fairly 
 startled at the marvelous beauty of the face beneath ; yet> 
 beautiful as it was, there was something of sadness in the 
 violet eyes and in the sweet, proud lips. It was not tha 
 face of a brilliantly happy young bride or of a well-con* 
 tented young wife. 
 
 " What a beautiful sister you are I " cried Monica, en- 
 thusiastically. " Randolph told us you were beautiful ; 
 but I did not think you would be like this." 
 
 " I am glad you are pleased with me," said Yiolet, 
 quietly. There was no resisting the honest, tender sympa- 
 thy in the bright young face. 
 
 Then Monica wondered even more for, in removing the 
 bonnet, all the thick mass of luxuriant golden hair fell over 
 Yiolet's shoulders. A cry of admiration came from her lips. 
 
 " What magnificent hair ! " she cried. " Why, this ia 
 the very color of colors I Some of the fashionable ladies ia 
 
168 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 London would give half their fortune for it. How 
 how thick, how splendid it is ! How well you dress it ! " 
 
 " I spend very little time over it," said Yiolet, to whom 
 hairdressing was a mystery. 
 
 " You must let mamma's maid come and help you," said 
 Monica. " She is an adept at hairdressing. She can make 
 the poorest head of hair look magnificent. You can guess 
 what she will do with yours. I shall go and coax her to 
 come." 
 
 " Pray do not," requested Violet, hastily. " I can do as 
 I always do." 
 
 But Monica left the room before she had time to say 
 more. 
 
 Presently Lord Ry vers opened the door ; he stood for a 
 moment in dazed admiration before the beautiful figure half 
 covered with the veil of glittering golden hair. 
 
 " Yiolet," he said, in a low tone of voice, " amongst your 
 various dresses, have you a nice dinner-dress ? " 
 
 " I should suppose so," she answered, carelessly. 
 
 " My darling," he said, earnestly, " do try to look youi 
 best ! You are always beautiful and bewitching. I want 
 yeu to look more so than ever to-night. So much depends 
 on first impressions." 
 
 He saw a faint gleam of contempt on the exquisite face 
 He kissed it, for he was gentleness and patience itself. 
 
 " You promised, Yiolet," he said. 
 
 She relented and looked at him with a smile. It was 
 almost impossible to withstand his patient good humor and 
 sweet temper. Yiolet always admired it. Once indeed she 
 had said, " Randolph, you have the best and sweetest tem 
 per of any man I know ; but you are a sleeping lion, I be 
 lieve. If you were ever roused to anger, you would be 
 much more angry than a worse-tempered man." 
 
 " Why do you think so ? " he asked gravely. 
 
 " I imagine it from a look that I have seen once or twice 
 in your eyes," she replied. 
 
 She thought of those words now, as he stood so patiently 
 and gently kissing away the frown from her fair face. 
 Thsre came to her a wonder as to whether she really appre- 
 ciated this great love of his, whether he would ever tire of 
 her ; and, while these thoughts were passing through her 
 mind, his honest, frank eyes were looking smilingly down 
 into hers. 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 16* 
 
 44 1 will do my best, Randolph, I have a pretty dinner- 
 dress which I think will suit the occasion. It is composed 
 of white silk and white lace, and it is trimmed with rich 
 purple heart's ease. I am quite " 
 
 She paused, hearing something or some one at the door. 
 Husband and wife stood together, and both turned to see 
 rhat it was. 
 
 Fisher, her ladyship's maid, the disagreeable and spiteful 
 tmt clever lady's-maid, stood there. Lord Ryvers felt 
 s?exed that she should have seen him kiss his wife, and he 
 'tpoke sharply. 
 
 44 Do you want anything, Fisher? " he asked. 
 
 " No, your lordship ; but I understood this lady needed 
 my assistance." 
 
 " I shall be glad," mid the young husband, with some 
 dignity, " if you will help iny wife, Lady Ryvers, until her 
 own maid arrives." 
 
 " The most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my 
 life ! " was the woman's mental comment. " She is fairer 
 than the Countess." 
 
 44 1 will do what I can for her ladyship," she said, ad- 
 vancing into the room. 
 
 Violet would have given much to have beaten a retreat. 
 She was far more alarmed at the lady's-maid than she had 
 been at her mistress. 
 
 Lord Ryvers said a few hasty words of farewell. 
 
 44 You will tell me how you like them all afterward," He 
 said, in a low voice. " I must go clown now." 
 
 " Oh, Randolph, take that horrible-looking woman away 
 with you I " whispered Violet. 4i She is worse than any of 
 them." 
 
 44 She is a necessity, my dear/' he answered. 
 
 With an anxious eye Lady Ryvers watched her husband's 
 retreating figure. 
 
 44 What can I do for you, my lady ? " Fisher asked, ap* 
 proaching and courtesying, but there was a tinge of inso- 
 lence in her manner. 
 
 "I do not know," said Violet. " I have never had a 
 maid of my own. Do for me what every other lady's-maid 
 does for her mistress." 
 
 There was no resisting this ; the simple, quiet dignity of 
 the answer awed the maid. 
 
170 THORNS AND OX ANGE- BLOSSOMS, 
 
 " Shall I brush your hair first, my lady F ' ? she asked 
 more respectfully. 
 
 " If you please," said Violet. 
 
 And in a few minutes move the maid held the golden 
 Waves of hair in her hands, admiring the length and sheen. 
 
 " I have not seen such hair as this, my lady," she said, 
 " since the time I left the Duchess of Hetherly. She had 
 just the same, but her face did not correspond with it. It 
 was all freckled and brown, the queerest complexion any 
 lady ever had." 
 
 Yiolet made no remark. She was determined not to en 
 courage gossip, yet just at present she could not summon 
 courage to bid the woman to be silent. 
 
 u It took me nearly an hour every day to paint the DucK 
 ess' face. She was kind enough to say that I had an artis 
 tic touch. She was very difficult to please ; she liked her 
 face to vary every day." 
 
 Fisher frowned when she saw how coldly her gossip was 
 received. 
 
 " I was sorry to leave the Duchess," she continued ; u but 
 she was very cross and 4 uppish ' with me one morning 
 when I was painting her face. She said something to me, 
 and I told her if she repeated it, I would leave at a mo- 
 ment's notice. She did repeat it, and I left her immedi* 
 ately, with half her face painted. She could not find any 
 one to paint the other half; no one could match it. She 
 sent to offer me anything in the world if I would go back 
 to finish it." 
 
 " I think that was a very ill-natured trick," said Violet. 
 And from that moment Fisher was the most bitter enemy 
 Violet had in the house. Yet the woman was an artist ii? 
 her way, and she could not resist the temptation of per 
 forming her task to the best of her ability. 
 
 Then Lord Ryvers came for his wife. 
 
 " Have I pleased you ? " she asked, her beautiful eyes all 
 alight. 
 
 " You have indeed t t? lie said. " I am proud of you, my 
 lovely wife ! " 
 
 He took her hand, and !ed her to the drawing-room. In 
 one sense he was leading her to the great social battlefield, 
 for here hei new liie began, and the first wound from the 
 thorns in her orange-blossoms was to be given to her that 
 night, a wound that would never quite heal. 
 
THORNS AND OBANGE-BLOSSOMSL 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 IP Violet had spoken the truth that evening^ when she 
 sat down to dinner, she would have owned that the beauty 
 and magnificence which surrounded her were most delight- 
 ful. The dining-room was a large, lofty apartment con- 
 taming some superb pictures. The table was a picture in 
 Itself, with its collection of plate, glass, glossy linen, beau- 
 tiful flowers, rare fruits, and costly wines. To her. unin- 
 itiated eyes, the ceremoii}^ at the table seemed very elabor- 
 ate, but no word, no sign escaped her ; and the dowager 
 Lady Ryvers, watching her keenly, decided that she must 
 l)e accustomed to good society, as she evinced no surprise. 
 With some suspense the two ladies had awaited her return 
 to the drawing-room. 
 
 "No one can tell what she is like with that veil over her 
 face," the elder woman had declared. 
 
 Mother and daughter were standing together when hus 
 band and wife returned. They saw a girlish, graceful fig- 
 ure draped in glistening folds ; they saw white, rounded 
 arms, bare to the shoulder, dimpled and warm, clasped with 
 costly bracelets of purple amethyst and gold ; a beautiful 
 white neck, gracefully arched ; a peerless face, and a 
 queenly head with a crown of golden hair. Purple heart's- 
 ease lay in the fair hair and touched the white neck. It 
 was the fairest picture of youth and beauty under the sun. 
 
 A thrill of admiration went through the hearts of both 
 women when they saw her an almost imperceptible smile 
 passed over the face of the Countess 9f Lester. 
 
 " I do not think vny mother need fear," she thought to 
 herself. 
 
 Perhaps the dowager Lady Ryvers did experience some 
 iittle sense of relief when she saw how beautiful and grace- 
 ful the girl was. But that was soon dissipated, and she 
 was more annoyed than ever by the expression of intense 
 love and fervent admiration she saw on her son's face. 
 
 There was little chance of finding a flaw in a marriage 
 where the husband was so devoted ! There was no flaw 
 either in the manner or behavior of the young girl who sat 
 BO perfectly self-possessed, evidently expecting to be feted, 
 &nd to receive all the attention due to a bride. 
 
 The dowager had had some vague idea that she could 
 
TO ^THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOm, 
 
 make her feel how unwelcome her presence was by ignoiv 
 ing her in the calm cruel fashion adopted by fashionable 
 women ; but there was no chance of it. No one could 
 ignore the beautiful, queenly presence ; and, as the dinner 
 progressed, a conviction came to the elder woman that tMs 
 was a far more difficult case than she had thought. 
 
 There were character and determination in the beautiful 
 face ; there were pride and dignity, although of a kind dif- 
 fering from her own ; there was principle ; there was plenty 
 of individuality. It dawned across her ladyship's mind 
 that this was no country girl to be crushed and quietly dis- 
 posed of, but a rival who might possibly prove more 
 powerful than herself. 
 
 If Yiolet had been of her own class, her mother-in-law 
 would have rejoiced in these characteristics. She would 
 have said, " Here is one to do honor to the grand old race." 
 Identified with one whom, in her own mind, she called " a 
 daughter of the people," they were distasteful to her. 
 What right had the daughter of a country doctor to have 
 such grace and dignity^ and beauty ? Whafc right had she 
 to have such a clear musical voice and refined accent ? The 
 more beautiful, the more attractive the girl, the less chance 
 there was of getting rid of her, of hiding her from the 
 world. Before dinner was over, the dowager Lady Ryvers 
 saw plainly enough that she had a rival to fear. 
 
 " I am glad, mother," said Lord Ryvers, while dinner 
 was progressing, " that you did not ask any one to meet 
 us. I was half afraid you would think it needful to have a 
 dinner party." 
 
 " It was hardly probable," replied the dowager. " I 
 never move in the dark." 
 
 Violet looked up with a sudden smile and a keen appro 
 ciation of the little allegory. 
 
 " Why did you smile ? " asked the elder woman. 
 
 " Because I understand perfectly well what you mean,'' 
 answered Yiolet. " You did not invite any one to meet us 
 because you were not sure whether I should be presentable 
 or not." 
 
 It was so exactly the truth, it was so exactly the 
 thought which had passed through her mind and which she 
 had uttered to Lady Lester, that there was perfect const er* 
 nation for some few moments. A cannon-ball falling in 
 their midst could not have startled them more. It was the 
 
THORNS AND OEANQE-BLOSSOMSL 173 
 
 throwing down of a gauntlet, which no one at first picked 
 up. Lord Ryvers hardly knew whether to admire his 
 wife's spirit or to regret that she had so spoken. The dow- 
 ager recovered herself, feeling that it was a kind of crisis, 
 and that, if she allowed it to pass by, she would in some 
 measure have lost ground. 
 
 u You are quite right," she said ; " you are quick to 
 understand. I certainly did think it would be better to 
 wait a short time before sending out any invitations. I 
 think so still." 
 
 " Did you like Paris ? " asked Lady Lester, anxious to 
 avert a collision. 
 
 " Very much ; there is plenty of life there," replied 
 Violet. " Randolph likes solitude ; I like cities. I like 
 the great tide of human life flowing to and fro." 
 
 " You have an active, energetic nature, perhaps," said 
 Lady Lester. 
 
 " I am afraid I have a great deal of energy," said Yiolet. 
 
 And the Countess of Lester sighed, as though that were 
 a thing deeply to be deplored. 
 
 " You will want it all," said Monica, suddenly. 
 
 And, if an oracle had spoken, they could not have been 
 more surprised. She flushed crimson when she realized 
 what she had said ; but the Countess, with unusual good 
 nature, came to the rescue. 
 
 " You will indeed," she agreed ; " and, if Randolph does 
 as we have always wished, and turns his attention to pol- 
 itics instead of painting, you will not have energy enough." 
 
 " In what way would that affect me ? " asked Yiolet. 
 
 " The wife of a great politician or a great statesman has 
 many cares," said the dowager. " It is not probable that 
 you would understand." 
 
 u I do not see why I should not understand," rejoined 
 Violet. u Every wife is supposed to be more or less en- 
 grossed in the pursuits of her husband." 
 
 " I thought, having lived all your life in the country, you 
 would hardly enter into these matters," explained the 
 dowager. 
 
 " Living in the country," said Violet, with a smile that 
 was both bitter and sweet, u does not place a limit to any 
 one's intelligence, I hope." 
 
 " I do not know," returned Lady Ryvers, slowly. " 1 
 have always understood that it did." 
 
174 THOfiNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 " There is not, of course, so much to see and hear, 91 put 
 in Lacty Lester. 
 
 " I like great cities and the rush of life," said Yiolet ; 
 u but I think the finest, noblest, and most poetical natures 
 love the country best. Randolph does, and he is as much 
 poet as painter." 
 
 The dowager rose quickly. It was intolerable to her 
 that this girl should argue and hold her own with such self 
 possession. Monica saw that her mother was ruffled and 
 irritated. 
 
 " YoXi will not be long, Randolph ? "said her ladyship, as 
 she passed by her son. " As he has chosen to marry a giri 
 of that kind, he may entertain her ; I shall not," she said 
 to herself. 
 
 Monica had her own method of managing her mother. 
 The Countess of Lester never attempted it ; she allowed 
 ever3 r thing to take its own course. Monica placed hef 
 mother's easy-chair for her. She knew exactly hew she 
 liked her reading-lamp shaded ; she knew the exact page at 
 which to open the periodical she had been reading. It was 
 Lady Ryvers' whim always to read at the little reading- 
 table set aside for her. Her favorite periodical was Templa 
 Bar ; and it was well understood by her daughters that the 
 mistress of Ryversdale chose those few minutes aftei 
 dinner for sleep. But there was no drooping of the proud 
 white eyelids this time. 
 
 The dowager looked particularly wide awake. Lady 
 Lester settled herself cozily in one of the most luxurious 
 of chairs and closed her eyes. She did not intend to take 
 any part in what Monica called the " family battues" 
 Violet looked around the large, magnificent room. She 
 wished that Randolph would come. She hoped he would 
 remember how lonely she must feel. 
 
 Lonely, but perfectly self-possessed. She was not in the 
 least nervous with the three ladies. Mentally she thanked 
 Heaven that she should not be compelled to live always 
 with them. If she could endure her new life and she was 
 not sure of it her time would not be spent with them. 
 Seeing Lady Lester's eyes closed and Monica busy, she 
 went over to one of the side tables where some photographs 
 had been placed. She took up one. It was of Randolph, 
 taken when he was a boy. Monica passed as she was look* 
 ing at it 
 
ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 17ft 
 
 a That is a good photograph," she said* u It is the one 
 
 tnamma likes best of Randolph." 
 
 Hearing the remark the dowager went up to them. Vio- 
 let held up the little picture to her, and, as she did so, she 
 saw a spasm of pain pass over the proud face. 
 
 " Yes," said her ladyship, " that was Randolph as a boy, 
 A fine open face. I was proud of him then." 
 
 " Are you not proud of him now ? " asked Violet. 
 
 The elder woman shook her head. 
 
 " No ; I am most bitterly disappointed in him," she re 
 plied. " His infatuation for painting has always been a 
 keen source of trouble to me ; and now you must forgive 
 me if I say that my disappointment is complete over his 
 marriage." 
 
 " I am so*? y," said Violet, stiffly. 
 
 " Sorrow will not mend it, I fear," remarked her mother- 
 in-law. " He is the head of a noble family and of a grand 
 old race. I have nothing to say against you personally ; 
 but my son's marriage is to me the keenest disappointment 
 in the world." 
 
 Then Violet's face flushed hotly, and a light that was 
 not pleasant to see flashed in her eyes. 
 
 " It may be so," she replied; " but I question the good 
 taste of saying so to me." 
 
 " There I differ from you altogether," said the dowager, 
 " I feel bound to express my disapprobation to you. I 
 think you did wrong to marry my son." 
 
 " I think," rejoined Violet, trying to speak calmly, 
 44 that your son did a far worse wrong in marrying me. 
 Perhaps the circumstances of that marriage are not known 
 to you ? " 
 
 " They certainly are not," said the elder woman ; " nor 
 do I wish to know them." 
 
 " Then would it not be better for your ladyship to sus 
 pend your judgment until you do know them? You have 
 spoken your mind ; allow me to speak mine. Had I known 
 that your son was Lord Ryvers, I would rather have died 
 than have married him ! " 
 
 The dowager Lady Ryvers looked at her with wonder 
 ing eyes. 
 
 " Am I to understand," she asked, " that you did not 
 know who my son was that you did not know that he wee 
 heir of Ry versdale ? " 
 
rm rsosm AND QUANGO-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 I 
 
 * Ry versdale ! " repeated Violet, with sccfcn and cony 
 tempt that almost annihilated her listener. " I did nofc 
 know there was such a place : and I have been brought up 
 to respect a man who makes a name for himself, rather flh^n 
 a man content to bear the name made for him 1 " 
 
 " Why, you must be a a Chartist or a Radical 1 Wjiat 
 could Randolph have been thinking of? " cried the dbw- 
 ager, raising her hands in horror. 
 
 " If your ladyship wishes for any more information With 
 regard* to the marriage," said Violet, proudly, " I prefer 
 you to your son." 
 
 She walked away and entered the conservatory with all 
 the dignity and majesty of an insulted queen, leaving the 
 elder woman petrified with astonishment. Never had any 
 person so addressed her in the whole course of her life. 
 She remained standing for some minutes with the photo- 
 graph in her hand ; then, recollecting herself, she crossed 
 the room to Lady Lester. 
 
 " My dear Marguerite," she said, " do open your eyes. 
 I think I shall go mad ; the affair is ten thousand times 
 worse than I feared ! " 
 
 " Is it ? Why, mamma ? I was hoping you would find 
 it better." 
 
 " My dear, the girl is perfectly horrible. I shall decline 
 to remain here with her. Randolph must have lost his 
 senses. She is a Chartist, or something of that kind 1 " 
 
 " That will not matter, mamma. No one will trouble 
 about her opinions while she has that beautiful face." 
 
 " She was positively rude to me, Marguerite rude and 
 to me ! No one has ever spoken to me in such a fashion ; 
 and she says, listen, my dear ! she says that, if she had 
 known Randolph was Lord Ryvers, she would not have 
 married him. Do you believe it ? " 
 
 " She looks truthful," said the Countess of Lester; u and 
 Randolph has always had strange notions. It may be true ; 
 but mamma, I would not, if I were you, come to open war* 
 fare with her. It will not be wise." 
 
 " She will not be easily crushed," replied Lady Ryvers, 
 " I can see that." 
 
 Not one word more was exchanged that evening between ' 
 Lord Ryvers' mother and his wife. Yiolet's heart waa 
 heavy with indignation, hot with anger. She said to her* 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 177 
 
 self, over and over again, that she could not bear it, that 
 she would not bear it. 
 
 She said nothing that evening to her husband. He 
 looked so bright and happy, she would not trouble him; 
 but in her heart she hated it all, the luxury, the mag- 
 nificence, the grandeur, the ceremony, hated it all, and 
 longed even for her old home at St. Byno's. 
 
 The was no one to whisper a warning that, unless she 
 was careful, in learning to hate her husband's surrounding* 
 she might learn to dislike him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 u MOTHER," said Lord Ryvers, " do you like my wife f 
 I should be pleased to know what you think of her. She 
 is very beautiful and graceful. All her perfections will be 
 doubly dear to me if you admire them." 
 
 It was the morning after their arrival. The dowager 
 Lady Ryvers had excused herself from attending the 
 breakfast-table under the plea of a headache ; but her 
 son, hearing that she was now writing letters in her 
 boudoir, had gone to see her. He was anxiously awaiting 
 his mother's verdict. 
 
 He had been delighted with Monica, who gave her un- 
 qualified approval, and who, with a rapturous flash from her 
 eyes, and a warm kiss, had cried out : 
 
 " I love her, Randolph ; she is so beautiful ! I shall love 
 her, and fight all her battles for her." 
 
 " I hope there will be no battles to fight," he answered. 
 
 " There will, and plenty, too," she said. 
 
 Those words had made the young lord anxious, and he 
 had gone to see his mother. She looked very stately and 
 very handsome that morning. She .wore a tight-fitting 
 dress of some black material, with rich ruffles of point- 
 lace at the wrist and the throat, her white hands shone 
 with jewels ; the point lace on her hair was fastened with 
 a golden arrow. She looked up with a doubtful smile when 
 her son entered. She did not return his hearty embrace. 
 Then he went to the fire-place, and stood watching her with 
 anxious eyes. 
 
 " Tell me, mother," he said, " what you think of my 
 wife. Every word you utter in praise of her will be sweet- 
 aat music to nay ears." 
 12 
 
118 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 Then Lady Ryvers laid down the pretty pen with whictl 
 ghe had been busy, and, pushing aside her writing-desk, 
 went to her son and stood by his side. She laid her hand 
 on his shoulder, with a gesture that with her meant a 
 caress. 
 
 " My dear Randolph," she answered, slowly, " I do nofc 
 like your wife at all. I am sorry to pain you. After the 
 entire devotion of my life to you, I hoped that you would 
 bring me a daughter-in-law somewhat to my taste and one 
 whom I could love. It is not so." 
 
 She never forgot the little cry of pain that came from 
 his lips, nor the haggard expression that seemed in one 
 moment to crush out the beauty of his face. 
 
 " I will not reproach you," continued the dowager t 
 44 although I am quite at a loss to know why you acted aa 
 you did. I think, after I had devoted my life to you and 
 to your interest, the least you could have done would have 
 been to consult me in the choice of a wife ; you failed to 
 do so." 
 
 " My dearest mother, I fell in love," he said, as though 
 that would excuse everything. " I never thought I should 
 do such a thing." 
 
 " It would have been just as easy to have fallen iu love, 
 as you phrase it, with a girl in your own rank of life.'*' 
 
 " My dearest mother, Violet is a lady," he remonstrated, 
 
 " There are ladies and ladies," Lady Ryvers rejoined, 
 sententiously. " You cannot say that she is a gentle- 
 woman. Even granted that you fell in love, Randolph, you 
 should have consulted me." 
 
 " I acknowledge," he said, with that graceful humility 
 which sits so well upon a proud man, " I ought to have done 
 so. Still, mother, in love and marriage a man is supposed 
 to please himself. It is the one great action on which the 
 tomfort or misery of his life depends." 
 
 " For that very reason you should have consulted me," 
 his mother persisted. " Marriage is such an important event. 
 Since you have grown up it has been my greatest wish to 
 see you allied to some charming girl of high position. The 
 only thing was that none seemed good or pretty enough 
 lor you ; and now " . 
 
 The " now " was suggestive enough ; but Lo?d Ryvers 
 Would not notice it. She went on : 
 
 44 I tell you quite candidly, Randolph, your nmrriage is 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. Hi 
 
 r >lie great disappointment of my life. Your father's death 
 was a sorrow that was bearable ; this is unbearable. I shall 
 be ashamed to take n^ place in the world again. You 
 might have done so well, and you have done so badly. Your 
 marriage will make you the laughing-stock of all our 
 'r lends." 
 
 " I do not think so, mother ; but even if the world laughs 
 i:i-il it is tired, I do not care." 
 
 " [ do," declared Lady Ryvers. " Our name as hitherto 
 ;een one which men have uttered with respect. You have 
 wrought the first shadow upon it." 
 
 " You are wrong," he said. " It is true that Violet had 
 no money, no position ; but those are trifles compared with 
 her beauty and her grace. Then I loved her I loved her 1 
 My life would have been all dark," he cried, " but for her. 
 You will find that when Yiolet takes her place in the world 
 she will be one of its queens ; she has in her all the ele- 
 ments of a grand and noble womanhood. It is not as though 
 she were ignorant or badly trained ; you speak of her as 
 though she were entirely uneducated. I care very little 
 about the laughter or approval of the world, mother," 
 
 There were deep lines on Lady Ryvers' forehead, lines her 
 son had never seen there before. He stooped down to kiss 
 them away, and for half a minute she clung to him with a 
 softening of her proud face. 
 
 " Your wife tells me some strange story about not having 
 known you were Lord Ryvers," she said, presently. " She 
 even declared that she would rather have died than have 
 married you had she been aware of your position and title." 
 
 " She is such a Radical," he said, smiling. " It is perfectly 
 true, mother. I am sure, if she had known that I was a 
 nobleman and a rich man, she would not have married me. 
 You have no idea what a perfect little Democrat she is." 
 
 u How strange for you to ally yourself with a Democrat I " 
 said Lady Ryvers. 
 
 And then Lord Ryvers gave his mother a full account ol 
 his love-affair and his marriage, from the time he had sung 
 to himself in the bonny woods of St. Byno's of u June's 
 palace paved with gold " until he stood before her. When 
 he had finished, she looked at him long and earnestly ; then 
 she said : 
 
 " Randolph, are you quite sure there is no flaw in the 
 umrriage? " 
 
180 THORNS AND 
 
 " Flaw I " he cried. " Certainly not. I took care of thai 
 Why do 3^ou ask me such a question ? " 
 
 " If there had been," she replied, despairingly, " I hata 
 the marriage so much that I should have asked you to set it 
 aside." 
 
 Lacty Ityvers had known her son only as sweet-tempered 
 and yielding, but she saw the other side of the picture now. 
 She never forgot the anger that flashed from his eyes, the 
 pained wonder and surprise that darkened his face. 
 
 u Mother," he cried, " I will not believe that you mean 
 what you say. It is vile, horrible ! How you can utter such 
 words I cannot imagine. If there were a flaw, yo<? ynay be- 
 lieve me that I would very soon have the <ee7emony per- 
 formed a second time." 
 
 " I may as well say aU X t&mk," *aH che dowager, look- 
 ing very white and Desperate. ' I hate the very idea of 
 your marriage, *& L would do anything in the world to see 
 it annulled jhtom the first moment that I heard of your im- 
 prudent xiatch I hoped that some formalities had been 
 oim**j&CL that would render your union invalid. You may 
 Sail the hope vile, wicked, horrible, what you like ; but I 
 I, am desperate ! Oh, Randolph, if there be any chance, let 
 this horrible mesalliance be ended 1 " 
 
 " Mother," he answered, " I think you are mad! I am a 
 gentleman ; I have wooed and won one of the sweetest and 
 purest of gipls for my wife. What wickedness is it that 
 you suggest 1 Can a man pla} r with his own honor ? Can 
 he trifle with the fair name of the woman he has married I 
 Oh, mother, I wish you had never uttered such horribly 
 words ! " 
 
 " I repeat them. You will mar and spoil your own life ; 
 you cover me with shame and humiliation. If there be a 
 chance to set aside this foolish marriage, seize it ; you were 
 only a thoughtless boy. The same thing happened to young 
 Lord Bardwell. The family solicitor discovered a flaw in 
 his marriage ; it was annulled, and he married the great 
 Grafton heiress. Surely you may do what he has done f " 
 
 " Not I. Mother, I am a gentleman and an honest man. 
 I would rather die than be guilty of so foul and horrible a 
 deed. I have already told you that, if there were any flaw 
 in my marriage and I feel sure there is not I would 
 marry Violet again to-morrow. I will be satisfied on this 
 point ; I will take legal advice upon it." 
 
THORNS AND OBANGE~BLOS80H8. *8I 
 
 So will I," said Lady Ry vers. " I will not see a chance 
 lost if I can help it." 
 
 " Oh, mother," he cried, " what a bitter sorrow it is tome 
 to hear you say such words 1 I thought you so noble so 
 above all this." 
 
 " And I am equally disappointed in you," declared Lady 
 Ryvers. " I have only sai^ what every mother with sense 
 and reason would say." 
 
 " Heaven help the sons of such mothers I " exclaimed 
 Lord Ey vers. " Mother, if you wish to keep what you 
 have always had, my affection and respect, you will never 
 speak of this again." 
 
 " I see," said Lady Ryvers, " that you are not in the hu- 
 mor for listening to me with attention. If you were, I 
 should suggest that, for the present at least, nothing be 
 said about your marriage that is, no introductions should 
 be made ; let the girl remain with us in retirement until 
 she has caught some of the well-bred and graceful manner 
 that distinguishes your sisters. It will be a sacrifice for 
 me. She was so rude to me last evening, I had resolved 
 not to remain in the house with her." 
 
 " I should not like to remind you, mother, that the house 
 is mine," he said, " and that my wife will always remain in 
 it" words which redoubled the dowager's hatred for 
 Yiolet. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " YES, you have caught me in tears, and I am ashamed oi 
 it," cried Monica Ryvers ; " but I cannot help it. No girl 
 in the world has more cause for grief than I have." 
 
 " I should have thought," returned Yiolet, " that no girl 
 in the world ever had less. It seems to me that you have 
 everything your heart can desire." 
 
 u How little people know of each other, after all 1 " said 
 Monica, with a sigh. " We live in the same house, breathe 
 the same air, bear the same name, and yet we are further 
 apart even than those who have great seas between them. 
 I live with you, yet how little I know of you, except the 
 tmtward superficial life that every one knows and sees. 
 You live with me, and it is just the same. You know the 
 Monica Ryvers whom you meet in the society of others^ 
 but you do not know the real Monica Ryvers." 
 
m THORNS AND OKANGE-BWSSQM& 
 
 " It is perfectly true," answered Violet. " I have thought 
 of it before. I did not, for instance, think it was reasona- 
 ble for you to weep ; you seem so bright, so animated, so 
 different in some respects from other girls, that it would 
 have been unnatural to think of your indulging in grief." 
 
 " The Monica Ryvers you know never dares make any 
 display of her feelings ; it is the real Monica who sheds 
 hot, bitter tears with good reason. The real Monica has a 
 love-story." 
 
 " A love-story ? " said Violet. " How beautiful 1 I never 
 aad a love-story." 
 
 u You never had a love-story ? " cried Monica. " Why, 
 of all people in the world you must have had the sweet> 
 est ! " 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Violet. 
 
 " But do you not call my brother's romantic wooing of 
 you a love-story ? Had you ever a lover besides my 
 brother?" 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 " You had no sweetheart, no admirer, no one who ever 
 made love to you ? " 
 
 " No," repeated Yiolet. 
 
 " My brother was the only man, or rather is the only 
 man, who ever spoke to you of love and marriage ? " 
 
 " The only one," replied Yiolet. " There were no young 
 men where I lived; and, if there had been any, they would 
 not have come within a hundred miles of my aunt." 
 
 " Then, Yiolet," said Monica, solemnly, " rely upon it 
 that what I am going to tell you is true ; my brother loves 
 you a thousand times better than you love him. It seem? 
 to me that he fell in love with you, but that you, not hav- 
 ing been accustomed to men, and not knowing much of life, 
 did not know the difference between fancy and love." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," answered Yiolet. 
 
 " I am," declared Monica. " I have thought so ever 
 since you have been here. If any great trouble came, I do 
 not think you would take his side." 
 
 " We will not talk about it," said Yiolet. " I should not 
 like to wake up, as from a dream, and find that I had mar- 
 ried a man I did not love." 
 
 " I should not be much surprised at that happening 
 some day, Yiolet," averred her sister-in-law. " I am a good 
 fudge of love, because I am so much in love myself- more 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 183 
 
 than you have ever been/' she added, with a wise Ht* toss 
 of the head. " For the man I love I could go through 
 anything fire and water. I would walk to him over red- 
 hot plowshares ; I would give my life for him. You would 
 not do so much for my brother ; I know it. You cannot 
 even bear with mamma for his sake. I look at you wheii 
 mamma is what I call awkward or spiteful, as she is to you 
 at times, and I see that you do not love Randolph wel! 
 enough to bear it patiently for his sake. If I might but 
 even live in the same town with my lover, I would bear all 
 that twenty mothers-in-law could make me suffer." 
 
 Violet's beautiful eyes were fixed upon her in untold 
 wonder. The two girls had gone out together to feed the 
 peacocks, which were sunning themselves on the lawn. 
 Violet had been at the Castle for three weeks now, and 
 they had certainly not been three weeks of bliss. To make 
 matters worse than they had been, the Earl of Lester was 
 invited ; and his mother-in-law took him into her confidence, 
 and told him all she thought and felt on the subject of het 
 son's wife. 
 
 But, when she confided to him her intense desire to annul 
 the marriage, if possible, even the Earl of Lester felt 
 shocked. 
 
 " I do not think it possible," he said ; " and, even if it 
 were, I do not think it would be right." 
 
 " There is no right or wrong in the matter ! " cried the 
 dowager, passionately. " The whole affair is a huge mis- 
 take ; the sooner it is ended the better." 
 
 " But on what ground can you seek to annul the mai> 
 riage ? " asked the Earl, almost as much surprised as Lord 
 Ryvers had been. " You cannot attempt to dissolve it be* 
 cause the girl has no fortune and no position." 
 
 " That is true. My objection would be that he was not 
 of age when he married, and could not marry legally with 
 out my consent." 
 
 " It would not hold, 1 ' replied the Earl. " If you witt 
 take my advice, Lady Ryvers, you will not attempt any- 
 thing of the kind. You have no chance of success, and 
 your son will never forgive you." 
 
 " I shall certainly try my best, whether I succeed oi 
 fail," she declared. 
 
 And from that moment Violet had a strong partisan to 
 the young 
 
184 If&ORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " I cannot understand," he said to his wife, " why you* 
 mother makes such a terrible fuss. She seems to hate the 
 girl. I think she would do her any and every possible in- 
 jury. She is, without doubt, one of the most beautiful 
 and charming girls I have ever seen. I do not, as a rule, 
 believe in unequal marriages ; nor do I call this one. Violet 
 has beauty enough and distinction enough to make up for 
 all deficiencies." 
 
 The Countess languidly opened her eyes. It was some* 
 thing quite novel to hear her husband speak so earnestly. 
 
 " You seem to have suddenly grown very fond of your 
 sister-in-law," she said. 
 
 " And no wonder," rejoined the Earl. " She has more 
 life and animation than twenty ordinary women put to- 
 gether." 
 
 " I am very glad that I am an ordinary woman, and re- 
 lieved from the trouble of being so animated," observed 
 the Countess. 
 
 " My dear Marguerite, 1 ' said the Earl, a you are perfec- 
 tion itself in your ways. Animation would not suit your 
 imperial style." 
 
 The Countess of Lester had never been jealous she had 
 always been so serenely confident of her own powers of 
 pleasing but just the smallest tinge of jealousy colored 
 her thoughts, and caused her to shun Violet more than she 
 had done before. 
 
 The Earl was most attentive to her. They agreed and 
 quarreled, laughed and disputed the whole day long. Lord 
 Lester was amused at her notions. He called her a Demo- 
 crat, a Radical ; and she, with all the eloquence and earn- 
 estness of her nature, denounced him as an aristocrat. He 
 delighted in drawing her out, in rousing her, in debating 
 with her, and the result was that they became the greatest 
 of friends ; and the strongest ally Violet had in the house 
 was the Earl of Lester. He had no patience with the dow- 
 ager Lady Ryvers or with his wife. Why they could not 
 accept Violet as one of their own he could not think. 
 More than once the dowager had regretted sending for this 
 son-in-law who had taken the very opposite side to the one 
 she intended him to take. 
 
 The family was pretty well divided now, and, as Monica 
 said, there was every chance of " a lively time." The dow- 
 ager Lady Ryvers and the Countess, her daughter, were 
 
TffOBNS AND ORANQE-BL0880M& 188 
 
 against the Earl of Lester and Monica, the cause of dis- 
 pute, of course, being Yiolet. 
 
 Monica and Yiolet were thrown very much together. 
 On this morning, when they had gone out to feed the pea- 
 cocks, Monica had taken a letter from her pocket ; and it 
 Was over this that Yiolet had found her crying. 
 
 "Yiolet," said Monica, suddenly, " come down to the 
 fountains with me ; I must tell you my story. I must talk 
 to some one, or my heart will break. You will think I am 
 very young to have a lover. Marguerite is the eldest of 
 us all she is nearly three-and-twenty ; Randolph, you 
 know, is one-and-twenty ; I am nineteen. But, Yiolet, do 
 you know, I had a lover when I was sixteen ? It sounds 
 almost absurd, but it is true. I must tell you about it." 
 
 There was a square in the midst of the grounds whereon 
 stood three fountains made from the finest Carrara marble, 
 sculptured by the hands of the great master of the day. 
 Seats and shrubs and flowering plants had been placed 
 around them, so that the whole presented a most pictur- 
 esque appearance. 
 
 It was thither the two girls went, and two men looked 
 after them with longing eyes Lord Ryvers, who happened 
 to have an appointment to meet his steward, and Lord Les* 
 ter, who would have followed them but that his wife was 
 keeping guard over him. They sat down near where the 
 silveiy spray fell into the marble basin, making soft music 
 as the tiny drops fell : about them the pigeons fluttered, 
 but on this morning Yiolet's whole attention was given to 
 her companion, and not to them. 
 
 " I have had a letter," said Monica, " which is breaking 
 my heart. Yiolet, be patient with me while I cry ; all the 
 morning the tears have been lying behind my eyes, until 
 even my eyelids ache : and mamma wanted so many things, 
 and Marguerite was so tiresome I think it is a great in 
 fliction to have a sister a countess I Oh, Yiolet, let me 
 cry 1 " and Monica laid her head on the marble basin, and 
 wept as if her very heart would break. 
 
 Yiolet spoke no word ; she saw that, whatever the 
 trouble might be, words would not touch it. 
 
 When the paroxysm of weeping had ended, Monica 
 looked up with half-drowned eyes. 
 
 44 1 am ashamed," she said, " but I cannot help it; I can- 
 
186 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 not, indeed. I must give vent to my feelings. He is going 
 away, and I shall never see him again. 77 
 
 " Tell me about it," said Violet, her heart warming to 
 the girl who seemed so unhappy. 
 
 " That is what I want to do," returned Monica ; " I know 
 you will keep my secret. I must tell you first, Violet^ 
 that when I was sixteen mamma left me here with my gov- 
 erness, Miss Rowley, while she went to London with Mar- 
 guerite for the season. It was then that the Earl of Lester 
 fell in love with my sister, although they were not married 
 until some time afterward. Miss Rowley was very clever 
 and very conscientious ; but during mamma's absence she 
 was not well, and I had plenty of time on my hands for the 
 mischief I found to do. Every day I had a certain quan- 
 tity of work allotted to me, which I contrived to get 
 through as speedily as possible, so that I might have more 
 leisure for myself. One morning I went to St. Michael's 
 Well, and there, seated on one of the great mossy stones, 
 was a young man wearing the uniform of a cavalry officer. 
 
 "I must tell you," went on Monica, " that the Rector 
 of Ry verswell belongs to a very old family the Caerlyons 
 of Caerswell. The family is old and so honorable that even 
 mamma respects and esteems them, and speaks of them as 
 people of some consideration. The rector, the Honorable 
 and Reverend Hugh Caerlyon, is one of the younger sons 
 of a younger branch of this great family ; but he is, to use 
 mamma's expression, wretchedly poor, having nothing but 
 his income as Rector of Ry verswell and that is not much. 
 Mrs. Caerlyon is dead ; I never heard anything of her. If 
 there had been a mother living, I should not have fallen 
 into such mischief. 
 
 " You must understand, Violet, that the rector often vi 
 ited us. Mamma in some respects considered him he* 
 equal ; she forgave his poverty on account of the antiquity 
 of his family. He came often to dine with us. I am not 
 sure whether mamma knew that he had a son. No one ever 
 mentioned him, until one day the rector told us, with great 
 glee, that his son had been presented with a commission in 
 the famous regiment of the Black Lancers. After that, 
 nothing more was said of him. It was this very son, this 
 Paul Caerlyon, whom I found by St. Michael's Well. His 
 regiment had been ordered to Queenshow, a large garrison 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 181 
 
 gown not far from Ry verswell, and he spent a great deal ol 
 lime at his father's house. 
 
 " He knew me, although I did not know him. He did 
 not seem to be at all embarrassed, but told me what a fav- 
 orite spot of his St. Michael's Well was. We became very 
 good friends. Ah, no, that is not the truth 1 We were 
 never friends ; we were lovers from the first moment we 
 met. 
 
 " Yes, lovers I I was sixteen, but he was more thai 
 twenty. Oh, Yiolet, how handsome he was 1 His com* 
 plexion was dark ; and he had dark-blue eyes and black 
 hair. I know every line of his face by heart, because, you 
 see, I worship it. He had a slight dark mustache, but it 
 did not hide the full firm lips. Looking at them when they 
 were closed, one thought how firm and brave and determ- 
 ined he was ; looking at him when he smiled, one thought 
 he had the tenderness of a woman. He had ridden over 
 from Queenshow after some regimental exercise, and had 
 walked from his father's house to see his favorite spot. 
 There, by the side of the deep, dark water, by the cool, 
 mossy stones, in the shade of the tall cliff, we met our fate. 
 When he spoke to me, my heart went out to him; and oh, 
 Violet, Violet, it has never come back to me I When I 
 looked at him, a new light came over the earth and sky, a 
 sudden sense of gladness and beauty thrilled my whole be- 
 ing ; all at once I seemed to know and understand a hun- 
 dred things that had been mysteries to me before. Yiolet, 
 did you feel this when you saw my brother first ? " 
 
 "No, I did not. I thought more of his picture than I 
 did of himself, as far as I can remember." 
 
 " Then most certainly you were not in love," said Mon- 
 ica. " I have always told you so. You married Randolph 
 because he was the first man who made love to you, or whc 
 isked you to marry him." 
 
 "Do you think so ? " questioned Yiolet, gravely. 
 
 " I am sure of it. You had better try to fall in love with 
 four husband ; you certainly did not with your lover. The 
 fcrorld was never the same to me from that moment ; it will 
 never be the same again. That is falling in love, the 
 world, your own life, everything changes ; you could not 
 get back to your own old self if you trie^ " 
 
 " Then T have never been in love, at, least, not in your 
 feahion." Yiolet said, thoughtfttBy. 
 
188 TSOMNS AND OtiANGE- BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " I cannot tell you," continued Monica, " how long w 
 talked. If I had been a young queen instead of a school* 
 girl, he could not have treated me with greater respect. 
 He walked half the way home with me. It was such a 
 sweet, mad folly, Yiolet so sweet while the spring-tide 
 lasted. Do you know that the odor of the hawthorn turns 
 me faint ? Even now it brings back those happy days very 
 forcibly to me. It was such a spring as comes only once in 
 life. It lasted from the second day of May, when I first 
 saw him, until the middle of June, when my mother and 
 sister came home. We met sometimes in the park down 
 by the ruins ; we used to sit by the old arched windows 
 where the great clusters of bhie-bells grew. I know it was 
 wrong. I know that, having met him once by accident, I 
 ught never to have met him again. I know that I de- 
 ceived my mother, my governess, and every one else ; but 
 I have suffered. Oh, Violet, I have paid a terrible price 
 for my folly 1 I have to live and pretend to be happy 
 while my heart is breaking. I do not remember that we 
 actually made any appointments ; it seemed to be an un- 
 derstood thing that we should see each other every day. 
 Every day my handsome young soldier rode over from 
 Queenshow, and at last at last he told me he loved me ? 
 and asked me if I would be his wife. 
 
 " I can now see the whole scene. We were standing in a 
 clover-meadow under the great spreading boughs of some 
 lime trees. I see the slanting sunlight on the grass, the 
 pink may on the hedges. I see the little white lambs at 
 play ; I hear the sweet singing of the birds above our heads. 
 I never look at the lime-boughs or the clover now. 
 
 " He asked me to be his wife, and I said ' Yes ' gladly, 
 willingly. Yes ; I do not be shocked, Violet I flung my 
 arms round his neck, and laid my head on his breast ; every 
 beat of my heart was his. 
 
 " We were so happy oh, Violet, so happy ! We quite 
 forgot that I was the daughter of a rich, fashionable lady, 
 and that he was a poor soldier, with little but his regimental 
 pay. We forgot that there could be poverty, privation, op- 
 position ; we remembered only love. 
 
 " Before that month of May was over, our hearts were so 
 knitted together, our two souls had grown so completely 
 one that death could not part us ; yet we shall never be 
 married. I never thought of opposition ; the golden 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 18* 
 
 glamour f love lay all around us. The only evil we an* 
 ticipated was that we should be compelled to wait until Z 
 Was older. 
 
 " 4 My love she's but a lassie yet,' Paul delighted in sing* 
 ing. * Your mother will be sure to say that we must wait,' 
 he said to me often. ' I will not write to her while she is 
 in London ; I will wait until she comes home. I can speak 
 better than I can write.' 
 
 " And, Violet, will you believe that, although I knew 
 mamma, her ideas and peculiarities, I never dreamed of her 
 refusal ? 
 
 " Then came a letter from mamma to me, in which she 
 told me the great news that the Earl of Lester had proposed 
 to my beautiful sister Marguerite. I remember every word 
 of my mother's letter. 
 
 ** 'The match, though a magnificent one, is no more than I ex- 
 pected with Marguerite's serene grace and beauty. And now a few 
 words for yourself, Monica. Hasten on with your lessons, pay es- 
 pecial attention to deportment and manners, for next season I shall 
 take, you to town, and I shall expect you to do even better than your 
 sister has done.* 
 
 " I read this to Paul. I put my arms round his neck ; I 
 drew his face down to mine and kissed it. 
 
 " 4 1 have done a thousand times better than she can 
 ever do ! ' I cried. 4 No girl in the world is so fortunate 
 as I am.' 
 
 " But a shadow fell over Paul's bright face. After that, 
 if possible, he loved me more, he came more often. How 
 it was tha.t we escaped detection I cannot think. It seems 
 to me now miraculous. When the moon shone I went to 
 the ruined arches, and we walked there, always talking 
 oh, how blind we were I always of the beautiful future be- 
 fore us. 
 
 " Then my mother and sister returned. The Earl of Les- 
 ter came on a visit. Several guests also arrived. We had 
 a dinner-party on the day after my mother's return, and 
 the rector was invited. I heard him telling my mother 
 about his handsome young soldier-son, and my mother said 
 he must come and see her. He was coming, although no 
 one guessed his errand. He came the next morning. It 
 was a bright June morning, and the whole party were out 
 on the white terrace. 
 
 " 4 Who is that handsome young man f ' asked Lady 
 
190 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Belfour, one of our guests. * What a noble head and 
 face!' 
 
 " My own face burned, my foolish heart beat fast. I 
 longed to cry out that he was my lover my brave, beauti- 
 ful 3^oung lover and that he was going to marry me. 
 
 " I saw my mother's 63^68 fixed on my face, and a horri 
 ble sense of coming evil took possession of me. My mothei , 
 you know, Yiolet, is one of the shrewdest, quickest people 
 in the world. Paul came up, looking so brave, so hand 
 some, so gallant, the sun shining on his face and his hair ; 
 and, when he saw me I was standing next to Lady Bel- 
 four such a light came into his eyes that it was not diffi 
 cult to guess our secret. 
 
 " My mother received him very kindly, though she did 
 not ask him to stay. Lord Lester was amiable and inter- 
 ested ; all the ladies praised him, and said how handsome 
 he was. And it struck me it may have been my fancy 
 but it struck me that most of them smiled just a little when 
 they glanced at me. He lingered, poor boy, but no in vita* 
 tion to remain for luncheon came. When he bade my 
 mother good-by, she smiled at him Yiolet, how can peopll 
 smile when they do cruel things ? and said : 
 
 " i Will 3^011 tell your father that, if he is riding near the 
 Castle to-da3 7 , I wish he would call ? ' 
 
 " I should imagine the Honorable and Heverend Hugh 
 Caerlyon took those words as a royal command, for he 
 came that same afternoon. I learned afterward from 
 Paul what she had said to him. She congratulated him 
 on his son's good looks, and on his prospects, and then 
 added, with a smile oh, Violet, my mother's smiles make 
 me tremble at times I that she had something very es* 
 pecial to say to him. 
 
 "'Your son must not come here, my dear Mr. Caerl- 
 yon ; he is far too handsome. Although I admit that he 
 is brave, gallant, and, in fact, as fine a young man as one 
 might wish to see, still -*you quite understand that he 
 would not be eligible. I have two or three young ladies 
 here whose mothers have trusted them with me, and I must 
 not introduce an ineligible 3^011 ng Adonis like your son. 
 Besides, there is my own daughter.' 
 
 u The good rector knew nothing of our mad love affair sc 
 that he did not look in the least degree guilty. 
 
 " 4 Perhaps you are wise/ said the rector ;. * at the same 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. Wtf 
 
 time, you are rather hard. It seems that my son's good 
 qualities are the cause of his being deprived of your so- 
 ciety.' 
 
 " 4 Precisely so,' said my mother. 4 Those same good 
 qualities render him a great deal too charming. 
 
 " But, Violet, before the rector reached home my lover ' 
 patience had given way. He had written a long letter to 
 my mother, telling her how dearly he loved me, and asking 
 if he might make me his wife. The most terrible moment 
 in my life was when my mother came to me, her face dark 
 with frowns, and that letter open in her hands. 
 
 " * Will you follow me, Monica ? ' she said. 
 
 " I knew that tone of voice well. It froze the blood in 
 my veins. Still, in my happy ignorance, I said to myself 
 that no one could part me from my lover ; no matter what 
 any one did, or said, or thought, I could not be parted from 
 him. My mother led the way to her own boudoir, the same 
 pretty room you were in yesterday. If she had sat down, 
 she would have looked less terrible to me. There she was, 
 so proud, so tall, so stately, her eyes flashing ominously 
 and dark frowns on her brow. I remember, Violet, the 
 very square of carpet on which I stood ; I remember the 
 red rose that came peeping in at the window. My mother 
 looked at me for some minutes in silence ; then she said : 
 
 " 4 1 am trying not to be angry, Monica ; I want you to 
 tell me the meaning of this.' 
 
 " She placed my lover's letter in my hands. My tears 
 fell upon it hot and fast. It was so touching, so beautiful, 
 I wondered that she herself could read it without tears. It 
 told how he loved me, and how every hope of his bright, 
 eager young life was wrapped up in me. 
 
 " ' I am trying,' repeated my mother, * not to be angry, 
 >Ve must not be too hard on the faults and follies of youth, 
 (low this boy found the audacity to write this letter I can- 
 not think I I do not blame you ; I shall not even ask you 
 any questions about it ; but, understand, the nonsense must 
 be ended at once. Read that letter through.' 
 
 * I read it through my fast-falling tears. 
 
 * * You see,' said my mother, haughtily, * how far the 
 young man's presumption leads him. A young penniless 
 soldier, and yet he asks for the hand of my daughter I 
 thinking of the brilliant match that Marguerite is making 
 
192 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 causes me to feel more lenient, or I should send the lettei 
 to his father, and advise him to use a horsewhip.' 
 
 " i I love him, mother,' I said, 4 and I shall never lova 
 any one else while I live.' 
 
 " She laughed, Yiolet such a laugh; I hear it now in 
 my dreams. 
 
 " 4 A schoolgirl of your age knows nothing of love, 
 should know nothing of it. The word has not even a de 
 cent sound on your lips ; it has not, indeed. I do 
 not know, I cannot tell, what the world is coming to when 
 a child of your age talks about love. You may be sure ol 
 this, that, if I hear the word again, I will lock you up in 
 your room, and give you bread and water for a day or two 
 to bring you to your senses. I will ask no questions ; per- 
 haps, if 1 knew the whole truth, I should be more distressed, 
 more angry than I am. I will answer this letter. I shall 
 , tell him that he must not come to the house again. I should 
 not like to restort to stronger measures, such as forcing Mr. 
 Caerlyon to resign the living which is in your brother's 
 gift. I shall write to the young man and tell him what I 
 think of his impertinence, forbid him to return to the house, 
 forbid him to speak to you again, and, as soon as our 
 visitors leave us, we shall go to Mount Avon.' 
 
 " So in a few minutes all the brightness was taken from 
 my life. I looked up into my mother's face. There was 
 no softening, no relenting ; it was so proud, so cold, so 
 cruel, that my heart sunk. Should I never see my brave 
 young lover again ? I have a faint recollection of clinging 
 to her, of kneeling to ask her to take pity on me, because I 
 was so young, and I loved him so. I remember falling witto 
 my face toward the ground ; and then all was a blank to 
 me, a terrible blank. How the days passed I cannot tell ; 
 I was never conscious of anything but the one horrible 
 pain ; the one terrible blank. As I recovered, no one ever 
 spoke to me of my lover ; I never heard his name. 
 
 "But I saw him, Yiolet, once before we left Ryver swell 
 only once. It does not matter how. I have never seen 
 him since. I was with him nearly an hour. He held me in 
 his arms, he kissed me, and we swore to be true to each 
 other until death. Yiolet, you must not think I am mad ; 
 but I feel the loving clasp of those arms and the warmth of 
 those kisses now. We swore to be true to each other, and 
 we shall each keep our vow. I do not think any two in the 
 
THORNS AND OEANGE BLOSSOMS. 193 
 
 world have ever loved each other as we do. It is all hope* 
 less. I know that, after we reached Mount Avon, my 
 mother had many letters from him I know that he wrote 
 often to me ; but she returned all his letters unopened. I 
 write to him whenever I have a chance of posting the letters 
 unknown to my mother. Yon may think it wrong, Yiolet ; 
 I do not. If there had been anything against him except 
 his want of money, it would have been a different thing ; 
 but he is just, brave, and generous, with a scorn for all 
 meanness. If there were one blot on his character, one 
 stain on his fair name, it would seem less unjust, less cruel ; 
 but there is nothing wrong, only that he has no money. He 
 is well-born, well-bred, he is a gentleman and a soldier, he is 
 brave and noble ; but he is poor." 
 
 " It seems very cruel," said Violet, to whom this love 
 story was a revelation. " What shall you do, Monica ? " 
 
 " There is nothing to be done. I shall wait for him and 
 tove him ail my life, just as he will love and wait for me." 
 
 " And in the meantime ? " said Yiolet. 
 
 " In the meantime my heart is slowly breaking. I live 
 my life, and I try to make the best of it. My mother made 
 me go to London." 
 
 " fc You are not beautiful like Marguerite,' she said ; ' but 
 you have a style of you own. You are brighter and more 
 piquant than your sister ; just now that kind of thing is 
 more in vogue than mere beauty. I shall expect you to 
 make a better match than Marguerite.' 
 
 " And, Violet," continued Monica, with a smile more sad 
 than tears, " strange to say, and just because I did not 
 wMiit to make conquests, I had a crowd of suitors. How I 
 Jutted them savagely almost 1 I could never find words 
 cruel enough for them; and they liked it absolutely liked 
 it . They said I was original, piquant, clever. They made 
 me the rage and the fashion, while I hated them. My 
 mother was delighted. She said her daughters would marry 
 better than any other girls. And, Violet, you cannot 
 imagine what kind of men fell in love with me. It would 
 seem like vain boasting if I told you. A duke proposed 
 for me. Only imagine I might have been a duchess 1 
 Mamma almost shook me when I refused him. A great 
 American millionaire made me an offer, and she went nearly 
 wild with delight ; but I tell her each time that a fresh 
 suitor comes to me that I shall live and die true to Paul. 
 13 
 
194 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " This morning I have had a letter from him, and he says 
 there is a rumor that his regiment, the Black Lancers wilj 
 be sent to Africa. Oh, Violet, how am I to bear it, dear ? 
 I may never see him again. I would rather look once into 
 his face and die than live fifty years without seeing him. 
 There is one consolation for us, which is that, though we 
 are parted we have ample faith in each other. My trust in 
 Paul could never die ; his in me, I am convinced, is equally 
 firm. Can you imagine what it is to love one man with 
 your whole heart, to have no other interest, yet never to 
 see him, never to hear his name, to be with him only in 
 dreams ? Why, Violet, my life is full of pain, one long 
 torture of suspense ! I have no hope. Mamma will never 
 relent, never consent to my marriage with Paul. Only one 
 thing could be of any use to us ; but it will never happen. 
 If some one would die and leave Paul a large fortune, she 
 would withdraw her veto at once. A year ago Paul wrote 
 to me and suggested that we should get married at once ; 
 he said that when it was done and beyond recall my mothel 
 would forgive us ; but how could I say * Yes ' and spoil his 
 career '( How could he keep a wife who would not bring 
 him one shilling, he who has difficulty enough to keep him- 
 self? His father has little money to spare ; he can heJp 
 him only every now and then. Do you not see, Violet, I 
 should be only a drag and a burden ? In fact, I love hi.ai 
 too well to accede to that wish. 
 
 " I have no money of my own," Monica went on plaint- 
 ively ; " mamma had all. She can either leave me a for- 
 tune or deprive me of one. She would not of course, give 
 me one shilling if I married Paul. For myself I do not 
 mind poverty at all ; but I cannot drag him down into the 
 depths. It would be selfish, and I love him better than 
 myself." 
 
 " It setms a sad story," said Violet, " and I do not see 
 what can be done to help you." 
 
 " Nothing can be done," Monica answered. " It is 
 doubly hard lor me. Just because I want no lovers and do 
 not want mamma to think of matrimony in connection with 
 me, I am overwhelmed with offers; even our beautiful 
 Marguerite never had so many as T have had ; and every 
 fresh offer makes my mother so angry. Only last week that 
 tiresome old Sir Thomas Macintosh, who is said to be one 
 of the richest men in England, wrote to mamma and told 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 195 
 
 ber v>~, v iolet, I have not patience to repeat it, I have not 
 indeed !- toul ber that he wanted to many me, and that he 
 was so anxious to make me his wife he would settle half 
 his fortune on me if I would consent. Mamma implored of 
 me to say 4 Yes,' and in some way, I cannot tell how, Paul 
 has heard of it, and has written to me. He knows I shall 
 be true to him. If ever a girl means to be true to her love, 
 and is true, I am that girl. I shall write to Paul to-day. 
 But he seems so disheartened. He hears these rumors of 
 my lovers, he hears rumors of his regiment going abroad > 
 and he seems half distracted." 
 
 " Write him a long, cheerful love-letter," suggested 
 Violet. 
 
 " Have you ever written a love-letter in your life ? " 
 asked Monica. 
 
 Violet answered " No." 
 
 " If you had," said the girl, simply, " you would know 
 that it would be the most difficult thing in the world to 
 write a cheerful one in circumstances like mine." 
 
 " It does not seem to me," said Monica Ryvers to her sis- 
 ter-in-law, " that you will ever feel quite at home here." 
 For Monica, suddenly entering one of the pretty drawing- 
 rooms in ordinary use, found Violet idly seated there, and 
 looking veiy despondent. 
 
 u I do not think I shall," she answered " the place is so 
 large, so different from anything to which I have been ac- 
 customed ; and I have nothing to occupy me. I was much 
 happier in my aunt's little house. And, oh, Monica, If I 
 had but a garden ! " 
 
 " A garden ! " cried Monica, in wonder. " Why, my dear 
 Violet, you have one of the largest in England. The 
 Ryversdale gardens are unique." 
 
 " So they may be ; but they are not mine," said Violet. 
 
 " They are your own, inasmuch as they belong to Ran* 
 dolph," said Monica. 
 
 " It is very different," returned Violet. " At my old 
 home the garden was my own, as it were." 
 
 As she spoke, a memory of the handsome face and love- 
 laden eyes that had haunted the garden came back to her ; 
 and she knew in her heart that she loved Randolph far bet- 
 ter in those days than in these. He had seemed nearer to 
 
186 THORNS AND 
 
 her, on a perfect equality with her. Now that she was wofy 
 magnificent as they were, she hated all his surroundings, 
 ehe disliked most of his relatives and. friends. Only Monica 
 By vers and Lord Lester did she tolerate ; they were always 
 kind and affectionate. Monica indeed loved her. The dow- 
 ager Violet most cordially disliked ; she received no kind- 
 ness from her. And Lady Lester was a person whom she 
 completely failed to understand. 
 
 So gradually a shadow fell between herself and her hu 
 band, a coldness that was far more fatal than a lovers 1 
 quarrel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 IN every little fracas that took place between Violet and 
 the dowager Lady Ryvers, Randolph tried to make peace. 
 His mother was hurt, thinking he ought to take her side 
 his wife was angry, feeling quite sure that he ought to 
 fight her battles ; he himself felt hurt because Violet, for 
 his sake, would not yield more. So the shadow deepened, 
 the coldness increased. Not that Randolph loved his wife 
 less if possible, he loved her more but he felt grieved be- 
 cause she did not try to conciliate those around her and ta 
 accommodate herself to her new circumstances., 
 
 On the other hand, Violet had always in her mind a sense 
 of injury. Randolph had deceived her. No matter whafc 
 his object or what his excuse, he had deceived her, and there 
 was no possibility of forgetting it. In those days she never 
 looked very deeply into her own heart, she never asked her- 
 self if she had loved the young artist better than she loved 
 the young lord ; she made no effort to control the thoughts 
 that were against him. She disliked her present mode of 
 life and her surroundings. Where other girls would have 
 been completely happy, she, owing to her peculiar training, 
 was wretched. She longed for her old occupations ; she did 
 dot enjoy the life of a fine lady at all ; she did not care for 
 luxuries ; she disliked the army of servants, disliked not 
 being able to wait on herself she could hardly raise her 
 hand to do anything without some obsequious attendant 
 immediately forestalling her ! She longed to run about 
 freely, to be useful ; she resented the inactivity that brought 
 With it no pleasure or enjoyment. While traveling, she had 
 aot felt this so much, but, once at home, the change from 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 101 
 
 Old habits was but too perceptible. Above all, she felt the 
 loss of the grand old garden. Certainly, at Ryversdale 
 there were acres of land, conservatories, ferneries, forcing- 
 houses, gardens laid out in the most elaborate Italian style, 
 flowers of the richest and rarest, fruit of the most delicate 
 and recherch^ kind ; but there was nothing that could per- 
 sonally interest her. There were any number of gardeners* 
 under the skillful head-gardener, a Scotchman, who looked 
 upon every leaf and blossom as sacred, and strongly ob- 
 jected to any one else touching them. Violet never felt at 
 liberty to ramble through the well-kept gardens and gather 
 fruit and flowers ; she longed for the quaint, old-fashioned 
 garden at home, where she had done as she liked. 
 
 " I should be much happier, Monica," she said, " if I had 
 a piece of ground that was quite my own, where the gar- 
 deners would never interfere." 
 
 And Monica answered quickly that no time should be 
 lost in gratifying her wish. 
 
 That very morning Monica sought her mother. She was 
 with Randolph, looking over some accounts, when her 
 daughter entered. In her desire to gratify her sister-in- 
 law, Monica forgot that she might run the risk of vexing 
 her mother, who was always wretched when any one wag 
 especially civil to Violet. 
 
 " Mamma " said Monica, " I am afraid Violet is very 
 dull." 
 
 " That is Randolph's business, not mine. I should never 
 undertake to amuse a person who is unwilling to be 
 amused." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, Violet is as bright as the day," cried 
 Monica " naturally, I mean ! But this morning she seems 
 dull ; she misses many things that she had at her own 
 home." 
 
 The dowager's answer was a scornful laugh, which 
 brought a hot flush to the young husband's face and an 
 angry light to his eyes. He controlled himself, however, 
 for he never cared to be anything but respectful to his 
 mother. 
 
 " Of course," hastily added Monica, " it will be quite dif- 
 ferent when Violet goes into society. I can well imagine 
 that just at present she does feel dull and lonely. Ran- 
 dolph has been busily engaged during the last week, and 
 has not been much with her. I have been talking to her, 
 
m VROMltS AND 
 
 and she has told me of something that she would like very 
 much." 
 
 Lady Ry vers went on writing as though she had not 
 heard ; but Randolph looked up quickly. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked. " Tell me, Monica." 
 
 "She misses the garden at her old home ; it seems that 
 that was her chief delight." 
 
 Lord Ry vers remembered it so well that his face flushed, 
 It had been a very paradise to him, and he Was pleased that 
 she thought of it. Monica went on : 
 
 u These great gardens here do not seem to give her 
 much pleasure. She has been saying how much she should 
 like a piece of ground all her own, to grow what flowers 
 and fruits she likes. I think it is very natural ; really our 
 gardens seem to be made more for our gardeners than our- 
 selves." 
 
 " Of course she can have what ground she likes, and do 
 as she likes with it, and in it," said Lord By vers. 
 
 " She will like to work in it herself," remarked Monica. 
 " She likes to cultivate flowers and take care of them." 
 
 " I will go out at once and select a portion of the garden 
 for her exclusive use," said Lord Ry vers. " I know exactly 
 what she wants and what will please her. I am so glad you 
 found it out, Monica." 
 
 " If your wife wishes also to keep a dairy," broke in the 
 dowager, "you will make arrangements for it, I presume ? 
 It is quite a new thing for the ladies of Ry versdale to work 
 on their own land 1 " 
 
 " How bitterly you speak, mother I " cried Randolph ; 
 while Monica looked away with a shrug of her shoulders 
 that was far more expressive than words. 
 
 " I speak truthfully. I say that it is a misfortune when 
 the mistress of a house like this has such excessive!} 7 pie 
 beian tastes ; it is more unfortunate still when the husband 
 encourages them." 
 
 " I do not see how you can call the cultivation of flowers 
 a plebeian taste," said Lord Ry vers. " Why, mother, I have 
 seen you yourself busy in the conservatory busy, too, 
 amongst your favorite roses." 
 
 " You have never seen me stain my hands with gather* 
 ing fruit or soil them by weeding," said Lady Ryvers. 
 44 If your wife intends to work in a garden as she seems 
 to have done, she will never be presentable. It is quite a 
 
THORNS AND OEANGE-BLOSSOMS. IW 
 
 aew idea io me. I thought only peasant- women used the 
 spade and the hoe." 
 
 " You willfully misunderstand, mother," declared Ran. 
 dolph, angrily. " If either of my sisters had expressed 
 such a wish, you would most cheerfully have acceded to 
 it." 
 
 " It has nothing to do with me," said the dowager, 
 sharply. " The land, the grounds, the house and all be- 
 longing to it, are yours. It does not concern me in the 
 least. You can do what you like with your own. I 
 merely warn you that your wife's tastes are plebeian, and 
 that, if you begin to yield to them, you will not know 
 where to stop. I advise you to refuse to gratify them, 
 and to try to elevate them." 
 
 " You are not fair, you are not just, mother indeed you 
 are not," returned the young husband, gravely. u You 
 look with prejudiced eyes at everything that Yiolet wants 
 and wishes." 
 
 " Yiolet would have been much better left where you 
 found her," said Lady Ryvers, contemptuously. " You 
 might as well attempt to graft cabbages on rose-trees as to 
 make a lady of a person who has been accustomed to 
 work in gardens and dairies." 
 
 Randolph rose hastily from his seat. This was more than 
 ne could bear. He felt that his indignation was rapidly 
 mastering him, and that words might be said which nothing 
 could recall. 
 
 " Stay, Randolph 1 " cried her ladyship, in a voice of au- 
 thority. " You are going, of course, to select a piece of 
 ground to gratify this absurd whim of your wife." 
 
 " Most certainly, mother," he replied. " Any wish of 
 Yiolet's shall be gratified so far as I am concerned." 
 
 The dowager rose from her chair, with a gesture of 
 proud intolerance which struck dismay into the heart of 
 her son. 
 
 " Not while I am here ! " she cried. " I am staying at 
 your request ; your sisters are staying by my request in 
 order that, by association with the person you have brought 
 here as your wife, we may civilize her, if possible. I 
 myself do not think it possible ; she is more obstinate even 
 than she is fgnorant. I beg you to wait until I have left 
 Ry versdale. The grounds and gardens of Ryversdale Cas- 
 tle have been my pride all my life. I could not endure to 
 
200 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 see them cut up, or even disturbed, to gratify the whim of 
 an ignorant and vulgar woman." 
 
 " Mother," said Randolph, trying to speak calmly, " you 
 must know that this is intolerable to me. You may not like 
 Yiolet Heaven knows why ! but you do not think her 
 either ignorant or vulgar ; you merely say it to annoy me* 
 My wife must be respected." 
 
 " Then do not let me be annoyed by seeing any nonsense 
 of the kind proposed. If it must be done, let it be when I 
 have left the castle." 
 
 Monica glanced at her brother. 
 
 " Let it be Randolph," she said, " for a short time. I am 
 very sorry that I spoke or interfered. Mamma will excuse 
 me ; I had forgotten her prejudices." 
 
 " Do what you will to R3 r versdale when I have left it," 
 said her ladyship ; " but for the present, for the few' weeks 
 that I am here, let everything remain as it is." 
 
 And in her heart she vowed again that she would do all 
 that was possible to annul this horrible marriage. 1C 
 Yiolet had been docile, yielding, deferential, it might have 
 been more bearable ; but this girl was proud as any Ry vers 
 ever born. 
 
 Long after Randolph had quitted the room the dowagel 
 sat brooding angrily over her bitter disappointment. If 
 her son had but married Gwendoline Marr, what a differ* 
 ent matter it would have been ! To have pleased a great 
 heiress like Gwendoline Marr, she would have been willing 
 to have seen the Ryversdale grounds undergo a complete 
 change ; but no change should be wrought to please Yiolet ; 
 not one plant should be removed to gratify her. If possible, 
 Yiolet herself should be removed ; and she longed heartily 
 for that day to conie. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 RYVERSDALE looked very beautiful in its autumn dress. 
 The chrysanthemums were all in flower, the Castle gardens 
 being famous for them. Long before their bloom had 
 faded, Yiolet, Lady R}^vers, had owned to herself that sh* 
 way very unhappy. The dowager had kept to her resolve 
 no visitors had been asked to the Castle, no invitation? 
 issued as yet. Yery little was known of Lord Ryvers 
 marriage, very few people had heard of it. The news 
 
THO&NS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. SOI 
 
 papers were silent concerning it, and most of the persona 
 to whom it was mentioned declared that it could not be 
 true, and refused to believe it. The young lord rebelled 
 against this state of things. Still his mother had asked 
 him, as a distinct personal favor, to keep his marriage 
 secret for a short time, alleging as her excuse that she 
 wished Violet to associate with herself and her daughters 
 before she took her part in the world. Lady Ryvers had 
 pointed out to him many little deficiencies in Violet which 
 could be rectified only by attention and training. 
 
 u You must not take her into society until she has 
 been civilized," said her ladyship, " unless you wish to 
 brand her and yourself too. If you introduce her just as 
 she is to the world, every one will know you have made a 
 mesalliance" 
 
 " What is the matter with Violet, mother, that you are 
 always finding fault with her?" asked the young lord. 
 
 " Your wife's greatest fault is that she is perfectty and 
 undisguisedly natural," said her ladyship. " She has not 
 been trained in any way ; she does what she likes, she says 
 what she thinks." 
 
 " And why not ? " asked Lord Ryvers. " Seeing that 
 all her actions are like herself, noble and graceful, all he< 
 thoughts grand and beautiful, why should she not do them, 
 why not express them ? " 
 
 " If she goes into society, she must conform to the rules 
 of society," said Lady Ryvers ; " and you know how ut 
 terly out of place a perfectly natural woman is. Violet 
 how I dislike the name ! is capable of saying anything to 
 any one. She would tell the truth, for instance, if she of* 
 fended the most important personage in England. She would 
 express her opinion on a subject, no matter what proprieties 
 she outraged. Given one or two such women as Violet, 
 and the world would be all confusion." 
 
 " I am disposed to think rather that we should be much 
 nearer heaven than we are now," returned Lord Ryvers, 
 " Do I understand you rightly, mother, that my wife is not 
 fitted for society until she has learned to move artificially, 
 to speak untruthfully, to conceal her thoughts ? " 
 
 " You willfully misunderstand me," said her ladyship. 
 *' 1 repeat that your wife is not fit to go into society until 
 she understands its laws and rules." 
 
102 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 those you and my sisters are to teach her ? w said 
 
 Lord 
 
 " She can learn them from us, if she chooses," answered 
 her ladyship, proudly. " I shall not condescend to give 
 her lessons. Marguerite is considered a perfect model of 
 good manners ; Monica, too, although somewhat animated, 
 is very charming. When did Marguerite ever hurt any 
 one with an unpleasant truth, or disturb the polished sur- 
 face of society by one word out of place ? Did you ever 
 hear Marguerite express any raptures of joy or give waj r to 
 any outburst of sorrow ? She has her feelings perfectly un- 
 der control. Let your wife try to copy her." 
 
 " My wife might as well transform herself into a marble 
 statue," said Lord Byvers. " The very beauty of Violet's 
 face is the change of expression, the light that comes and 
 goes in her eyes, the rose-bloom that changes in her face. 
 Her eyes fill with tears of pity, her lips laugh sweetly when 
 she is pleased, a hundred tender thoughts at times speak in 
 her face, her very glance denounces all things mean and 
 yet you wish her to be like Marguerite ! You may say 
 what you will and think what you will, but I am quite sure 
 that the world at least, the men of the world will never 
 look at Marguerite when Violet is near. One tires in time 
 of even the most beautiful marble statue ; one never tires 
 of a beautiful, intelligent, animated woman." 
 
 " Your sister should be flattered," said the dowager^ 
 haughtily. " I have given you the best advice I can ; you 
 must please yourself about following it." 
 
 Partly because he wished to conciliate his mother, and 
 partly because he thought there might be some little truth 
 in what she said, Lord Ryvers consented that some weeks 
 should pass before his marriage was made public. He re* 
 pented of this concession to his mother's wish most bitterly 
 afterward. 
 
 Her ladyship was possessed by the notion that the mar- 
 riage could be annulled ; her idea was to gain time. She 
 fervently hoped to prejudice her son against his wife, and 
 if she could not do that, she had made up her mind to a 
 certain course. She would write to one of the most famous 
 lawyers in England, and ask if there was no flaw in the 
 marriage. If there were one, she would make her son take 
 his choice of annulling his marriage or giving up his 
 mother. " If he can do it, and will not," she vowed to her- 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 203 
 
 Belf, " I will never see him or speak to him again. If it 
 cannot be annulled, I shall insist on living with them, and 
 she shall never have any authority in this house." 
 
 And in the meantime she made Yiolet suffer as much as 
 possible. If she could have guessed at the thoughts that 
 went through the girl's mind, she would have been more 
 merciful. The smallest thing, the lightest word, gave her 
 some pretext for cruelty to Yiolet. As a rule, the girl re* 
 sented it, but showed her anger by proud silence ; at other 
 times, when she felt tired or unhappy, she would weep bit- 
 terly. 
 
 She came down to breakfast one morning in a fashions* 
 ble morning costume purchased in Paris, but it was not be. 
 coming to her. 
 
 a I do not like your dress, Violet," said the Countess of 
 Lester, who, according to her light, was endeavoring to 
 form the mind, the taste, and the manners of her sister-in- 
 law. " It does not suit your style." 
 
 u I hardly knew I had a style," laughed Violet, " when 
 lhat was sent home. I should not have kept it if I had 
 known as much of dress then as I do now." 
 
 " I alwa} r s thought the instinct for true and correct taste 
 in dress was born with every lady," said the Countess. 
 
 " You are quite right," put in the dowager. " It is born 
 with every lady ; it is not given to every one." 
 
 If Lord Ryvers had been there, he would have indig- 
 nantly silenced his mother, who was speaking in her 
 haughtiest tone of voice. 
 
 " I consider it a criterion," she said. " One may always 
 know a lady by her taste in dress." 
 
 " Your lady ship's remarks are leveled at me," said Vio- 
 let, " and would seem to indicate that you do not consider 
 me a lady. I think consideration for other people's feelings 
 far more an indication of nobility than taste in dress." 
 
 " Your ideas are provincial," replied the dowager. 
 " There is no more to be said." 
 
 " How I hate her ! " cried Violet, afterward, in the soli* 
 tude of her own room ; and her hatred grew with everj? 
 hour. 
 
 The dowager never lost an opportunity of making her 
 feel her position. In her son's presence her ladyship ex 
 ereised some little control over her words, but not when he 
 Was absent. She then made no attempt to conceal her bit- 
 
fc04 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 ter disappointment with regard to her son's marriage ; she 
 never lost an opportunity of taunting her with it, lament- 
 ing the ruin of his prospects, the utter spoiling of his life. 
 
 All these taunts seemed to set Violet's heart against her 
 husband. He found her one morning in her room, her 
 beautiful eyes half drowned in tears, her lovely face pale 
 and troubled. He caught her in his arms and clasped her 
 to his breast ; he kissed the white eyelids and the quiver* 
 ing lips. 
 
 " You have been crying, my darling," he said. " Tel] 
 me why ; I will know. You shall not shed any tears. 
 You shall not be troubled, or vexed, or grieved. What is 
 it?" 
 
 But she would not tell him. Tortures would not have 
 dragged the truth from her. She had been nobly loyal to 
 her resolve. She had uttered no complaint of the mother 
 to her son, and never would. She was proud of her own 
 courage in keeping her resolve, although there were times 
 when some scathing word from the dowager, some cruel in- 
 $ult, would send her, flushed and quivering with rage, from 
 the room. 
 
 " You shall not be annoyed, Violet," cried Lord Ryvers, 
 14 I insist upon you telling me what is the matter. You are 
 the dearest object in life to me ; your happiness is my first 
 thought, and always shall be." 
 
 For once the girl's pride and courage broke down utterly. 
 
 " Oh, Randolph," she cried, bitterly, " why did you marry 
 me ? You knew the difference which existed between our 
 positions in life ; I did not. Why did you marry me ? " 
 she reiterated. 
 
 " To make you happy and I mean to do so," he answered, 
 " Violet, every tear of yours is rending my heart." 
 
 " Why did you marry me? Why did you bring me 
 here ? I hate it all I I shall never be happy ! It was a 
 cruel tiling of you to do. You must have known that your 
 mother and sisters would never like me ! " 
 
 " Why, Monica loves you ! " he cried " loves you more 
 than she does Marguerite, I am sure ! I never thought of 
 my mother and sisters; I thought only of you. If you are 
 not happy here, I will take you away again ; you shall not 
 be unhappy anywhere, my beautiful wife. I have been 
 weak and foolish to give in to my mother's whims. She 
 thought it would be so much better if you spent a few 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 205 
 
 weeks here with her and my sisters. I wish I had refused. 
 What do you say, darling? " for, with trembling lips, she 
 had whispered something into his ear. " Thorns in your 
 orange-blossoms ! " he exclaimed. " No, my darling, you 
 shall have none. If there must be thorns, they shall fall to 
 my lot, not yours. I will wear them, and you will wear 
 the orange-blossoms. My darling, do you not know that I 
 love so well I would quarrel d entrance with mother, sis- 
 ters, and every one else in the wide world for your sake ? " 
 
 " But that should not be," she said. " You ought to 
 have married some one whom they would all have loved, 
 iike the girl they are always talking about Gwendoline 
 Marr." 
 
 " Neither Gwendoline Marr nor another would I ever 
 have made my wife," he said" only you. Violet, my dar- 
 ling, you shall not be made unhappy. Tell me what has 
 grieved you." 
 
 But he could not draw one word from her, the fact being 
 that the dowager had told her that she had ruined her son's 
 life, that but for her he could have married into any of the 
 noblest families in England, and that, as it was, she did not 
 see how he could go into society again. 
 
 " A man's marriage either makes or mars him," con* 
 eluded the dowager, forcibly, " and my son's unhappy mar- 
 riage has most certainly marred him." 
 
 Yiolet listened in proud silence. She contented herself 
 by saying over and over again, " If this be a lady, I am 
 thankful that I am a daughter of the people." But when 
 she was alone her anger and indignation found vent in tears. 
 
 Lord Ry vers could not soothe her. 
 
 " You ought not to have married me," she said, presently. 
 * It was cruel to yourself, to me, and to your family." 
 
 Her words seemed to pierce his heart. 
 
 " How could I help it," he asked," when I love you sof " 
 
 She raised her lovely eyes, streaming with tears, to his 
 face. 
 
 " It seems to me," she said, " that in marrying me the 
 person you thought most of was yourself." 
 
 And the words struck him like a blow, yet he felt that 
 they were true. 
 
206 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTII. 
 
 LORD RYVERS had made a resolve. He could not be 
 wanting in courtesy to his mother ; he could not, after her 
 long reign in the house, ask her abruptly to leave it ; but 
 he would take his wife away. In his heart there was deep 
 resentment against his parent, but he was too well-bred a 
 gentleman and too good a son to put it into words. 
 
 He was sorely disappointed. He had not thought that 
 his mother would hold out in this fashion in fact, his love 
 had been so great he had thought of nothing else. And 
 now the whole world seemed to lie in ruins about him, and 
 the only certainty he felt was that his beautiful young wife 
 was miserable. This state of things could not last ; he 
 must put an end to it ; and, if he did not like to ask his 
 mother to go, he must take his wife away himself, He had 
 made up his mind to this ; but Fate forestalled him. 
 
 It so happened that one chill afternoon Lord Ryvers, 
 feeling vexed and grieved that those he loved best did not 
 love each other, went out on the terrace to solace himself 
 with a cigar. While he was walking there, looking with 
 admiring eyes at a copper-beech on which the sunshine lay, 
 Lord Lesser joined him. 
 
 " Randolph," he said, abruptly, * if Yiolet were my 
 wife, I should not feel happy about her. She has lost her 
 beautiful bloom, she is growing thinner and paler, she 
 does not look happy. I repeat, if she were my wife, I 
 should he anxious about her." 
 
 " She is not happy," returned Lord Ryvers. " I see it 
 plainly enough, and I am puzzled what to do. I want my 
 mother to like her ; but I am beginning to fear she never 
 will." 
 
 " Never ! " declared the Earl. " The prejudices on both 
 sides are too strong. The only thing you can do is to keep 
 them apart." 
 
 " I fear so ; but that seems hard on my mother, who has 
 been mistress here all her life." 
 
 "It is useless to speak of the past," said Lord Lester, 
 4C It vas a quixotic business from first to last. Forgive 
 my saying so, but you ought to have married in your own 
 These quixotic love-affairs never answer. You 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 207 
 
 have virtually separated yourself from your mother by 
 your marriage ; your first care now must be your wife." 
 
 The words haunted Lord Ryvers. With all his passion- 
 ate worship of Violet, was it possible that he had com- 
 mitted a blunder in bringing her home to his mother, and in 
 trying to make them friends ? 
 
 He went in search of her when 'Lord Lester sauntered 
 away to rejoin his Countess, who was growing tired of 
 family battles and quarrels. He found her at the fountain- 
 Lord Ryvers' face brightened when he saw her. Was 
 there ever a woman so fair ? She stood watching the fall- 
 ing spray, rich draperies of gray velvet and silver fur fall- 
 ing round her, her beautiful face shadowed by a hat with a 
 sweeping plume. But it was not the face of a happy 
 woman ; the conviction of that went home to him. She 
 was beautiful beyond compare, more statuesque in the full 
 development of her magnificent womanhood ; but this was 
 not the girl who had made him captive on the morning 
 when he had sung of " June's palace paved with gold.' 7 
 There was a mournful look in her eyes, a deep shadow on 
 her face, lines of pain were round the sweet mouth. As a 
 wild bird pines in a cage, so she pined in the midst of the 
 splendors which surrounded her. Oh, to be free, to stand 
 once more in the old garden at home, to breathe the odor 
 of the pine-woods, even with Aunt Alice scolding in the 
 distance! She hated this gilded splendor, she disliked all 
 this retinue of servants, she detested the ways of the fine 
 ladies about her, and she longed with all her soul for 
 freedom. 
 
 He found her in this mood. Quite unconsciously, in her 
 own mind, a certain resentment was growing against her 
 husband. It was he who had brought her hither, who had 
 forced upon her this splendor, luxury, and mortification. 
 
 He threw his arm round her ; but the dainty, lovely face 
 no longer flushed and brightened for him. There was a 
 wistful, set expression that touched him. 
 
 " I always find you thinking, Violet," he said, " I am 
 sure, from your eyes, that your thoughts are not pleasant 
 ones." 
 
 " They are not," she confessed, sadly. 
 
 " Violet," cried Lord Ryvers, " do you know that I have 
 ft horrible fear that you are not quite happy in the midst 
 
208 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 of these surroundings, that you are even beginning to lovo 
 me less ? " 
 
 It was so exactly the truth, and she was so little pre 
 pared for it, that for a few moments she stood quite still, 
 not knowing what to say. 
 
 u My darling," he continued, with a voice full of pain, 
 ' 4 do you remember the days when I wooed you ? Do you 
 remember how you used to come to me with your eyes full 
 of love and your sweet hands outstretched ? " 
 
 She raised her eyes to his face ; they were full of per- 
 plexity. 
 
 " You do not seem to me to be the same man," she re- 
 plied. " The artist I met at St. Byno's and the loJrd of this 
 great castle have a distinct individuality," she added, with 
 sudden passion in her voice. 
 
 He recoiled from the words. 
 
 " They are not the same," she cried. " I feel in my 
 heart they are not ; I feel as though I could appeal to him 
 against you." 
 
 44 Yet what wrong have I done to you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Every wrong," she answered. " You have taken me 
 from my own sphere of life, you have placed me in the 
 midst of luxury and splendor, you have brought me where 
 I would not have gone myself." 
 
 " You would adorn any sphere, Violet," he said, ea* 
 nestly . 
 
 u Your mother does not think so," she said. " You have 
 brought me to a place where I shall never be at home, you 
 have placed me with people I shall never like, and then you 
 ask what wrong you have done me. It seems to me that 
 my young lover of St. Byno's would have done none of 
 these things." 
 
 u Darling, I am as much your lover now as I was at St. 
 Byno's nay, more. Here comes Monica with her dogs. 
 Violet, I have only time to say a few words more. Have 
 patience two or three days longer, and then you shall never 
 have another regret. You shall be happy, my darling. 
 Give me one kiss before Monica comes." 
 
 There was little warmth in the kiss ; but Monica smiled 
 when she saw the salute. She loved her beautiful, high- 
 spirited sister-in-law, and wished that everything was 
 couleur de rose for her. 
 
 44 L'homme propose, mais Dieu dispose." While Lord 
 
THOENS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 20* 
 
 Ryvers was thinkiug how he could best bring the tangled 
 knot of his difficulties into one strand, the cloud was dark? 
 ening over Ryversdale. 
 
 The greatest events in life often spring from slight 
 causes, an awkward footman brought about the chief inci- 
 dent in the life of Violet, Lady Ryvers. 
 
 It was an evening in the first week in November, and the 
 flowager Lady Ryvers had been considerably ruffled during 
 the day ; nothing had gone right with her, a hundred little 
 trifles light as air had disturbed and annoyed her, she was 
 Dot m the most amiable of moods. A footman, passing 
 near her with a glass of wine on a small silver salver, 
 stumbled, and the wine was spilled over the dress of purple 
 velvet that her ladyship wore. That was the climax of 
 her anger, and the consequences of it fell on the unfortu- 
 nate footman. He was too clumsy, she declared, to remain 
 in her service, and was accordingly dismissed at once. Two 
 days later a new servant had taken his place. One of the 
 duties of the footman had been to take the letters to the 
 dowager. On the morning after his arrival he, being new 
 to his duties, made what turned out to be a terrible mistake 
 by taking the letters to Lady Ryvers instead of the dow- 
 ager Lady Ryvers. There were but two, both addressed 
 " The Lady Ryvers, Ryversdale Castle, Kent." Violet did 
 not doubt for a moment but that they were hers, although 
 she wondered who her correspondents could be. 
 
 The first envelope she opened contained a circular from 
 the famous Madame Elise, which Violet read with some 
 curiosity. ^Then she took up the second letter, and looked 
 at it with some interest. Who would be likely to write to 
 her ? The envelope was large, thick, and blue ; there was 
 no crest or monogram. Although she wondered much from 
 whom it came, Violet sat for some minutes with it unopened 
 in her hand. She could not tell afterward whether it was 
 some foreboding of coming evil that had made her defer 
 breaking the seal. When at length she did so, she read the 
 letter slowly ; but she was long in understanding it 
 perfectly, 
 
 "LINCOLN'S INN, London, Nov. 3d. 
 
 "DEAK MADAM, In accordance with your wish, we have made 
 
 every possible inquiry with regard to the circumstances attending 
 
 your son's marriage. Mr. Macivors has himself been down to St. 
 
 Byno's to investigate the matter personally. He has examined the 
 
 14 
 
210 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 register, spoken to the clergyman, and the result is that h<& finds nfc 
 formality has been omitted to render the ceremony valid. We are 
 therefore in a position to state most positively that there is no flaw 
 whatever in the marriage, which is perfectly legal in every way. By 
 your ladyship's desire we have consulted one of the most eminent 
 Queen's Counsel as to whether the marriage could be annulled on ac- 
 count of his lordship's being under age, and the opinion given is de- 
 cidedly adverse. We consider nothing further remains to be done, 
 and beg to subscribe ourselves your ladyship's obedient servants, 
 
 " BARNARD & MACIVORS, 
 " To the Lady Eyvers. tJ 
 
 What did it mean ? She knew no firm of Barnard & 
 Macivors. Of whose marriage were they writing to her f 
 Her mind seemed suddenly blank. 
 
 Then a terrible thought flashed into her mind, and idea 
 BO horrible that it seemed for a few moments to paratyze 
 her. She read the letter again, and again looked at the ad- 
 dress. It was not for her that was certain. She had 
 opened a letter intended for Randolph's mother, and had 
 read its contents. Quite slowly the dreadful truth came 
 home to her. She had opened her mother-in-law's letter, 
 who had evidently been writing to this firm of lawyers to 
 see if it were possible, on any ground whatever, to annul 
 her marriage with Randolph. 
 
 Slowly but surely the truth came home to her. This was 
 what her husband's mother had done. She sat silent for 
 jorne time with the silence of despair ; then she said to her- 
 self: 
 
 " I will take the letter to her, and I will annul my mar* 
 jiage myself." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE dowager Lady Ryvers was in her own boudoir, t 
 room on the lower corridor of the west wing of the house, 
 It was nearly ten o'clock, and a cold November morning, 
 Her ladyship had ordered her breakfast to be sent to her 
 own room. The fire burned cheerily in the grate. Her 
 ladyship, in a warm dressing-gown, with a picturesque little 
 cap of fine point-lace on her head, and holding the morning 
 newspaper in her hands, looked the very picture of comfort. 
 
 She wondered just a little why she had had no letters that 
 morning ; she never thought of the new footman, or of the 
 possibility of any mistake. She had been expecting an in> 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 211 
 
 portant letter from London for some days, but, as yet, it 
 had not arrived. 
 
 That letter she fervently hoped would put an end to the 
 present unpleasant state of things. With eveiy day that 
 passed her dislike to her son's wife increased, and she hoped 
 to find that in the eyes of the law she was not really his 
 wife. Then all would be plain sailing. She trusted to her 
 own influence over her son ; she willfully blinded herself to 
 the fact that he worshipped his wife ; she chose rather to 
 believe that, if the law gave him a chance of escape from a 
 tie she hated, he would avail himself of it. 
 
 Of course there would be a little scandal and wonder ; 
 that could not be helped. She comforted herself by think- 
 ing that many marriages had been annulled in this fashion 
 she remembered several. No one had thought it very 
 strange or wrong. She knew that all the fashionable 
 mothers vould sympathize with her ; she never thought at 
 all of the barm she might do to Violet. Randolph could go 
 to London in a season or so, and marry whom he would. 
 She smiled to herself as she finished her chocolate. It did 
 not occur to her that she had the strong passion and the 
 lifelong love of a man to deal with. Randolph had always 
 submitted to her sway ; why should he not do so now ? 
 
 Then, and most unexpectedly, came an interruption in 
 the shape of a quick sharp rap at the door. 
 
 " Entrez! " said her ladyship, who considered the French 
 word far more elegant than the English equivalent ; and 
 there entered Violet. 
 
 She was a new Violet to the dowager no longer the girl 
 she could insult and humiliate at will, but a stately woman^ 
 with head proudly carried and flashing eyes, a woman whose 
 whole figure and bearing spoke of outraged dignity and 
 pride. There was no hesitation, no faltering ; Violet walked 
 straight up to her, holding the open letter in her hand. 
 
 " Ity mistake," she said, " this letter, with another, has 
 been brought to me this morning. As they were addressed 
 to Lady Ryvers, not the dowager Lady Ryvers, I have 
 opened and read them, thinking they were my own." 
 
 But the voice that spoke was not the voice of Violet ; it 
 was strained and hoarse, full of pain ; nor were the lips that 
 uttered the words like hers ; they were white and stiff. 
 
 " Will your ladyship," she went on, " read this infamous 
 
212 THORNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS, 
 
 letter, and tell me if it be some miserable jest, or if it b 
 true ? 
 
 For a few minutes the elder woman lost her presence ol 
 mind. She saw in a moment what the letter was, and un- 
 derstood, with her quick instinct, all that had happened. 
 Her face flushed, her proud eyes fell, the jeweled hands 
 trembled. The girl standing before her with set, scornful 
 face, looked like an injured queen. The dowager felt almost 
 like a criminal. 
 
 " Read it, and tell me if it be true," repeated Violet* 
 And for a few seconds the two women looked at each othei 
 in silence that was more terrible than words. 
 
 Slowly enough her ladyship took the letter and read it. 
 Violet stood still and erect before her. When she had 
 finished, the dowager looked up. 
 
 " Well, what do you wish to know ? " she asked coolly. 
 
 " I wish to know, first of all," said Violet, " if the letter 
 to wbich that is an answer was written by } r ou ? " 
 
 " It was," answered the dowager, boldly. 
 
 " You have been trying to discover whether there wad 
 any flaw in my marriage with your son, in order that you 
 might separate us?" 
 
 " I have done so," confessed the elder woman, 
 
 " You dislike nay, I may say that you hate me so bit* 
 terly you would fain rob me of my fair name and my faiif 
 fame?" 
 
 u I am so anxious with regard to my son," replied her 
 ladyship, insolently, " that I am indifferent to all else." 
 
 " You wish, then, that the marriage between ni3 r self and 
 your son could be undone ? " interrogated Violet. 
 
 "I do wish it with all my heart. I would give half I 
 possess if it could be so arranged," said the dowager. u It 
 *s idle to withhold the truth from you. I have done my 
 best ; but unfortunately I have failed. I wrote to one of the 
 most eminent firms of lawj^ers in London ; as you kave 
 seen, they have given an unfavorable opinion." 
 
 " You have really been endeavoring to find some reason 
 that would enable you to have my marriage annulled ? " 
 pursued Violet, steadily. " You tell me honestly that such 
 is the case ? " 
 
 " Yes, There is no need for any reticence in the matter. 
 I have known three cases myself in which the marriage has 
 been set aside as null and void because the supposed hus- 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 213 
 
 oand was not of age. It seems that in my son's case there 
 is no such loophole for escape." 
 
 With the same white, set face, Yiolet drew nearer to her. 
 
 " Tell me one thing more," she said, in a voice that the 
 iowager never forgot until her dying day. " Does my hus- 
 band know that you have done this ? " 
 
 " I told him I should do it," replied her ladyship. 
 
 " And he has made no effort to stop you ? He has al- 
 lowed you to crown all your other insults with this ? " 
 
 "He did not say one word to prevent it," she answered. 
 
 " Great Heaven and they call this i nobility ! ' " cried 
 Violet. She went on trying to speak calmly, " If the an* 
 ewer to your most wicked and unwomanly letter had been 
 4 Yes,' that in the marriage your son and myself thought 
 perfectly legal there was a flaw, what should you have 
 done ? " 
 
 u I should have insisted on my son's taking advantage of 
 it, and at any price have compelled him to have the mar- 
 riage annulled," was the dowager's answer. 
 
 The two women stood for a few minntes looking fixedly 
 at each other ; then Yiolet, with a shudder, spoke as one 
 just waking from a hideous dream. 
 
 " I will annul the marriage myself," she said, slowly and 
 solemnly. " Your son deceived me. Had I known that he 
 belonged to a class I hate, had I known that he would 
 bring me to this place with surroundings that are utterly 
 abhorrent to me, I would not have married him. I have 
 thought lately more than once that perhaps I mistook the 
 glamour of a girl's fancy for love. I will trouble neither 
 you nor him again. A marriage founded on deceit is nc 
 marriage. I married the handsome, simple young artist, 
 one of my own class ; I did not marry Lord Ry vers of 
 Ry versdale. You need not employ lawyers on 1113- account 
 I will annul a marriage that is hateful to myself." 
 
 " That is nonsense," rejoined the dowager. " You can 
 not do anything of the kind ; you have not the power." 
 
 " I will find the power, the way, and the means," said 
 Violet, calmly. 
 
 The dowager began to feel just a little bit nervous. It 
 was possible that she was going too far, that her son would 
 be terribly angry. There was no telling what a creature 
 like this, without any of the restraints of class, might do 
 
 " Lady Ryvers," Violet went on, " you have hated me 
 
214 THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 rrom the moment 1 entered your house ; you have heaped 
 ridicule and insult on me ; now you have crowned all by 
 seeking to rob me of that which is as dear to the poorest 
 peasant as to the highest in the land my good name. Let 
 me assure you of one thing you are looking at my face for 
 the last time on earth." 
 
 She seemed to hold the elder woman's eyes by the force 
 of her own for some minutes, when slowly, with a gesture 
 of grace, dignity, and sorrow, she left the room. Thedow* 
 ager tried to laugh. 
 
 " Quite a tragedy queen ! " she said. " What heroics I 
 One would think that she had been on the boards. She 
 seemed to consider that I had committed a crime in trying 
 to rescue my son from a thralldom that will ruin him." 
 
 In her heart she knew that it was a crime, for her son was 
 married to this girl in the sight of Heaven, even though 
 some legal quibble might part them according to the laws 
 of men. 
 
 It was a crime, and a horrible one. In the depths of her 
 heart she knew that. She felt a little anxious. Not that 
 she feared anything Yiolet might do or say. It was her son 
 she feared. Had she said too much, gone too far ? What 
 did the girl mean by saying that she should never see her 
 face again ? She knew that she had given Yiolet a false im- 
 pression when she said that her husband knew of the letter. 
 In their angry conversation with regard to the marriage, 
 she had told him that she would write and make inquiries 
 as to whether his marriage was perfectly valid or not. He 
 had answered that she could do so, if she liked, knowing 
 that any inquiries made must be answered favorably and 
 must amply satisfy the inquirer. They had not mentioned 
 the subject since. But the dowager had spoken as if her 
 son had approved of her writing to make those inquiries^ 
 and her conscience reproached her for it. 
 
 She rang the bell and asked for Lord Ryvers. He had 
 gone out with the Earl of Lester, and they were not ex* 
 pec ted back until the evening. Randolph had left a message 
 for his mother with Lady Lester. The dowager shrugged 
 her shoulders, and took up her newspaper again. After all, 
 if the girl chose to take what she said in that melodramatic 
 fashion, it was no fault of hers. If the worst happened 
 if she chose to go and drown herself in the river, or in the 
 mere where the great water-lilies grew so much the bet* 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 21fi 
 
 ter. They could hush the matter up, and her son would be 
 free. 
 
 Two hours afterward, when Monica came to the boudoir 
 to ask if Violet were there, her ladyship answered in the 
 most unconcerned fashion. She had been there some time 
 before but the dowager knew nothing of her movements 
 since. 
 
 " She must have gone out," said Monica ; " I cannot find 
 her in the house. Yet she generally tells me when she 
 goes." 
 
 But the dowager made no reply. If her cruel words had 
 driven the girl to madness or death, she gave no sign. 
 
 " My dear Monica," she said, languidly, " when you see 
 that I am reading, I think it is very bad taste of you to in- 
 terrupt me. I know nothing of Violet, and I decline to be 
 tormented about her." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 LORD RYVERS returned home that evening light of heart, 
 for he had found, as he thought, a solution of his difficul- 
 ties. His wife must be his Srst consideration, her happiness 
 his first care, and, if his mother could not like her, they 
 must dwell apart ; he would not have her vexed and an- 
 noyed. There was no fear but that Violet was equal to any 
 position in the world. He did not see that association with 
 his mother and sisters was at all needful. To his thinking, 
 Violet was more graceful than they were, and quite as ele- 
 gant, as refined and well-bred. 
 
 Lord Lester had given him a most cordial invitation to 
 Draynham, and Lord Ryvers had accepted it. He was to 
 take his wife and spend some weeks there. By that time 
 the dowager Lady Ryvers would have left Ryversdale, and 
 all would be well. 
 
 " Marguerite will like the idea, I hope," said Lord 
 Ryvers. 
 
 " If she does not, she will not say so," laughed Lord Les- 
 ter. " Even in that case she will acquiesce with a graceful, 
 gentle smile ; but I am sure she will like it. We will have 
 a nice circle of visitors, and your beautiful young wife will 
 take her place at once. You will find in a very short time 
 that she has the world at her feet." 
 
 Lord Ryvers was delighted. As his mother was detenu' 
 
gift THORNS AND OEANati-BLOSSOMSL 
 
 ined not to to take Violet by the hand, or help her in any 
 way, the next best thing was for the Countess of Lester to 
 do so. He had not thought of that ; but now he saw it was 
 the best thing to be done. There would be no complica- 
 tions, no unpleasantness with his mother. He saw smooth 
 seas and bright skies before him ; the clouds had all disap- 
 peared. He was lighter of heart than he had been for some 
 time. He sprung up the steps of the great staircase three 
 at a time, so impatient was he to see Yiolet, and to tell her 
 fchat the clouds had broken, and that the brightest of futures 
 lay before them. 
 
 But no answer came to his impatient summons. When 
 he stood outside her dressing-room door and called " Vio- 
 let ! " there was no response. When he opened the door 
 and went in, there was no one to be seen. His heart 
 warmed within him as he saw the traces of her graceful 
 presence, the flowers and gloves she had worn, the fan she 
 had used, the book she had been reading. A torn envelope 
 upon the floor. There was no Violet. 
 
 He rang the bell. Her maid answered it. He asked where 
 her mistress was, and she replied that her ladyship had 
 gone out at noon and had not returned. 
 
 At first he felt no fear, not knowing what had passed 
 during his absence. Still it was strange that she should go 
 out for so long ; but then Violet liked walking. 
 
 He went to his dressing-room. His perplexities were 
 soon ended. On his toilet-table, so placed that it must at 
 once catch his eye, was a letter directed to himself in his 
 wife's handwriting. 
 
 " Why did she write to me ?" he thought. " How strange, 
 when I shall see her at dinner I Perhaps her note is to tell 
 me where she has gone." 
 
 He felt no uneasiness as he opened it ; but it was evi< 
 dently no note, but a closely written letter. What could 
 that mean ? Then there came to him the conviction that 
 there was some terrible sorrow in store for him. He read 
 eagerly, despairingly. Great drops of moisture gathered on 
 his forehead. As he read, a terrible pallor came into his face, 
 a terrible shadow deepened in his eyes. The letter seemed 
 to be half hidden beneath a blood-red mist, and the words 
 at first told no plain story to him. 
 
 Then he began to realize what it was. Violet had gone,. 
 
(TffOHNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. S17 
 
 and gone forever ! She had bidden him her last ferewell; 
 she would never see him again. 
 
 " You told me," she wrote, " that I was to try the new life, and, if 
 I did not like it, you would see what was to he done. Always re- 
 member, if you had told me what life I had to share with you, I 
 should have declined it. I not only dislike, hut I loathe and detest 
 it. I find it perfectly unbearable, and I have renounced it. Neithel 
 my education, my training, my character, nor temperament fit me for 
 it. I am not at home in the midst of the splendor and luxury of 
 Ry versdale, less at home than a wild forest-bird would be in a gilded 
 cage. My dislike to the life, the scorn and insults of those near to 
 you, the unkindness with which I have been treated, the perfect un- 
 happiness of my life, the sense that I have of having been deceived 
 I would have borne all for your sake ; but that has happened 
 which I cannot and will not bear. Your mother has written to an 
 eminent firm of lawyers in London, instructing them to find out 
 whether there is any flaw or informality in our marriage. So great 
 is her desire to part us that she has taken counsel's opinion as to 
 whether the fact of your being married under age is not sufficient to 
 annul our marriage. By mistake the letter written by the firm in 
 reply to hers fell into my hands. I took it to her. She made no dis* 
 guise at all of the part she had played in the matter. She told m 
 that she would give half her fortune to see the marriage annulled. 
 They were hard and pitiless words to hear ; but I felt they were true : 
 my place is not here. That was the crowning insult which I cannot 
 bear ; and the crowning sorrow is this that you knew your mothel 
 intended writing and acquiesced in it. 
 
 44 That fact parts us. Never willingly will I look upon your face 
 again, never will I bear your name, never will I live under your roof, 
 I will never see your mother, never speak to her, never enter the 
 same house with her. She is dead to me in this life, as I am dead to 
 her. She has sought to annul our marriage ; I annul it myself; I 
 leave you forever. If, when I am gone, you find the law can help 
 you legally to free yourself and legally to marry another, my praye* 
 is that you may speedily do so. 
 
 " Do not make any attempt at searching for me ; I shall never re- 
 turn. If there were any power to compel me, I would rather die 
 than yield to that power. Remember that death in any shape would 
 be preferable to returning. Your love, your kindness to me I shall 
 always remember ; but the whole proceeding from beginning to end 
 has been a most fatal mistake. You- deceived me, you took me into 
 a life for which I am unfit, and the end has come, as the end comes 
 inevitably to everything not founded in truth and honor. I bid you 
 aa everlasting farewell, Randolph, and I hope that you will be so far 
 able to rectify your mistake as to prevent your life from being 
 spoiled. I sign myself your lost 
 
 VIOLET. " 
 
 That was all. There was no loving word to soften the 
 blow, no regret, no sorrow at leaving him, no word of tbfl 
 
218 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 love that bad once been between them nothing but of 
 fended pride, wounded dignity, outraged prejudices no 
 love. 
 
 For a few minutes he was haunted by a vision of Yiolet 
 as he had first seen her on the morning when " June's 
 palace was paved with gold ; " then by one of Yiolet as she 
 had stood with the love-light on her face and the scarlet 
 flowers on her breast. The terrible present died for a 
 time ; it seemed to elude him ; he could neither grasp nor 
 realize it. He was in St. Byno's woods, with the girl he 
 worshipped by his side, and they were talking of love that 
 would never die ; he was in the old church at St. Ityno's, 
 and Yiolet, with a small, soft hand in his, was saying, 
 u Till death us do part ; " he was with her on the Rhine, 
 where she was giving him pretty wise lectures about not 
 spending so much money ; he was with her again when 
 she upbraided and denounced him, then kissed him with 
 tears, and promised to try to live the life that pleased him. 
 And now it was all ended. She was gone, and according to 
 her own words, she had bidden him an eternal farewell. 
 
 Her beautiful face was before him the violet eyes, the 
 golden hair, the delicate brows, so clearly marked, the 
 lovely lines and gracious curves of the sweetest mouth that 
 woman ever had. Eveiy charm that she possessed rose 
 before him the graceful carriage of the proud head, the 
 graceful gestures and movements, the gentle touch of the 
 white hand. 
 
 Gone ! What nonsense I It was an evil dream that he 
 must shake off. IJere was the waning yellow light of a 
 November evening just the time for a terrible dream, for 
 horrible fancies ; he must shake them off. Surely in the 
 distance he could hear his darling's voice? 
 
 u An eternal farewell ! " Good Heaven, what horrible 
 words ! They seemed to come to him from the depths of 
 some dark abyss She was his on earth, and she should 
 be his in heaven. Love above all, love sanctified by mar 
 riage could never die. 
 
 " She annulled the marriage herself, poor child," he 
 murmured. Yet had he not heard her repeatedly denounce 
 the present law of divorce ? " And she thinks that by this 
 one act of hers she cam free herself from me. She is mine 
 through all time and eternity, in virtue of the vows 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 219 
 
 that made her so. She is niine in this world and in the 
 next ! " 
 
 But where was she ? No beautiful face shone in the 
 empty rooms; no sweet and gracious presence brought 
 happiness to him. Where was she ? And, when he asked 
 himself the question, a terrible sense of desolation came 
 over him. 
 
 These dreadful words could not be true. If the}^ were 
 he must have been mistaken ; she could not have loved him 
 as he loved her. He remembered that he had a foreboding 
 of this many times. Love bears with anything, love never 
 complains. If she had loved him with all her heart, she 
 would have borne with his mother's pride and temper ; but 
 she did not, she could not, and the November shadows fell 
 around him, leaving him despairing and heartbroken. 
 
 At first it seemed to him that he should never move from 
 the chair on which he was seated, that he should never quit 
 bis room, that life was all ended, that the darkness and 
 coldness of death were gathering round him. 
 
 Strong men do not often weep. A sweet singer says : 
 
 " Talk not of tears till thou hast seen 
 The tears of warlike men." 
 
 Any one seeing the young lord's head bent low and th* 
 tears that rained down his handsome face would have had 
 some idea of what he suffered, would have had some idea of 
 how he loved his wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 HE must face it this horible trouble of his ! As for 
 going in search of her, of course he should do it ; but it 
 would be quite useless. Even if he found her, she had told 
 him that death was perferable to returning home. It was 
 useless to stay there in his room ; he must go out and face 
 his trouble ; but for the dreaming, poetical, artistic soul the 
 brightness of life was ended. 
 
 He read the letter again, and this time he saw in its true 
 light the conduct of his mother. She had no right to have 
 written such letters at all ; she had no right to have writ- 
 ten without specially mentioning the fact to him. Having 
 written, she had been criminally careless in allowing the 
 answer to her letters to fall into Violet's hands. She had 
 
320 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 also evidently misrepresented to Violet what he had said on 
 the subject. 
 
 How cruel his mother had been to his beautiful young 
 wife ! Instead of making her welcome, adopting her as her 
 daughter, cherishing and caring for her, she had insulted 
 her so greatly that the girl preferred death to remaining 
 With her. 
 
 Hot anger and indignation filled his heart. He went at 
 ;>nce in search of his mother ; he must learn what she had 
 lone, how she had driven his young wife away and de- 
 stroyed his happiness. 
 
 He found the dowager alone in the drawing-room. The 
 proud and stately lady looked up at her son's entrance, and 
 her high courage, her proud worldly spirit gave way a little 
 when she saw the expression of his face. Had she gone too 
 far? 
 
 Lord Ry vers walked up to her and laid the letter before 
 her. She had seen nothing like his white, set face and his 
 (lashing eyes before. 
 
 " Will you read that and tell me if it be true ? " he 
 said. 
 
 She took it from him without a word, and she read it 
 steadily from beginning to end. If her nerves were giving 
 way, he should not know it. He had expected to see fear, 
 regret, remorse in her face ; but she merely smiled, and his 
 anger grew to a white heat when he saw the smile. 
 
 " She annul the marriage 1 I wish to Heaven she 
 could ! " was her comment. " Randolph, I cannot im- 
 agine why you married that girl ; I am sure she never 
 loved you." 
 
 " I loved her enough to make up for any deficiencies on 
 her part," he replied. "Is that letter true ? " 
 
 " It is true, inasmuch as I wrote to the lawyers and by some 
 absurd mistake the answer was carried to her. You knew 
 that I should write : I told you so." 
 
 " Yes, but not in that fashion. I thought you intended 
 to make certain that my marriage was without a flaw. 
 Do you believe that I am so little worth the name of man 
 as to think lightly of a woman's honor ? My wife is all the 
 world to me ; my love, my care, my interests begin and end 
 with her. You have made the most fatal mistake of your 
 life, mother. If you had welcomed her here, if you had 
 been kind, gentle, and affectionate, you would have won my 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 221 
 
 eternal gratitude ; as it is, 3^011 have my eternal reproach. 
 You might have helped me to be the happiest man in the 
 world, and you have gone out of your way to make me the 
 most miserable. Do you think anything on earth could 
 make me love Violet less could separate me from her ? " 
 
 " She has not shown much desire to remain with you ; 
 she has been quick enough to avail herself of an excuse to 
 leave you." 
 
 u That is your fault," he replied. " Reproaches are all in 
 vain, but some are due to you. I do not wish to remind 
 you that perhaps no mother has had her own way more en* 
 tirely than you have. I have been a good son to you ; 1 
 have complied with every wish of yours. My lands and 
 revenues have been yours ; you have done as you would. My 
 house has been yours, and your presence was always most 
 welcome. Whenever you have expressed a wish to me, I 
 have hastened to carry it out. And this is my reward you 
 have driven my wife from me." 
 
 " I repeat that she seemed very willing to go," said her 
 ladyship. " She has taken the first pretext offered to her. 
 No man ought to marry out of his own sphere ; it is a mis- 
 take that must be rectified sooner or later. I grieve that 
 your life is laid waste by that proud, willful, plebeian girl." 
 
 He looked at her steadily. 
 
 " You have said your say, mother ; hear mine. You 
 have driven my wife away from me. I will go to, and I 
 will not look upon your face again until I have found her." 
 
 The proud face paled a little, and an odd, wistful look 
 came into the fine eyes. 
 
 " I will not believe," said her ladyship, haughtily, u that 
 the love of any woman can part my son from me." 
 
 " You have made me desperate ; you have driven me 
 mad. You have robbed my life of all that was best and 
 brightest in it ; you have taken from me my chief treas- 
 ure, you can do what you will with the rest. I will never 
 return to Ryversdale, I will never look upon your face 
 again, until I have found my wife ; and, if I never find 
 her, this is our eternal farewell." 
 
 She rose with a troubled face. She could not part so 
 with the son whom she loved better than her life. 
 
 u Randolph," she said, hurriedly, " you must think 
 better of this ; you must not leave me in this fashion." 
 
 " I could not stay ; I could never look on you 
 
222 TEOMNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 mother, knowing what you have done to my wife. I shall 
 leave now, at once, and you may do as you will with 
 Ryversdale. I could not stay where I have been accus- 
 tomed to see her ; it would wear my heart away. Make 
 what excuse you will, say what you will, the whole truth, 
 if you like it will be best, far best neither home, sisters, 
 nor mother will 1 see again until I have found my wife. 
 Tell them so for me." 
 
 The proud figure trembled, the proud face quivered. 
 
 " Randolph," she cried, imperiously, " I forbid you to 
 go ! You owe me the respect and obedience due from a 
 son to his mother, and by it I command you to stay here." 
 
 " You have failed in your duties, mother ; you must for* 
 give me if, in my turn, I fail in mine." 
 
 She drew one step nearer to him. 
 
 " Randolph," she said, almost imploringly for one so 
 proud " Randolph, if you are leaving me, kiss me before 
 you go." 
 
 He looked at the proud face softening for him. 
 
 " I cannot," he replied, abruptly, " I cannot. I feel as 
 though you had murdered my wife." 
 
 And after that she said no more. He left the room, and 
 it seemed to her that the best part of her life went with 
 him. Not that she hated Violet less, but that she loved 
 her son more. They had been so loving, so devoted to each 
 other. She had always thought there was no such son, he 
 that there was no such mother ; and now this girl with the 
 beautiful face and proud willful eyes had come between 
 them. 
 
 " He will not go," she said to herself. " He, who has 
 never been cool to me in his life, will not leave me so." 
 
 She sat still for many hours ; her pride was too great to 
 allow her to go in search of him, to plead or remonstrate 
 with him besides which, she had an idea that it would be 
 quite useless. She sat still, her heart, proud as she was, 
 torn with different passions love for her son, regret at 
 losing him, and hatred against the girl who had come be- 
 tween them. Once she thought she heard his footsteps in 
 the corridor that led to her room. Her heart beat fast. 
 He was coming back to her, this idol of her heart coming 
 back to say that he could not leave her, that the new love 
 might go, but the, old must remain. But the footsteps 
 passed on, and the dream lasted but a moment. Some 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 223 
 
 hours afterward she heard the sound of a carriage driven 
 rapidly from the house ; and then she knew that her son 
 was gone, and she wondered vaguely when she should see 
 his face again, 
 
 " My children have not proved an unmixed blessing, x 
 she said to herself. " Marguerite has done the best, and 
 naturally she is the happiest. Monica would drive any 
 mother to despair ; but I shall bend her will to mine yet. 
 My son, the love of my heart, the pride of my life he has 
 made the greatest mistake of all." 
 
 She did not like her task of telling the others what had 
 happened. Lord Lester, she knew, would be vexed, for he 
 had always seemed greatly interested in Violet, and much 
 attached to her ; Marguerite would smile serenely, and no 
 one would know whether she felt glad or sorry ; while 
 Monica, who loved her brother's wife, would give way to a 
 storm of tears. 
 
 She did not like the task ; still there was no alternative ; 
 and, when the twilight fell, she sent for the three to he* 
 room. Monica came first, all wonder, the fair and gracious 
 Countess of Lester next, without any wonder at all, ana 
 Lord Lester, feeling somewhat impatient lest dinner should 
 be delayed, entered last. 
 
 " Your mother is rather too much of a Semiramis, my 
 dear," he said to his wife, as they obeyed the somewhat 
 imperious summons. " She seems to think the world has 
 been made for her." 
 
 " It might have been made for a worse person," said the 
 Countess, serenely. " Some women are queens by nature, 
 and some by right divine. Mamma is a queen by nature." 
 
 " She is an autocrat," returned Lord Lester ; u and why 
 we are sent for like three children I cannot imagine. It 
 seems to me and I feel sure I am right that there is 
 something wrong with regard to Randolph and Yiolet. If 
 it be so, I shall take Violet's side, and no other." 
 
 When Lord Lester saw the dowager, he knew that they 
 had not been sent for from any caprice or whim ; there 
 was an expression on her ladyship's proud face which he 
 had never seen there before. 
 
 " Will you close the door ? " said the dowager. " I wish 
 to speak to you all before we meet at dinner. You know 
 how much I dislike any esclandre before the servants. I 
 have to tell you that the girl with whom my son is so un- 
 
824 THOENS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 fortunately infatuated left Ryversdale this morning, avow- 
 ing her intention of never returning. A letter intended 
 for me was, by the stupidity of a servant, given to her. 
 She read it, and, taking umbrage at it, went away. I may 
 as well tell you frankly that I had written to ask if it were 
 possible to find any flaw in Randolph's marriage, as the 
 one great desire of my heart is to have it annulled." 
 
 There was a muttered sound from Lord Lester, a pas- 
 sionate burst of tears from Monica, but, from the expres- 
 sion on Lady Lester's face, it was impossible to tell 
 whether she was pleased or not. 
 
 " I take upon myself the whole responsibility of having 
 written that letter," said Lady Ryvers. " She went away, 
 leaving a letter for Randolph, telling him that she had an- 
 nulled the marriage herself, and should never see him 
 again. He, in his turn, came to upbraid me, to tell me 
 that he should leave R3 r versdale, that I could do with it 
 what I would, and that, until he had found his wife, he 
 would never look upon the face of his mother or sisters 
 again. As I do not wish this scandal to reach the servants, 
 you will please to speak of their departure as of an event 
 for which we were all prepared." 
 
 And, without another word, without giving any one time 
 to form a reply, the dowager, holding her head very erect, 
 quitted the room, leaving them to digest the news as best 
 they could. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 LORD RYVERS did not long continue his search for his 
 wife ; he knew it was useless. If Yiolet had left him of 
 her own free will, and while laboring under a great mis 
 take, he could not force her back. He was bitterly pained, 
 sorely hurt, sorely wounded. He had loved her so well ; 
 he had dowered her so royally with all that belonged to 
 him ; and now she valued it all so little that she had left 
 him forever. There were times when he thought that, even 
 should she return and ask his pardon, he would not forgive 
 her for having deserted him. She could never have really 
 loved him, or her love had died when she learned that he 
 was not an artist, but a lord. It seemed to him absurdly 
 foolish, all such class hatred. Why should Yiolet dislike 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 238 
 
 him when she found he was rich and powerful ? He had 
 not disliked her for being poor and unknown. 
 
 " Love levels everything," he said to himself, " and she 
 can never have loved me." 
 
 He was wretched beyond words ; his art no longer inter- 
 ested him. " The Queen of the Rhine," the picture which 
 he had painted with such love and such skill, hung in the 
 great empty house in London ; and when he looked at it 
 his very heart seemed torn with pain. 
 
 He had decided to remain for some time at least in Lon- 
 don. He would try to interest himself in his art ; he would 
 seek the society of artists, good, warm-hearted fellows who 
 would never ask if he were married or single, and, if they 
 thought he had a trouble, would carefully abstain from 
 alluding to it. In London it was more than possible he 
 might hear of Yiolet far more possible even than if he 
 went abroad or lived in the country. 
 
 Before settling down in the great city, Lord Ryvera 
 went to see Miss Atherton at St. Byno's and learn if any 
 trace of his wife was to be discovered there. The anger^ 
 the indignation, the bitter reproaches of that irate lady al- 
 most overwhelmed him. At first she was speechless with 
 fury ; then she broke out into a perfect tempest of rage. 
 
 " I never trusted you," she said. " I felt sure that you 
 were playing us false in some way or other ; but I nevei 
 dreamed it was so bad as this. If I had known the truth, 
 you should never have married Violet. I would rather 
 have laid her in her grave than have given her to you." 
 
 " I have made her a good husband," returned Lord Ryv 
 ers, calmly. 
 
 " You have taken a dove to a hawk's nest, and she has 
 flown from it to escape rending 1 " cried Miss Atherton 
 " An aristocrat means a wolf in sheep's clothing. Were 
 there not girls and women enough in your own sphere that 
 you must '3ome prowling about here, deceiving those who 
 never wronged you ? No ; Violet has not returned to me 
 And, if she does, I will keep her ; you shall never see her 
 again. I warned her. I could be sorry for her but that 
 my anger against her is so great. If you had been *ny 
 lover, I should have found out what you were ; you would 
 not have hoodwinked me. I knew she would find thorns in 
 her orange-blossoms, poor foolish child ! " 
 
 The young lord had not much comfort or consolation in 
 15 
 
226 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 iiis marriage, the marriage which he had made all for love, 
 He tried to induce Miss Atherton to promise that, if Violet 
 went there, she would write to him : but she sternly refused 
 to do anything of the kind. 
 
 u I shall do all I can," she cried, " to keep her from you. 
 The wisest thing she has clone since she knew you has been 
 to leave you. Those who trust to a man trust to a broken 
 reed. I leaned on such a reed for many years , it broke as 
 1 leaned, and pierced my heart." 
 
 That was the first reference Miss Atherton had ever 
 made to her trouble in his presence, and it touched him 
 greatly. She was hard and cold as marble. He could not 
 soften her ; she was implacable. 
 
 " If you had been a forger and a thief," she declared, " I 
 should have liked you better than I do. An aristocrat in- 
 jured me, blighted my life, broke my heart, and I have 
 sworn undying hatred to the race. 1 shall be best pleased 
 when you are gone." 
 
 He looked at her with a sad smile on his handsome face. 
 
 " You disliked me altogether at first," he said. " How- 
 ever, you forgave rue for being an artist. Will you never 
 forgive me for being an aristocrat ? " 
 
 " No, never," she replied, firmly. 
 
 And he knew that she would keep her word. Miss Ath- 
 erton was true to her principles. Had he come back to her 
 in poverty, a poor struggling artist, she would have shared 
 her best with him ; to an aristocrat she would extend no 
 hospitality. She did not ask him to take either a cupful of 
 milk or a glass of water. She showed such bitter, inveter- 
 ate hatred of his class, such dislike to himself, that it was a 
 relief to get away from the cottage. 
 
 His heart ached as his eyes fell on the well-remembered 
 scenes, on the grand old woods of St. Byno's, on the gar* 
 ;leu where Violet had stood before him in the moonlight. 
 Where was she who had beautified and gladdened it, who 
 uad been as the bright sunlight to this fair landscape, and 
 without whom it was dark as night ? What a miserable 
 end it was to his love and his marriage, he who had thought 
 to secure greater happiness than had ever been granted to 
 man before! 
 
 He went back to London with Miss Athertoivs violent 
 denunciations lingering in his ears. He felt altogether 
 uumbled ; yet, in spite of his bitter sorrow, he did smile 
 
THOKNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 227 
 
 when he thought of what would happen if his mother 
 and Miss Atherton were to meet. He tried to engross him- 
 self in his work. Once or twice he thought of employing 
 a private detective to trace Yiolet ; but then he replied to 
 dis own thoughts, in despair, " If she were found, what 
 would it matter ? " Nothing mattered but that she should 
 'jome to him of her own accord. And for that the young 
 lord, to whom had been given the artist's genius and the 
 poet's soul, waited day after day with patience, never 
 ashamed to pray that the same Heaven which had once 
 given his wife to him would restore her now that she 
 lost- 
 
 Upon what varied scenes did the sun now shine ! At 
 Ry versdale on a proud, haughty woman, whose pride grew 
 deeper and whose heart grew colder every day ; on a bright, 
 loving girl who was losing health, strength, and youth, 
 pining for her lover ; at Draynham, where the Earl of Les- 
 ter raged against his mother-in-law as the most proud and 
 the most cruel of women, and where the beautiful Countess 
 listened with a calm smile to all the Eliminations of hei 
 lord ; over the great house in London, where the 3 7 oung 
 husband spent his solitary days. 
 
 A strange event had happened. Yiolet had left Ry versdale, 
 her heart on fire with indignation, full of anger against her 
 husband. She was not just to him. All that had happened 
 seemed to be his fault seemed to have sprung from the one 
 source, his deception. The shame seemed to her greatef 
 than she could bear, that any ona should dare call the 
 valid it}' of her marriage into question. 
 
 u If I had been an earl's daughter or a great heiress ? 
 Lady Rivers would have been anxious to make my mar* 
 riage secure." 
 
 What angry scorn, what bitter contempt filled her heart 1 
 Ah, well might the, masses hate the aristocrats! Well 
 might they rise in the olden days and slay them ! What 
 right had they to assume such superiority ? In what had 
 these two women the Countess of Lester and Lady R}^v- 
 crs a superiority over her ? It was the first time that she 
 had been brought into contact with those whom she had 
 Ikuiii trained to hate, and she did full justice; to her train 
 tog. 
 
28 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Bitter, angry thoughts filled her mind. She did not think 
 much of herself, of whither she was going, of what she 
 would do : she was too angry. Never again, she vowed to 
 herself, would she look upon the faces of those she had left. 
 She would annul her marriage by going far away. Never 
 would she submit again to the insolent pride of Lady Ryv* 
 ers ; never again would she look into the face of the man 
 who had brought all these troubles upon her. 
 
 She had left behind her all the rich paraphernalia of dress, 
 ? ewels, and ornaments that her husband had lavished upon 
 :ier ; not one of them would she touch. She dressed her- 
 self plainly, and she left the grand old mansion on foot, 
 heedless enough as to whither she was going. 
 
 If it had occurred to her that the money in her purse was 
 her husband's, she would have let that behind her also ; but 
 she forgot all about it. She had some vague idea of going 
 back to St. Byno's. Miss Atherton's wrath would be hard 
 ?o bear, but it would not be so hard as Lady Ryvers' inso- 
 ,enee. Of all that she was giving up she never thought ; 
 ihe luxury and magnificence had grown hateful to her, be- 
 cause they were accompanied by insolence and unkindness. 
 Perhaps, had she met with kindness and affection instead of 
 cruelty, she might have enjoyed the splendor of Ryvers- 
 ;lale ; as it was, she never gave it a thought ; she was hur- 
 tying from all that she hated, angry and indignant, scornful 
 and contemptuous. 
 
 When she reached the station, the London train was just 
 starting. She had no object in going to London ; to get 
 away quickly, to leave Ryversdale, with all its associations, 
 was her prevailing idea. 
 
 She took a ticket for London. Her heart had not ceased 
 its angry beating, every pulse was thrilling with the 
 memory of the insult she had received. 
 
 The train stopped at London Bridge. The accidental 
 taking of that ticket was to be the very turning-point of 
 her life. She owned afterward that it was strange. If the 
 train had happened to be going to Liverpool or Glasgow, 
 she would have taken a ticket quite as readily to either. 
 
 The train stopped at London Bridge, and the first person 
 She saw, as she left the carriage, was Mrs. Carstone. Im- 
 measurable was that lady's delight, while to Yiolet it 
 aeemed as though the clouds had suddenly opened and a 
 fleam of light appeared in the darkness. 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 229 
 
 Perhaps, had Violet been less hotly indignant, she might 
 have thought twice before she poured out her list of griev- 
 ances to Mrs. Carstone. She was too angry to think. 
 
 " I have left them forever," she declared. " I wish never 
 to see them again." 
 
 " But, my dear," said Mrs. Carstone, perplexed, " it does 
 not seem to me that your husband is to blame ! " 
 
 44 He alone is to blame," she replied. " He should have 
 told me the truth, and then left me to please myself when 
 I knew it. I shall annul my own marriage." 
 
 " You cannot do that," said Mrs. Carstone, with a smile 
 at the girl's simplicity. 
 
 " I can do it just as well as any one else," she replied. 
 
 " My dear, you had better go home with me," Mrs. Car- 
 atone said, quite suddenly. " My husband and son have 
 gone to Italy again ; I did not care to accompany them on 
 Ihis occasion. Come home with me for a time ; I am all 
 fclone." 
 
 And Violet went, little foreseeing all that was to arise 
 from that invitation, or the great events that were to spring 
 from so slight a cause. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 " LOOK," said Violet and she held out a thin, white hand 
 to Mrs. Carstone " you see I have done it myself. If a 
 judge and jury, or whoever tries such cases, can say that I 
 am not married, I can say so myself." 
 
 The hand she held out had no wedding-ring on it. She 
 had removed it, and seemed to consider that she had by 
 that means in some degree released herself. 
 
 " My dear Violet," said the kindly mistress of Ingleshaw, 
 " how foolish you are 1 Nothing so trifling can undo a mar- 
 riage." 
 
 " I used to think so," replied Violet ; " but, if Lady 
 Ryvers, with lawyers and Queen's Counsel, can manage it, 
 vdiy should nfot I ? " 
 
 " I wish you would think differently of your husband," 
 . fiaid Mrs. Carstone. " I do not wonder that you should be 
 very angry with the dowager Lady Ryvers ; but I see no 
 cause for anger against her son." 
 
 On every point visitor and hostess agreed, except this 
 one. Mrs. Carstone admired Lord Ryvers very much, and 
 
B30 THOENS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 could not see that he had done wrong. Against his mother^ 
 for acting what she felt to be a cruel part, she was most in- 
 dignant ; the young husband, who seemed to adore his 
 beautiful wife, was blameless in her e} T es. 
 
 It was a happy accident by which Violet had met Mrs, 
 Carstone. 
 
 u Where should you have gone and what should you have 
 done," asked Mrs. Carstone, u if we had not met ? " 
 
 u I cannot tell," she replied. " I am thankful to Heaven 
 that I met you, Mrs. Carstone ; I could not have found a 
 kinder friend." 
 
 " I should never rest," declared the elder lady, " until we 
 are friends again with that handsome young husband of 
 yours. I shall never forget the way in which he watched 
 you always." 
 
 " He has looked his last on me," said Yiolet. 
 
 She had refused to be called " Lady By vers " ; she would 
 not hear the name. 
 
 " My husband's mother wished to deprive me of it," she 
 Baid scornfully ; " I will give it up now of my own free will. 
 I will be Yiolet Beaton for the rest of my life." 
 
 u You are very willful, Yiolet," remarked Mrs. Carstone, 
 * 4 and some day you will be most surely sorry for the way 
 in whicli you have given up your husband." 
 
 The mistress of Ingleshaw was much amused when she 
 saw how untiring Yiolet pored over the newspapers. She, 
 who had barely heard the word " divorce," now read most 
 of the divorce reports which appeared in the newspapers ; 
 but amongst them all there was no dispute between hus^ 
 band and wile like her own. 
 
 Those days at Ingleshaw were not altogether unpleasant 
 
 " How little I dreamed," said Yiolet to Mrs. Car stout 
 one morning, " that I should ever seek a refuge with you j 
 How we talked about Ingleshaw ! How I wondered where 
 you would find room for all the things Mr. Carstone and 
 Mr Oscar bought ! Xow they do not seem so many, because 
 your place is so large." 
 
 Mrs. Carstone was very proud of her beautiful home. It 
 was strange that Yiolet, who had so deeply resented the 
 dowager Lady By vers' pride in Ityversdale, never grew 
 angry with her hostess. She had declined with haughty 
 pride to examine the family treasures at R3'versdale. She 
 did not care to see the silver goblet from which Queen 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 231 
 
 Elizabeth had drunk. She clicl not care for tlie old silvei 
 candlestick used by Marie Stuart. She would not even look 
 at an old missal that had belonged to the Merrie Monarch. 
 These things had no value in her e} ; es ; but when Mrs, 
 Carstone took her to see the various treasures of Ingle 
 shaw, she was delighted with them she, who had been so 
 impatient with the pride and hauteur of Lady Ryver.S| 
 simply laughed at the pride of Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 The days passed pleasantly because she could forget all 
 about Ryversdale. Mrs. Carstone was an excellent host- 
 ess ; her one idea was to make Violet happy. No one knew 
 her ; she was always addressed as Miss Beaton. She was 
 much beloved by all the household ; her beautiful face won 
 their hearts. Her manner was so kind and gentle ; they 
 wished madam had such a daughter ; they wished their 
 young master would bring home such a wife. 
 
 Wbile the hot resentment and anger burned in Violet's 
 heart, no softening thought of her husband came to her . 
 she did not miss his love, his caresses, his attentions ; but, 
 after a time, she grew restless nothing more than that . 
 restless in body and mind. She could not remain long in 
 one place. She wandered from room to room, from house 
 to grounds ; from field to forest ; she wandered on the ter- 
 races, in the picture-galleries ; there was never any peace or 
 rest on her beautiful face. It was the same with all her 
 employments. If she sat down to the piano, she rose in a 
 few minutes to find a book ; if she took a volume, and Mrs. 
 Carstone thought she was going to read, the book would be 
 laid down or exchanged for something else. 
 
 " Is it her heart or her conscience ? " the kindly lady 
 asked herself. She could not possibly think she had done 
 right ; yet she seemed to be upheld by some lofty sense of 
 pride. 
 
 " Do you never think about your husband ? " Mrs. Car. 
 stone asked her one night. 
 
 u Yes, of course I do," she replied. 
 
 "Do you miss him ? " her friend pursued. 
 
 " I do not wish to speak about him," Violet answered, 
 quietly. 
 
 " He must be very unhappy," said Mrs. Carstone ; " he 
 loved you so dearly. And he does not even know where 
 you are. He must be in great suspense and distress." 
 
 " I wish," cried Violet, impatiently, " you would not talk 
 
833 TSONS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 about Mm I Do let me forget him ; you give me no chancy 
 You mean most kindly, I know, but it irritates me." 
 
 44 Because, my dear," said Mrs. C ar stone, with great com* 
 placency, " your conscience is not at ease/' 7 
 
 When she was alone Yiolet began to reflect on those 
 words. Was Randolph miserable ? Was he in suspense ? 
 Was he always thinking of her and wondering where she 
 was ? Something seemed to lise in her heart and plead for 
 him, but she would not listen to it. What if he had loved 
 her with a love passing the love of man ? What if he had 
 been willing to give up the whole world for her ? What if 
 he had surrounded her with loving care and sweet observ* 
 ances ? In her anger against him she would not remembei 
 these things. He had deceived her, and he had brought thei 
 great shame of life upon her. 
 
 She hardened her heart against him ; she would not rev 
 member his care and his love. He had forfeited all right tQ 
 her affection. She did not understand enough of human 
 jiature to be quite sure that the very pique of her anger 
 jnust have had its source in love. 
 
 Nothing would have pleased Mrs. Carstone better than 
 to keep Violet with her always ; but when they had spent 
 three weeks together, a letter came announcing the return 
 in a few weeks of the two gentlemen of the house. Then 
 Yiolet seemed to realize her position, and she shrunk from 
 meeting them. 
 
 44 1 cannot stay here when they are at home," she said ; 
 44 1 should not like it. Dear Mrs. Carstone, teach me what 
 to do ; I must work for myself." 
 
 And she was deaf to any other suggestion. In vain did 
 Mrs. Carstone implore her to stay at Ingleshaw, assuring 
 lier that both her husband and son would be delighted. 
 
 44 I know it," she replied. 44 They would be pleased ; 
 they would be kind, as you are ; but I should prefer to leave 
 here. My husband was just the least in the world jealous 
 of Mr. Oscar, and he would not like it." 
 
 44 But you have given him up," said Mrs. Carstone ; 44 you 
 have made up your mind never to see him again." 
 
 " Still I should not like to do anything of which he would 
 not approve," answered Yiolet, earnestly so earnestly that 
 Mrs. Carstone smiled to herself, and felt more hopeful of a 
 reconciliation than she had yet. " I must work for myself/ 1 
 \he girl continued. 44 1 should have been compelled to do 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 233 
 
 so if I had not met my husband. There is no great hard- 
 ship in doing it now." 
 
 " Perhaps Lord Ryvers may not like it," said Mrs. Car. 
 stone. " To my mind, that seems much worse than living 
 'nth us." 
 
 " He worked himself worked hard at painting ! " she re- 
 plied. " I must do something. Even if I could, I would 
 lot live on your charity, Mrs. Carstone." 
 
 " You should not, my dear. If you will remain with me 
 as my companion, I will pay you just the same as any one 
 olse, neither more nor less, and I will be very kind to you." 
 
 " I know that ; but it would not do. I am quite sure 
 that if ever it came to my husband's knowledge, he would 
 not approve of it. Help me in another fashion, dear Mrs. 
 Carstone. Try to find a situation for me. I could not 
 leach I do not know enough ; but I should make a good 
 companion. Will you use ycur influence to find me such a 
 situation as that ? " 
 
 " Do you really mean it ? " asked Mrs. Carstone, looking 
 at her. 
 
 " I do indeed," Violet assured her. 
 
 " Then you may consider the situation as already secured, 
 for Mrs. Beresford, who called here yesterday, told me that 
 she had been asked by a friend of hers, who has been a com- 
 panion and who is giving up the situation, to find a suc- 
 cessor." 
 
 " What a strange thing ! " said Violet, never guessing 
 that it was the pointing of the finger of Fata 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 VIOLET had little difficulty in obtaining the situation td 
 which Mrs. Carstone had referred. Mrs. Beresford made 
 all the necessary arrangements for her, and it was settled 
 that she was to go to Queen's Elm in the following week. 
 She had resumed her maiden name ; she would not hide 
 . under any alias. Just as she had taken off her wedding- 
 ring and placed it away, so now she laid aside the name 
 that she disliked and resumed that of her parents. 
 
 The dowager and her children wanted to annul her mar* 
 riage, and they should be gratified ; she would annul it her* 
 self. Deep down in her heart lay the firm conviction that 
 no human power could undo a marriage, that it could bt 
 
234 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 dissolved only by death ; but, if the dowager and her chii* 
 dren liked to speak of marriage as though it were a cere- 
 mony to be set aside at will and pleasure, let them. She 
 would adopt the same view, and so free herself. 
 
 Mrs. Carstone listened, as she did to everything Violet 
 said, with a smile. She made no further attempt to argue, 
 to remonstrate, or interfere. She had begun to realize that 
 time was the only thing which would bring matters right, 
 and in silence she agreed to all Violet's whims. She said 
 nothing about the wedding-ring that lay in the drawer up 
 stairs. Dearly as she delighted to speak of a grand ac- 
 quaintance, she carefully refrained from mentioning the 
 fact that the young Lady Ryvers of Ryversdale was stay, 
 ing with her. She did all she could to further Violet's 
 views and intentions. She told her to make what use she 
 would of her name, that she would be only too pleased to 
 be a reference for her. 
 
 " But you will soon tire of the position you have chosen 
 to fill," she said. " A few months will show you how dif- 
 ferent it is from that which you have hitherto occupied, and 
 you will be ready to forgive even the dowager Lady By ver& 
 by that time." 
 
 " I will never forgive her while I live," said Violet, pas- 
 sionately ; " and I would rather die of hunger than go back 
 to her." 
 
 " Nevertheless you are going amongst aristocrats again/* 
 remarked Mrs. Carstone, quietly. 
 
 Violet looked slightly perplexed. 
 
 " It will not be forever," she said. " I shall work my way 
 back to niy own class in time." 
 
 The situation promised well. Violet was to act as com- 
 panion to an elderly lady, Mrs. Ingram, of Queen's Elm, 
 who had long lost her husband, and wanted some one to be 
 constantly with her. She had neither sons nor daughters 
 living, only one grandchild. Of this grandchild Mrs. Beres- 
 ford knew nothing, except that she was very beautiful, and 
 would be a great heiress, as all the accumulated wealth of 
 the Ingram family would be hers. 
 
 The granddaughter, heiress and beauty though she was, 
 did not enter much into Violet's calculations ; she did not 
 spend much time at Queen's Elm, and would have nothing 
 to do with her. Insensibly she grew interested in Mrs. 
 Beresford's account of Queen's Elm, one of the oldest ma< 
 
THORNS AND OXANGE BLOSSOMS. 235 
 
 iorial houses in the land, and which took its name from the 
 tact of its having once been the residence of Queen Philippa 
 of Haiuault. 
 
 There was a lovely alley called Queen Philippa's walk, 
 a irrand old oaken room with quajnt tapestry called Queen 
 Philippa's chamber; and the long magnificent row of elms, 
 some of which the royal hands were supposed to have 
 planted, was called the Queen's Grove. 
 
 From the number of elms about it the place had taken 
 r.ame. They also gave the name to the pretty county 
 lo\vn of Elm Green, which lay at a distance of five miles 
 from the old manor-house. The scenery was very beautiful ; 
 there were deep streams, green hills crowned with trees, 
 fertile meadows, and fruit-laden orchards. 
 
 It was the end of September when Violet reached Queen's 
 Elm. She had been fiercely independent up to the very 
 kst. She had refused any assistance from Mrs. Carstone ; 
 she refused any escort, laughed at the idea, and seemed to 
 take the keenest delight in ignoring every aristocratic tra- 
 dition. 
 
 Mrs. Carstone had long since ceased all remonstrance ; 
 *h'5 saw sufficiently clearly into Violet's character to be 
 o .lite sure that neither opposition nor contradiction would 
 be of any use. 
 
 The only thing was to let her take her own way and 
 that Violet did. She reached Queen's Elm on a fine Sep- 
 tember evening, when the old place was all aglow in the 
 sunset, and as her e}^es fell on it she wondered if, after all, 
 there was not some merit in antiquity. Surely nothing 
 could be more lovely than the fine old house, the gray 
 stone almost covered with ivy, the growth of centuries* 
 it was worth a whole mile of modern palaces all gilding 
 ind stucco ; no money, no art could impart that air of an- 
 Equity. And, in spite of herself, in spite of all the ideas 
 had been instilled into her, -she found herself wonder- 
 Ing whether it were the same thing with men as with houses 
 whether there was as muc 1 ! difference between an aristo- 
 crat and a parvenu as between an old house, the home of 
 many centuries and one built in the most modern style. 
 And there came to her mind, as the thought occurred to 
 her, the recollection of two men, perfect types of each Os- 
 car Carstone the parvenu, the son of the " self-made man," 
 with the outward polish and manner of a gentleman, and 
 
836 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 her husband, Lord Ryvers, with innate nobility in every 
 thought and word. 
 
 For the first ^inae in her life she paused to think if it were 
 possible that the training of Aunt Alice could have been a 
 wrong or mistaken one. Then the memoiy of all she had 
 suffered at Ry versdale caine to her, and once more her 
 heart burned with hatred toward the class she had been 
 taught to despise. 
 
 When Violet arrived at Queen's Elm, she was ushered at 
 once into the presence of Mrs. Ingram. She found her very 
 old and feeble, but dignified and slightly haughty in man- 
 ner. She was sitting in a large, old-fashioned drawing- 
 room, dressed in a thick, rich black brocade, with point-lace 
 at her throat and round her wrists, her gray hair covered 
 with a cap of the same material. All over the house, but 
 especially in this room, was the faint sweet odor of dried 
 rose-leaves. 
 
 Mrs. Ingram looked up when Violet entered. She seemed 
 to bring with her an atmosphere of youth, grace, and 
 beauty. 
 
 " You are my new companion," she said, in a sweet old 
 voice that had in it a far-off ring and must once have been 
 like music itself. " I am very glad to see you." 
 
 She seemed surprised at the fair beauty of Violet's face, 
 and she looked at her intently. 
 
 " You are not much like the usual type of companions,* 
 she said gently. " I have had so many I " 
 
 A weaiy little sigh followed the words, and Violet's heart 
 was touched. 
 
 " I have had so many," repeated the old lady ; " and none 
 01 them sta} r long. When the natural companions of one'r 
 life are gone, all seems gone. I have lost husband and 
 children. The only relative I have left is one grandchild 
 one beautiful grandchild. Ah, my dear, what companions 
 could fill the place of those I have lost ? " 
 
 " None," answered Violet ; " but I will do my best." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear," she replied. " I think I am 
 sure you will please me. You have a sweet voice and a 
 beautiful face ; but you are young and hopeful This life 
 Will be dull for you." 
 
 Violet's fair face shadowed as she remembered what lift 
 ,bad done for her. 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 231 
 
 14 1 do not like what people call life," she answered. * I 
 shall be best content here with you." 
 
 It seemed like a haven of rest, this grand old house with 
 its surroundings, its old-fashioned magnificence, and its 
 faint odor of dried rose-leaves. Violet looked at the mis- 
 tress of the place. 
 
 " I had better tell you frankly," she said, " that I have 
 never been out as companion before, and that I am quite 
 ignorant of the duties of one. If you will but tell me what 
 to do, I will try my best to do it." 
 
 " I can sum up the duties of a companion in very fe^ 
 words, 7 ' said Mrs. Ingram. " Have you a mother living ? n 
 
 " No," replied Violet. 
 
 " Try to imagine what it would be if you had ; and what 
 you would do for your mother do for me." 
 
 " I will try," said Violet, gently. 
 
 " If I am cross or irritable and old age is full of 
 crotchets bear with me ; if I am ill, be kind to me. I live 
 in a world of shadows. My lost husband and my lost chil 
 dren are always with me ; do not startle me suddenly from 
 my dreams. The most merciful part of my life now is my 
 dreams. I want you," she continued, " not to be always 
 with me, but always near me. I do not rise until late, so 
 that the morning hours will be all your own ; my maid 
 attends to me then ; but when I am down stairs, I shall 
 wish you to read to me, to walk out in the grounds with 
 me, to drive out with me, to receive visitors for me, to an- 
 swer my letters. You will find plenty of employment, and 
 I hope you will be happy." 
 
 That evening, when Violet had retired to her room and 
 the mantle of night and silence had fallen over the house, 
 she felt a vague longing for what she was hardly con- 
 scious. She was young, every pulse bfcating with the full 
 tide of youth and life ; she felt shut out of the world. 
 This quiet house amongst the trees did not seem to be part 
 of the world she had lived in. 
 
 It was barely nine o'clock, and yet every light was out 
 except hers, every one asleep but herself. The moon was 
 shining brightly. From the great windows of her room 
 she could see the park and the trees, and the brook that ran 
 its winding course. She could see the lovely alley called 
 the Queen's Walk j the moon shone full upon it, silvering 
 
238 THORNS AXD ORANGE-BLOSSOM x 
 
 *he great trunks of the trees and throwing weird shadows 
 on the grass. 
 
 A queen had walked up and down there, watching the 
 moon perhaps with sad, passionate eyes, watching the sun 
 with longing too great for words. How many hundred 
 years back was it since she did so, and w^hat was Philippe 
 of Hainault like ? Had her heart burned, like the hearts 
 of other women, with love? Had it been torn, like the 
 hearts of other women, with jealousy ? 
 
 " Oh, dead queen," asked Violet, " did you suffer as 1 
 have suffered ? " 
 
 But the white moonlight lay where Philippa of Hainault 
 had walked, and the trees told no secrets. 
 
 What was her husband doing on this moonlit night? 
 Then, looking at the hand which bore no wedding-ring, she 
 said to herself that she had no husband, yet fell asleep to 
 dream of her artist-lover as she had seen him first in the 
 woods of St. Byno's. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THREE weeks had passed since Violet came to Queen's 
 Elm. The stately spirit of the place seemed in some 
 measure to have entered into her. There was a dignified 
 precision about everything which was new to her, All was 
 so old ; tkftre was almost sacrilege in the thought of any- 
 thing modern. The servants were old, and had grown gray 
 in the service of the family ; they were servants of the old- 
 fashioned type, full of respect and reverence for their supe- 
 riors, proud enough of the state of life to which they had 
 been called, proud of being good servants and serving good 
 people ; there was no absurd aping of their betters, but a 
 quiet reliance on themselves and their own claims to con* 
 sideration. 
 
 Everything was so old, with such an out-of-the-wo Id 
 glamour, that Violet's youth and Violet's beauty seemed 
 almost out of place. Nevertheless she was soon beloved 
 and worshiped by the whole household. They told her 
 that her face was like sunshine ; and they waited upon her 
 as though she had been a queen. 
 
 44 Thank Heaven," said the mistress of Queen's Elm to 
 her one day, " that you are a lady, my dear." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 23* 
 
 Violet started at the words, much as though she had re- 
 ceived a blow in the face. Mrs. Ingram went oit : 
 
 " No one knows what it is to live on intimate terms with 
 a person who is not a lady. I have suffered much from it. 
 Of course, all those who have been with me have had a cer- 
 tain amount of polish ; but in many cases it has been like 
 tiie veneer on common woocl" 
 
 " I am not a lady by birth," stammered Yiolet. " Mj 
 father was only a poor doctor ; my aunt, who brought me 
 up, had very little to live upon ; she was only a govern* 
 ess." 
 
 " Pardon me," said the old lady, with a smile, " you are 
 * lady ; you have refined thoughts, your ideas are all beau- 
 tiful, dainty, and fanciful; you have principle, you have 
 courage ; you can enter into the thoughts, the hearts, the 
 lives of others ; you are sensitive to the very tip of your 
 pretty fingers, my dear ; you never jar upon one in any 
 fashion. I say that you are a lady." 
 
 " Now why," thought Yiolet, " should she judge me so 
 differently from Lady Ryvers, who called me vulgar and 
 ill-bred ? " 
 
 " I have an idea," said Mrs. Ingram, impressively, " that> 
 after all, the truest aristocracy is that of nature. The 
 world has divided men into different classes ; but nature 
 nas done the same thing, and in a far more startling man- 
 ner. Men are not equal in fortune ; they are still more 
 unequal in gifts of body and mind. To my thinking, the 
 noble by nature surpass the noble by birth ; the two com* 
 bined should produce perfection. I repeat that I thank 
 Heaven that you are a lady, that your ideas are all beauti- 
 ful, dainty, and refined. Few can understand how constant 
 association with a coarse-minded or unrefined person tor- 
 tures one." 
 
 Then Violet began to understand many things, and to 
 see that there was as much difference between a nature like 
 Mrs. Ingram's and that of Lady Ryvers as there is between 
 cotton and silk. Lady Ryvers was by birth a lady ; Mrs. 
 Ingrain was a lady both by birth and nature. 
 
 " You remind me," said Mrs. Ingram, " of a gentleman 
 who said that he thought the cawing of a rook was a 
 musical sound. One of his hearers scornfully asked why* 
 He replied that the whole music of nature, including the 
 eong of birds, the ripple of streams, the murmur of the 
 
tiO THOXN8 AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Wind, formed one magnificent harmony which could not be 
 judged by a single note, any more than the beauty of an 
 air could be judged by the playing of one note in it ; so 
 that the cawing of a rook, which was not music, perhaps, 
 in itself, formed part of the grand harmony of creation. In 
 like manner, to form a perfect world, there must be in it 
 people of all kinds, all natures, all temperaments, to make 
 the grand and perfect whole. You understand ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Violet ; and to herself she added, " I shall 
 begin to think that I have come to school." 
 
 It was a good school. She had been too angry at Ry vers- 
 dale to see any good in anything, far too angry ; every- 
 thing was hateful to her. She did not see any honor even 
 in that to which honor was due. Here it was different. 
 A.11 that was noble, beautiful, or dignified in high birth, in 
 A long line of descent, in hereditary nobility, was so placed 
 before her that she could not refuse her respect and honor. 
 She learned many things. 
 
 One warm, bright day in autumn Mrs. Ingram asked her 
 to go with her to the churchyard at Elm Green. 
 
 " I want to see my husband's grave, Miss Beaton. I 
 bonder if other people have the same sensation that I have 
 that being near the grave of one beloved seems to bring 
 that beloved one nearer ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell," replied Yiolet. " Since I have been old 
 enough to understand, I have lost no one by death." 
 
 Quite suddenly, as it seemed to her, a great storm of 
 emotion swept over her heart and soul. What if " he " died, 
 the one man who had so completely changed the course of 
 her life ? Would she care to sit by hi grave that she 
 might be nearer to him ? 
 
 " I am always asking myself questions that I cannot 
 answer," thought Yiolet. 
 
 She had poetry enough and sympathy enough to note 
 the beautiful expression on her companion's fine old face 
 as they drew nearer to the churchyard. 
 
 " My husband has been buried twenty years," said Mrs. 
 Ingrain, " yet each time I go to his grave it seems to me 
 that I am nearer to him ; and in my fancy, as I grow old, 
 my memory of him grows younger. When he was buried, 
 I remembered him as old and feeble ; now I find myself 
 thsaking cf him as young, strong, vigorous, and handsome, 
 My dear, which shall I find him in heaven ? Will he be 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 241 
 
 the old man with white hair who died full of years and 
 honors, or will he be the handsome young fellow who nevet 
 gave me any peace from the moment he met me until the 
 hour he married me ? I often wonder which it will be." 
 
 * Heaven seems to me the home of eternal youth," re- 
 marked Violet, reverently. 
 
 " Think of the old and the feeble, the weary and aged, 
 vho find refuge there," said Mrs. Ingram. 
 
 ^ Death gives back youth and vigor," returned Violet. 
 
 "How little we know, child, even the wisest and cleverest 
 unongst us 1 " said Mrs. Ingram. 
 
 And then they came to the pretty old churchyard. 
 
 u The Ingrains have a grand family vault under the 
 church," said Mrs. Ingram ; " but my husband could not 
 endure it. He loved the bright sunshine, the fresh air, 
 Mid he prayed always that he might be buried here under 
 the trees. My husband loved all nature, especially all out- 
 door nature. He was so bright and cheery, he took sun- 
 nliine with him everywhere,* 1 
 
 And, as they walked together to the green grave, the 
 faithful old wife who had been so true to one love and 
 one husband leaned on the arm of the beautiful young 
 wife who had so impulsively and impatiently flung aside 
 tier obligations and duties. A large white marble cross 
 stood at the head, great elm-trees shaded it, birds sung 
 in the green depths, the fresh, sweet wind swept over 
 it, bearing the breath of many flowers ; it was a grave 
 that seemed to take the bitterness from death. On the 
 marble cross was the simple record of the man's life and 
 death. 
 
 " You see, my dear," said Mrs. Ingram, " there is a 
 
 <-e left for me, and we shall sleep together there, my 
 
 irisband and I, until the great day of doom. We shall 
 
 id together then, face to face, and there will not be the 
 
 ud of an angry word between us. If ever you marry, 
 
 my dear, marry as I did from love." 
 
 Violet, in her simple honesty, was about to cry out, " I 
 am married I " But she remembered in time that she had 
 annulled her marriage, that she had taken off her wedding- 
 ring. 
 
 Mrs. Ingram sat down on one of the iron seats scattered 
 about the old ehurchj^ard. 
 
 44 1 am at the end of life I " she said slowly, " and you, 
 It 
 
*42 TffOKNS AND OEANGE-BLOSSOM& 
 
 child, are at the beginning. You will love and marry 
 some day ; you are too beautiful for men to pass you by, 
 Love and marriage, the two great crowns, the two great 
 nryrteries of woman's life, will come to you. Think, when 
 they ib, of all that I say to 3^ou now. My husband lived 
 with :"ie thirty years, and when we meet face to face there 
 will not be the sound of an angry word between us. Think 
 of that, my dear think of that." 
 
 And Violet did think. She remembered her fiery denun- 
 ciations, her hot anger, her burning pride, her resentment 
 against her husband there would be far more than tL^ 
 sound of an angry word between them. 
 
 " A marriage such as ours was is heaven upon eartt.: 1 
 said the old lady. " For thirty years 1113^ husband and 1 
 Jived in the sweetest peace and harmony, and during all that 
 time we never, Heaven be praised, Lad one angry word I 
 But there was a secret in this, one that all sensible wives 
 * 
 
 " What is it?** cried Violet, eagerly, 
 
 " Forbearance," she replied. " That is the secret of 
 happiness in married life to bear and forbear, not to have 
 wide open eyes for each other's faults, and, what is better 
 still, to love with a grand, generous, noble love that loves 
 hi spite of faults." 
 
 " Is there such a love ? " asked Violet. 
 
 " May Heaven send it to you some day I " said Mrs. In- 
 gram. " That is the grandest love of all not the love 
 that idealizes and believes the object beloved to be per- 
 fect that kind of love always ends in disappointment 
 but the grand, generous love that is not lessened by faults* 
 My husband had faults; I loved him in spite of them. 
 I had faults, and he loved me in spite of them. We 
 both knew that we were ordinaiy human beings, and we 
 made allowance for each other. The result was, we never 
 had one angry word. * We have been married thirty years, 
 and we have never had a quarrel,' my husband said when 
 he lay dying ; nor should we have had one had we lived to- 
 gether fifty more." 
 
 " This differs from Aunt Alice's teaching," thought Via* 
 Jet, " and it differs greatly from my practice." 
 
 " I thought," she said, slowty, " that, just as there are 
 always sharpest thorns beneath sweetest roses, so the long* 
 est thorns are hidden under the orange-blossoms." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* ^ 
 
 " That may be ; but it is in the power of every sensible 
 wife to blunt them ; they need never wound. Remember 
 I bat when you wear orange-blossoms of your own." 
 
 " Yes, I shall think of you as a wife who had not one 
 liiorn in her wreath of orange-blossoms," said Yiolet. 
 
 u Say, rather, a wife, my dear, who bent and broke the 
 point of every thorn she found," rejoined Mrs. Ingram. 
 
 Violet had* plenty of food for meditation as they drove 
 home. 
 
 CHAPTER XLY. 
 
 UP to this time Yiolet had believed herself to be per* 
 fectly in the right, that the conduct of her husband and 
 his mother had been utterly unjustifiable, that she had 
 been injured and wronged, and that in throwing off her 
 allegiance to her husband and trying herself to break her 
 bonds, she had acted bravely and nobly. But the hour 
 spent in the churchyard rather changed her ideas. Love 
 was not a matter of caprice, nor marriage a matter 01 
 whim, it was the most solemn of obligations. Certainly 
 no woman could do as she had tried to do break her own 
 bonds. 
 
 She began to doubt herself she who had been so confi- 
 dent in her might and right. What if she had done wrong 
 after all ? 
 
 She could not forget Randolph. The handsome face. 
 the kindly voice, the love-light in his eyes, his constant 
 care for her, his devotion to her, and his mad, passionate 
 love for her, haunted her as they had never done before. 
 She had hardened her heart against him ; she had exag* 
 Derated her own wrongs ; but she could not deaden hei 
 memory. 
 
 In those days Yiolet was a study. She was sure of no 
 one feeling or emotion ; her brain, .mind, and soul were in 
 confusion. Love, revenge, tender memories of by-gone 
 days, hatred of all that her husband loved, took possession 
 of her by turns ; she could not tell whether she loved Ran- 
 dolph or hated him, whether she wished most to keep 
 away from him, or longed most to see him again. She 
 tried to understand herself, and could not. Was it love 
 of him that kept her awake at night, thinking of him and 
 going over in fancy every hour they had spent together f 
 
S44 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Was it love that kept the sound of his voice ever in her 
 ears ? Was it love or hate ? She could not tell ; she did 
 not know. 
 
 " I cannot understand my own heart," she said to her- 
 self ; u much less could any one else understand it." 
 
 One morning she had dreamed of Randolph all night* 
 Mrs. Ingram asked her why she looked so thoughtful. 
 
 44 I have been trying," answered Violet, " to solve a prob 
 lem for myself, and I cannot do it. I was wondering whethef 
 in any circumstances whatever a wife ought to leave her 
 husband." 
 
 44 Certainly not," was the stern reply. " No matter 
 whether she be in the right or in the wrong, the world shows 
 its estimate of such women by ignoring them." 
 
 44 But suppose that a man is cruel to his wife, ill-uses her, 
 abuses her what then ? " 
 
 44 I should say that a woman in fear of her life might be 
 justified in leaving her husband ; but even in that case I 
 do not quite approve of it. I think this, that, let a man be 
 bad as he may, his wife should have patience with him, and 
 try to make him better." 
 
 44 You would think very badly, then, of any wife who left 
 her husband for a smaller matter than ill-usage ? " 
 
 44 1 should despise any woman who thought lightly or 
 acted carelessly with regard to the greatest obligation and 
 the most sacred tie life holds. Women have so much in 
 their power ; they have two great weapons, patience and 
 forbearance." 
 
 44 You have seen only the bright side of marriage, Mrs. 
 Ingram," said Violet sadly. 
 
 44 1 have lived many years, and I have seen a great deal 
 of life," replied the elder woman. 
 
 i4 Suppose that two people did not really agree," Yiolet 
 went on " that the husband liked one kind of life, the 
 wife another, and that they had no one thought in com- 
 mon, that the wife hated what the husband loved, and vice 
 versa would you not think that a reason for leaving each 
 other ? " 
 
 44 No, indeed, I should not. Leaving husband or wife for 
 such trifles as those, I should consider madness or wicked- 
 ness," said Mrs. Ingram. 
 
 44 Suppose," said Yiolet, rushing boldly to her fete, 
 * 4 that a man married a girl beneatb bim in rank, and that, 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 34 
 
 when he took her home, his friends treated her unkindly, 
 even tried to prove that her marriage was not legal would 
 she not be justified in leaving him f " 
 
 " Certainly not. Any wife in such a position as that, if 
 she had a particle of common sense, would try conciliation, 
 would do her best to please her husband's family." 
 
 " Go one step further," said Violet. " Suppose that the 
 husband had grossly deceived the girl, beguiled her into 
 marrying him by telling, or rather by acting, a deliberate 
 lie what would you say then ? " 
 
 " I should still say her duty was to remain with him. 
 The sanctity of the marriage-tie is too solemn to allow of 
 its being broken ; and, if it were broken on one pretext, it 
 would be on others. There is but one course, and that is to 
 keep it inviolable." 
 
 Violet carried those words in her heart for many long 
 days. 
 
 That same evening a surprise was in store for her. Mrs, 
 Ingram sent for her earlier than usual to her room. She 
 seemed unusually excited. 
 
 u My dear," she said, " I want you. I have a letter from 
 my granddaughter ; she is coming to-night. It is very 
 kind of her. She is so beautiful and so brilliant that she 
 has many invitations ; she has given up several to come to 
 me." 
 
 " What do you wish me to do ? " asked Violet, gently. 
 
 " Give orders about her rooms. Gwendoline is very par* 
 ticular ; and, indeed, she is quite right to be ; her life is 
 most precious." 
 
 Only one word in Mrs. Ingram's answer struck Violet, 
 and that was " Gwendoline," a name that was so uncommon, 
 yet horribly familiar to her. The very sound of it seemed to 
 bring the dowager Lady Ryvers before her, she who had 
 spoken so often of Gwendoline Marr. She turned suddenly 
 white, she grew faint, and trembled ; yet surely there were 
 many Gwendolines in the world ! Why that awful spasm 
 of fear ? She must know who this girl was, and that at 
 once. 
 
 " What a prety name Gwendoline I " she said. " An 
 old English name, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes one much used in the Marr family. My grand- 
 daughter is Gwendoline Marr." 
 
 For a few minutes it seemed to Violet as though tfo 
 
246 mOKNS AND 0&ANGJ2-$L08SCm. 
 
 ground were opening beneath her feet. Of all the strange 
 fates in the world, it was the strangest that was bringing 
 her thither. Not until this moment did she recognize hoi* 
 jealous she had been of Gwendoline Marr, the girl whom 
 the dowager Lady Ryvers and Lady Lester loved, the girl 
 whom they had all wished Randolph to marry. It had been 
 it smoldering fire, and now suddenly it broke into a burning 
 Same. She was bitterly jealous of her. How they would 
 have welcomed Gwendoline Marr ! How they would have 
 feted and caressed her ! What strange fate had brougkt 
 Uiem together ? Violet knew well that the one great desire 
 Df the dowager Lady Ryvers' heart was to find her mar* 
 riage illegal, so that Gwendoline Marr might take her place. 
 
 It seemed strange to her to find Mrs. Ingram still talk- 
 ing. 
 
 " Gwendoline Marr will be one of the richest heiresses in 
 England. She has all the Marr estates, and she will have 
 all that 1 have to leave her. Gwendoline is beautiful too. 
 You will admire her ; every one does. She has many 
 suitors. She will marry well some day. She is all that I 
 have left living in the world." 
 
 Still Violet stood motionless, saying to herself over and 
 Dver again : 
 
 44 What fate has sent me to meet Gwendoline Marr ? n 
 
 a I had but one daughter," continued the old lady, " my 
 beautiful, bonny daughter Jean, and Jean married Sir Ran- 
 dal Marr. She died many years since, when Gwendoline 
 was quite a little girl ; yet, although I have so much money 
 to leave her, they would not let my grandchild come to live 
 with me. Lady James has educated her, Miss Beaton. 
 When she has nothing better to do, they let her come and 
 spend a week or two with me, my bonny Jeairs daughter. ? 
 
 Violet did not wonder much that a young, brilliant, and 
 beautiful woman should avoid Queen's Elm, if possible. 
 
 u I am alwa3 r s well pleased when she comes, she brings so 
 much sunshine and brightness with her. Now, Miss Beaton., 
 will you attend to the rooms ? Tell the housekeeper to have 
 good fires made in them. Tell her to prepare the blue suite ; 
 Gwendoline likes it." 
 
 It seemed to Violet the very irony of fate that she should 
 Itand there listening to orders as to how Gwendoline Man- 
 was to be made comfortable. She was prompted more than 
 jmce to cry out that she would not do it. Why should she 
 

 THGXNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 do anything for Gwendoline Marr, whose name had been 
 made an instrument of torture to her ? Then curiosity to 
 see the giri whom the dowager Lady By vers wished to take 
 her place reigned supreme. 
 
 She went away to give the orders, and to tell the house 
 keeper to have everything ready for Miss Marr. 
 
 The housekeeper looked delighted when she heard the in- 
 tolligeiice. 
 
 " It is always a bright day for us when Miss Man 
 comes," she said. 
 
 Violet scrutinized her eagerly ; she longed to know more 
 and hear more about her rival, but it was impossible to ask. 
 The housekeeper read the question in her eyes. 
 
 " She is a lovely lady, our Miss Marr," she continue^ 
 " and she has more lovers, I should think, than there ana 
 days in the year. 77 
 
 " She cannot love them all," Violet replied, smiling. 
 ** Does the little crowd of admirers follow her here ? " 
 
 " No ; when Miss Marr comes to stay with our mistress, 
 she devotes all her time to her. We have no visitors at 
 Queen's Elm." 
 
 A hundred questions trembled on Violet's lips, but she 
 would not ask one. It was so strange, this meeting the 
 great heiress there. After all, it was perhaps as well 
 Now she would see what her rival was like, the girl whom 
 Lady By vers so vehemently desired that her son should 
 marry. 
 
 All day she was restless ; she could not give her full and 
 undivided thoughts to what she was doing. She repeated 
 over and over again to herself, each time with fresh won- 
 der that she was in the home of the only woman who had 
 ever been her rival. What would her husband say if he 
 knew ? To what complication would it give rise ? She was 
 not much surprised to find that the order of the house was 
 somewhat changed. The dinner was later, and some mag- 
 nificent silver service was disinterred ; there was a general 
 air of expectation. 
 
 Violet could have counted the beats of her heart ; even 
 Mrs. Ingrain's worn, placid face was moved as though with 
 some great pleasure. It was after sunset when Violet 
 heard the sound of carriage-wheels. She absented herself 
 on some pretext, not caring to be present when the two 
 ladies met. She was rather frightened by her own emo 
 
248 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 tion ; she did not quite understand it. Was it love or jeaV 
 ousy that stirred her heart with such keen interest ? 
 
 When the dinner-bell rang, she went into the drawing- 
 room, wondering why Mrs. Ingram had not sent for her as 
 usual ; and then she saw standing there a woman beautiful 
 as a dream, tall and stately, yet not proud a graceful, 
 gracious woman, with an exquisite face and eyes soft and 
 dark as night. 
 
 Miss Marr went up to her with white outstretched hands, 
 
 * Mrs. Ingram has been speaking of you,- 7 she said. " I 
 am pleased to see you ; you are a great comfort to her," 
 
 And so the hands of the two women whose lives crossed 
 no strangely met for the first time. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THERE was no previous knowledge of Violet on Miss 
 Marr's part ; the name of u Miss Beaton " told her nothing, 
 Bhe looked long and lingeringly at the beautiful face before 
 her. 
 
 The heiress' warm, genial manner had touched Violet's 
 heart, and then, to make her welcome complete, the lovely 
 brunette drew Violet down to a seat on the couch by her 
 fcide. 
 
 44 You must find life very dull at Queen's Elm," she said; 
 u you must have plenty of courage to bear it." 
 
 Something in the fair face told the wealthy girl that per- 
 haps it was not so bravely borne after all ; there was a rest* 
 lessness and a longing upon it. Miss Marr smiled, as she 
 continued : 
 
 u Coming to Queen's Elm always seems to me like corn- 
 tag to another world ; it is so quaint, so quiet, so out of all 
 the other grooves of life. The first week I tolerate it ; the 
 second, I begin to feel dull ; the third, J am tired ; and the 
 fourth, I count the hours until I get away. I generally 
 come at this time of the year and remain for a month ; then 
 I find myself recruited for Christmas." 
 
 Miss Marr talked on purposely, because she saw con- 
 fusion and embarrassment in the face of her companion. 
 Why it should be so she could not think, being a perfect 
 stranger to her. 
 
 " How strange it must seem to have no men in the 
 house 1 " the heiress said, laughing. " Three ladies all alone 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 24& 
 
 ~-I cannot imagine anything more quiet and tame. We 
 Bliall not be able to get up even the faintest attempt at a 
 sensation of any kind. Still I may be grateful that you are 
 here." 
 
 " That girl has , story," said Miss Marr to herself 
 when she was alone ; " she has a story of no common kind 
 written on her face." 
 
 Yiolet, on her part, watching the heiress, came to the 
 conclusion that, with all her outward brilliancy and bright- 
 ness, she was not really happy. When Violet went sud- 
 denly into a room, she would find her sad, very often with 
 traces of tears on her face. When she was off her guard, 
 the heiress did not appear to be the same brilliant woman 
 the world judged her. 
 
 For some few days after her arrival she was listless, ancj 
 seemed to be buried in deep thought, and she took little 
 part in the conversation going on around her. 
 
 " Gwennie, you have lost your high spirits," Mrs. Ingrain 
 said to her one day ; u you do not laugh and talk as you 
 used to do." 
 
 u I am growing old and steady, grandmamma. Life losea 
 its sweetest illusions as the years pass." 
 
 u Keep them as long as you can," said Mrs. Ingram, 
 w Once gone, they can never be recalled." 
 
 u I am not sure that I would recall mine if I could," said 
 Miss Marr. u Miss Beaton, have you had many illusions ? " 
 
 Violet paused for a moment before she answered. Had 
 she ? They said illusions were sweet. Had she found any 
 part of life sweet ? 
 
 Yes, when she first knew her brave, handsome young 
 lover, when he had wooed her in " June's palace paved with 
 gold," when she had first believed in him and his genius, 
 before she knew that he belonged to the class she detested, 
 Yes ; she had had her illusions. 
 
 " Yes " she replied. " I have had some ; but they are 
 dead." 
 
 And, strangely enough, the sweetest illusion of both had 
 been love of the same man. 
 
 Days passed on, and the two women unconsciously drew 
 nearer to each other. The heiress liked the beautiful, 
 golden-haired woman whose fair face told a story that no 
 one yet had read and Violet half liked, half feared, the 
 lovely brunette who should so her family said have been 
 
250 THONS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 her husband's wife. Was it love of her husband that 
 shadowed the face of Miss Marr ? Why did she sit hour 
 after hour with such a listless expression on her face, with 
 such a far-off look in her dark eyes ? Was it for love of 
 him ? Was it for love of him that this girl seemed to live 
 in the world, but not to be of it ? 
 
 In the morning, when the letter-bag was opened, it was 
 amusing to see how many letters were addressed to the 
 heiress. None ever came to Yiolet. 
 
 " What a number of letters, Gwennie 1 " said Mrs. Ingram 
 once. 
 
 " Some are begging-letters, explained her granddaugh- 
 ter, " some bills, some circulars 
 
 u And some love-letters ! " interposed Mrs. Ingram. 
 
 " Yes," replied the girl, with a dreary sigh, u there are 
 many love-letters; those are the most tiresome of all." 
 
 u I should not have thought so at your age," said Mrs. 
 Ingram. 
 
 " I am older than my years," sighed the heiress. 
 
 And Yiolet wondered if it were love for Randolph, Lord 
 Ry vers, that made her older than her years. Love often 
 lies dormant until something quickens it into active life. 
 Yiolet might have lived for years without knowing whether 
 she loved or hated her husband most, but for the jealousy 
 that sprung into life when she found that another woman 
 loved him. She had never been jealous ; she did not know 
 what the feeling was like. The pain was quite new to her, 
 but none the less bitter. 
 
 When Yiolet entered the gates of Queen's Elm, the love 
 that she had for her husband was weak and feeble. Jealousy 
 was tke wind that fanned the smoldering fire into fiercest 
 blaze. 
 
 She had noticed more than once that Miss Marr always 
 wore a gold locket. In the morning it was half hidden by 
 the folds of her bodice, in the evening it shone on her fair, 
 shapely neck ; and Yiolet wondered why her hand sought it 
 incessantly. Whether she sat reading, talking, or thinking, 
 she nearly always held it in her hand. If any one addressed 
 her suddenly, if any unexpected noise startled her, her hand 
 sought the locket or clasped it more tightly still. 
 
 One morning it so happened that Yiolet went to Miss 
 Marr's room with a message from Mrs. Ingram. She found 
 her standing by the window, with the locket in her hand 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 251 
 
 It was mc*t elaborately and exquisitely chased, with a 
 magnificent diamond in the center. Violet saw in a moment 
 the cloud upon her face, and asked, hurriedly : 
 
 " What is the matter, Miss Marr ? " 
 
 The heiress looked up with a smile and a sigh. 
 
 " I am in trouble," she said ; " will you help me ? Some 
 thing has gone wrong with the spring of my locket it will 
 not close. Will you look at it, Miss Beaton ? " 
 
 Yiolet took the chain from her hands ; and then she saw 
 srithin it a portrait of her husband. She saw the laughing 
 blue eyes, so sunny and so true, the cluster of fair hair 
 round the noble brow, the beautiful mouth, so firm, yet 
 tvith the sweet and gracious curves that belong to a woman. 
 A sharp, bitter pain went through her heart; for one 
 moment she stood bewildered ; her face lost all its color, and 
 a mist came before her eyes. 
 
 Her husband's portrait ! Yet this other woman wore it 
 and cherished it, clasped it and kissed it 1 
 
 u Do you see where the spring is injured?" asked Miss 
 Marr. 
 
 " No," answered Yiolet. " I do not understand " 
 
 Her voice was so faint and weary that the heiress, in her 
 warm, impulsive kindness, took the locket and chain from 
 her hands. 
 
 " How cruel I am to tease you ! " she said. " You are 
 tired." Then, with a quick, sudden gesture, she opened the 
 locket again, and went on " I heard you say yesterday 
 that you were a good reader of character from faces ; tell 
 me what you think of that face." 
 
 It was a curious situation, those two women the fair 
 face of the one white with jealousy and pain, the face of the 
 other flushed with emotion holding between them the 
 portrait of the , man beloved by one and husband of the 
 other. 
 
 " Tell me," repeated Miss Marr, " what you think of it ? n 
 
 u It is very handsome." 
 
 " Oh," interrupted the heiress, " that is the least of it! I 
 sum not speaking or thinking merely of its beauty, although 
 lo me it is the most perfect face in the wide world. What 
 flo you think of the expression in those eyes ? " 
 
 " They look as though they loved some one very much," 
 Violet said, involuntarily. 
 
 " Ah ? Would to Heaven that ' some one ' were myself! Tf 
 
952 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 cried the heiress. Then her head drooped and a crimson 
 flame burned her face. " I did not think what I was say- 
 ing," she went on, piteously. " Forget you heard that, Miss 
 Beaton. Yet why should I be ashamed of it ? It eases my 
 heart, and I may trust you. This is the portrait of the one 
 that makes the whole light of earth to me, the one that 
 changes earth into heaven. And yet " 
 
 She broke off abruptly. Violet looked at her ; her whole 
 fkce quivered with pain. 
 
 " I never part with it," resumed Miss Marr. u I have 
 given my love, my heart, my peace of mind, my life itself, 
 and all I have in return is this portrait nothing more. 
 Was there ever, do you think, a fate like mine ? Men say 
 i am beautiful. I have almost every gift this world could 
 give me, and yet I cannot win the one thing for which I 
 ,rould give them all the love of that fair- faced man. I 
 would give my wealth, my beauty, my life, if but once and 
 for one moment he would take me in his arms and say that 
 he loved me. I have wearied Heaven with prayers. I think 
 it no shame to ask for the gift of a good man's love, and I 
 have prayed for it ; but I have never won it. The world is 
 empty to me," she continued, " because this man does not 
 love me. It is strange what capricious, willful, miserable 
 mortals we are. I have everything one would think to 
 make me happy ; yet the poorest peasant-woman married to 
 the husband she loves is happier than I. I fixed my heart 
 on one thing, and I have not attained it. I have praj^ed 
 one prayer ; it has been denied me. All heaven and earth 
 are dark, void, and dreary to me, because the desire of my 
 heart has not been accorded to me." 
 
 And Violet, as she listened to these passionate words, 
 could only repeat over and over again to herself : 
 
 " The man whom she loves is my husband, and I have 
 left him." 
 
 " Now," said Miss Marr, with a quick look at her com- 
 panion, " 3^ou would think it undignified, perhaps, to love 
 any man after this fashion ? " 
 
 u No," answered Violet, gently ; " I cannot judge." 
 
 " I am not all to blame," continued the heiress. " I ad- 
 mit that I loved him the first moment I saw him ; but, if I 
 had felt sure he did not and never would care for me, I 
 should have tried to trample my love under foot, and have 
 avoided him. But I was deceived." 
 
THORNS AND ORANQE-BLOSSOM& 253 
 
 With a sudden pang Yiolet looked up at her. Who had 
 deceived her ? Had Randolph, who had sworn to her over 
 and over again that he loved her and her only had he tried 
 to win the loving, passionate heart of this beautiful woman 
 before her ? She did not know that life held such a terrir 
 ble pain as this, 
 
 " You were deceived ? " she questioned, slowly. 
 
 u Yes, but not by him never by him," Miss Marr re- 
 plied, hastily. " There is not the faintest shadow of guile 
 In his face. Look at it. There is none in his eyes. Look 
 it them. There is none in his heart. Heaven bless hhnl 
 5e would not know how to deceive any one." 
 
 And Yiolet, as she listened, almost gasped for breath. 
 She had accused this same man of deceit beyond words, be- 
 cause he had concealed from her the rank and title which he 
 knew she hated. She had left him ; and here was this other 
 woman, who loved him so well, bearing testimony to his 
 otainless honor and truth. Who was right, and who was 
 .wrong ? Yiolet was puzzled and bewildered ; her faith in 
 tier self was shaken. 
 
 " Who deceived you," she asked, " if it were not this man 
 whom you love ? " And Miss Marr little dreamed that the 
 girl's whole soul was in suspense as she awaited the an- 
 swer. 
 
 " It was not he," answered the heiress, with a loving 
 glance at the photograph ; " it was his mother. I could 
 not say with truth that she told me in so many words that 
 he loved me/ and wanted me to be his wife ; but she gave me 
 that impression, she led me to believe that the great hope 
 of his life was to win me and all the time he did not care 
 for me ; I do not even think he was much interested in 
 me." 
 
 " Why did she mislead 3^ou ? " asked Yiolet. 
 
 " I cannot tell. She is very proud and very worldly-wise. 
 She wanted a wife for her son, and she thought she could 
 choose for him ; and, to my surprise, she selected me. 
 Still it was not honest to deceive me, for it has blighted my 
 life." 
 
 " Oh, I hope not ! " cried Yiolet, involuntarily. 
 
 u Yes, it has," said Miss Marr, sadly. " I have no real in- 
 terest in anything. I go through a certain amount of what 
 is called gayety. I dance, sing, play, ride ; I take nry place 
 to society ; I receive the flattery and homage of I cannot 
 
254 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 say how many admirers ; I hear myself called beautiful, a 
 great heiress, a queen of society and all the time my heart 
 is dead, dead as the leaves that fall in autumn. I never 
 thought," she continued dreamily ; * l if I had, things would 
 have been different. Because her words flattered the secret 
 desire of my heart, I believed them. If I had reflected, J 
 should have had less faith in her." 
 
 " But," said Violet, " I do not understand how any ont 
 could have deceived you in a matter of that kind. I should 
 have thought your own heart would have spoken." 
 
 " My own heart blinded me," she answered, with a sigh; 
 " yet, now that I come to think of it, I marvel that I built 
 so much upon so little. I admit that I loved Randolph at 
 first sight ; but he never misled me by affecting any un 
 usual interest in me. Would it interest you to hear mj 
 story ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Yiolet frankly ; " nothing would interest 
 me more." 
 
 " Then," said the heiress, gently, " sit down and listen 
 to it. No ; do not give me back the photograph. Hold 
 that in your hands. Examine closely the beautiful sensi 
 tive face which is the only excuse I have for my weakness. 
 When I weigh all the circumstances, I feel that I may for 
 give myself any amount of folly ; " and Miss Marr paused 
 for a few moments before telling her story. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIL 
 
 " I AM an only child," began the heiress. " My father, 
 Sir Randal Marr, was a very wealthy man Late in life he 
 married my mother, Jean Ingram, who died soon after I 
 was born ; and I am the sole representative of the two 
 wealthy and powerful families hard enough for one soli- 
 tary girl, is it not ? When grandmamma here dies, many 
 thousands will come to me ; but, oh, Miss Beaton, money 
 will not bring me any happiness all the money in the world 
 cannot purchase love, and it is love that I want ! I have 
 too much wealth ; " and the girl sighed wearily. " You 
 see, Miss Beaton, I have not had that which is of the great* 
 est value to any girl, the training of a good mother. I have 
 lived amongst my relatives, all good, kindly, worldly peo- 
 ple. I have been spoiled from the very day I was born. I 
 have never had what people call a home. I made my debut 
 
THOKNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 258 
 
 In the fashionable world when I was just seventeen ; I am 
 twenty-two now, and far more tired of life than many a 
 woman of sixty. You see, I had not the one great desire 
 of my life granted. 
 
 " I was very young, very happy, and light of heart when 
 Lady Ryvers invited me to Ry versdale. She had said lit- 
 tle about her son, but just at that time he was at home. I 
 remember how and where I first saw him this man whom 
 I love so well. Look, Miss Beaton his eyes seem to smile 
 into mine. He is called Lord Ryvers, of Ryversdale, and 
 by nature he is a poet and an artist. I saw him first on 
 the broad terrace at Ryversdale. I shall always picture 
 him to myself as I saw him then. He was watching the 
 sun set over the broad, beautiful river; there was a glorious 
 light on his face as the sun's rays fell upon him. My heart 
 went out to him before he had seen me. When our eyes 
 met, when he spoke to me, I knew that he was the one man 
 in the wide world for me, My heart seemed to have found 
 rest, to have gained its home. Lady Ryvers introduced us, 
 and then proceeded to tell me before him how amazed she 
 was that he would persist in painting. 
 
 " ' He is never happy away from his palette and brushes,' 
 she said ; i he looks at everything with the eyes of a painter, 
 instead of with the eyes of an ordinary man ; he sees noth- 
 ing but color and form.' 
 
 u 4 It is a libel, Miss Marr,' Lord Ryvers laughed ; * the 
 difference between the eyes of an artist and those of an or- 
 dinary man, as my mother expresses it, is that the artist 
 sees most.' 
 
 " i Do not let him beguile you, Miss Marr,' said Lady 
 Ryvers, smiling at me. ' He seems pleased to see you, but 
 lie is studying your coloring ; he thinks you are like the 
 vork of a Titian or a Velasquez.' 
 
 %c From these few words sprung a long conversation. 
 
 k/ I had met no one like him. True, I had seen plenty of 
 m-n, some handsome, some clever, and some accomplished; 
 but this one seemed to be perfect. He was nobleman, gen- 
 tleman, srholar, poet, and artist combined ; add to that the 
 charm ol a handsome face and graceful manner, and even 
 then you have but a faint idea of Lord Ryvers as I knew 
 him. 
 
 " All my heart went out to him, and, alas, it has never 
 tome back to me ! Perhaps, had I been more like other 
 
056 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 girls, had I had home, parents, sisters, I should not have 
 trusted all my life to one venture ; I should not have been 
 so quick, so eager to love. 
 
 " The knowledge that I was to be in the house with him 
 for some few weeks filled my whole soul with happiness. 
 My present self looks back to that bright young self as to 
 another person. With my dead heart, I think I can never 
 be the girl who found the very light of the sun changed be- 
 cause she had learned to love. 
 
 " Lady Ryvers deceived me by continually repeating lit- 
 tle phrases to me that her son had used in speaking of me v 
 and she gave to them a different meaning, a different inter- 
 pretation from that which he intended. I do not believe 
 now that he ever said he loved me, or expressed any desire 
 to make me his wife ; but she gave me to understand that 
 he did so. 
 
 " ' My son thinks so much of your taste, Miss Marri 
 i My son will not decide until you have given your opinion 
 Miss Marr,' was what she was always telling me. 
 
 " To me she made no secret of her own wishes. ' I should 
 Jike you for my daughter-in-law,' she would say ; c and ] 
 have every reason to hope that my wish will be gratified 
 My son is not of age yet ; but when he is he will say in 
 words what he now thinks.' Miss Beaton, what should you 
 have drawn from such words ? " 
 
 " A certain conclusion that Lady Ryvers wished you to 
 marry her son," answered Violet, "but not that the soi| 
 himself had the same thought." 
 
 " You are quite right ; it was my own love that misled 
 me. If the same thing had been said to me of any one else 
 I should have been most indignant indeed, I would not 
 have listened to it. It was but second-hand wooing at the 
 best. Lady Ryvers was so clever, so skillful, that, without 
 clothing the idea in words, she gave me to understand 1 
 her son loved me, but that he did not think it prudent tc 
 say anything of love or marriage until he was of age. I 
 was blind. I gave myself up to a fool's paradise, I ought 
 to have known that love and prudence are as far apart as 
 the poles. I have paid the penalty of my blindness with 
 the happiness of my whole life. 
 
 " What the heart wishes it soon believes. Deceived by 
 Lady Ryvers, I really believed that Lord Ryvers cared for 
 Dae, and that when we were both older he would ask me to 
 
TffOWS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 257 
 
 his wife. True, there was nothing lover-like in his man* 
 ner. He talked to me about pictures because I loved them ; 
 and, when I found that painting was the one thing for 
 which he cared most, I studied it. Not that I tried to 
 paint ; but I read the lives of great artists, I read what 
 clever men wrote of them, so that when he spoke of any- 
 thing I could understand all his references. He was de- 
 lighted. He has sisters ; but they either did not care for 
 such subjects or it had been an express wish of Lady 
 Kyvers that they should not encourage him in the matter 
 of art. The only time when she seemed to tolerate paint- 
 ing was when Lord Ry vers discussed it with me." 
 
 Again a pain that was both keen and bitter went through 
 Violet's heart. How much better this woman had loved 
 him than she herself had done 1 The rich heiress had 
 studied the things he loved, while she had never dreamed 
 of so doing ; she had even at times felt impatient with his 
 devotion to art. The contrast struck her most forcibly. 
 
 " I know," continued Miss Marr, " that that was the 
 tie between us. I am sure now that nothing else was in 
 his mind. He would ask me to join him in his rambles 
 through th* woods ; but it was never to make love to me, 
 only to talk of the coloring of the leaves and the springing 
 grasses. We spent hours by the beautiful reach of the 
 river, by the well in the grounds ; and, when we returned, 
 Lady Ryvers met us always with the same smile. But I 
 knew he had never made love to me ; we had talked of 
 various things, but never of love. 
 
 " It was during those hours that I found out that Lord 
 
 era was one of the most romantic of men, that he had 
 
 soul of a poet with the genius of an artist. I loved 
 
 lii in more and more. With every sun that rose and set, 
 
 love grew deeper, stronger, firmer, and my heart so 
 
 one with his that I can never take it from him. 
 
 u If he had been vain, as many young men at that age 
 are, he must have read my secret. I was often ashamed 
 of the love-light in my eyes, of the glow on my face 
 often most terribly ashamed ; but he was serenely uncon- 
 scious of it all. If he spoke, and the sudden sound of his 
 voice sent all the tell-tale blood to my face, he would tell 
 me that I had the rich coloring of a Velasquez ; if emotion 
 drove the color from my face, he would say that I had 
 
 rt 
 
$558 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 
 
 changed into a Greuze ; but he neither knew nor dreamed 
 that the change of color was for him. 
 
 u We were together for seven weeks- not long, you will 
 think, to influence a life ; it has colored all mine. They 
 were almost the only happy weeks of my life ; I have 
 known little happiness since. Then my visit ended. We 
 met again at Christmas, at Holt Castle Lady Ryvers, 
 with her son and her daughter Marguerite, was there 
 and there my hopes were confirmed. Not by him, though > 
 he was always the same kind, gentle, and chivalrous in 
 his manner, interested in our conversations, but never 
 breathing the word 4 love.' 
 
 " It was at Holt Castle that Lady Ryvers opened hei 
 heart to me that her dearest wish was that I should be 
 mistress of Ryversdale, that she was sure Randolph loved 
 me. She was equally sure that, when he was of age, he 
 would ask me to be his wife. She told me that he had 
 peculiar ideas of marriage; but I have discovered since 
 then that they were of a very different kind from what ] 
 expected. 
 
 " Lady Ryvers was very cruel in talking to me after this 
 iashioii. She would speak of the time when I should be 
 mistress of Ryversdale as though it were a certainty. One 
 day I ventured to say to her : 
 
 u ' You speak as though I were engaged to your son, 
 Lady Ryvers, whereas he has never said one word of love 
 to me never one.' 
 
 " 4 He will do so,' she said, smiling, * when the right time 
 comes.' 
 
 " Then I asked her shyly why she was so anxious that I 
 should marry him, and she told me frankly that ever since 
 she had heard of and seen me, she had wished me to be her 
 son's wife. 
 
 " ' Not for your mone^, dear, 1 she said, ' although a fort- 
 une like yours gives influence and has great advantages 
 it will help Randolph to make a position for himself 
 second to none in the land. It is because you are in every 
 way fitted for him. You have every one of the gifts and 
 advantages that I desire for him ; you have not one of the 
 drawbacks that would have grieved me.' 
 
 " It was rery consoling ; but I should have valued one 
 word of love from the son more than all these overtures 
 from the mother. We were together three weeks at Holt 
 
THOJRNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 289 
 
 Castle ; adding those to the seven I spent at Ry versdale, I 
 count my life ten happy weeks. Some have ten happy 
 years, some have a whole happy life ; I have had ten per- 
 fect weeks." 
 
 " But you may be happy yet," said Violet ; " you will 
 not spend the whole of your life in lamenting for one who 
 did not love you." 
 
 " It sounds like lunacy," said Miss Marr ; " but what 
 am I to do ? I have given my love ; I cannot recall it. It 
 is not my fault. There are some things irresistible, and 
 this is one. I would free myself from this bondage of a 
 terrible love if I could. Do you know what this love will 
 do for me?" 
 
 u No," answerec Yiolet, wonderingly. 
 
 " It will kill me, sooner or later. No one can live long 
 with a broken heart ; and mine is surely broken." 
 
 Then Yiolet wondered more and more. This was how 
 Monica had spoken. She asked herself if Randolph had 
 left her, had gone away from St. Byno's without telling 
 her he loved her, would her heart have broken ? would she 
 have felt as though all life were ended ? And this time 
 there was a thrill both of pain and pleasure in her heart 
 as the answer came. She was beginning to think differ- 
 ently of her husband, viewing him in the light of another 
 woman's love. 
 
 " The strangest part of the story is yet to come," said 
 Miss Marr. u Lady Ryvers wrote to me in the month of 
 April, and told me tha+ her son had asked, as a special 
 favor before he settled in life, that he might have one 
 year for a sketching-tour. He had promised her that, if 
 she would continue her administration of his estates, and 
 extend her reign until the expiration of that time, he 
 would willingly attend to the duties she was most anxious 
 to urge upon him. That was in April. In June I went 
 to Ry versdale. Of course he was absent, and the differ- 
 ence was as great as between night and day. Still Lady 
 Ryvers talked to me in the same fashion of what I should 
 do when I went to reign over the grand old house where 
 she had been mistress so long, what plan of life she wished 
 Randolph to pursue." 
 
 Again came the mingled senae of pain and pleasure, so 
 new to Violet, at the sound of her husband's name on her 
 rival's lips. 
 
68 T&O&NS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " This autumn," continued the heiress, " I was staying 
 with some friends near Ryversdale, and I heard strange 
 rumors about the young heir. At last I saw Lady Ry vers, 
 and she prayed of me so urgently to go to her at Ryvers- 
 dale that I could not refuse. But, ah me, what a differ- 
 ent place it was ! A blight seemed to have fallen over it^ 
 Lady Ryvers looked like a woman pressed down by some 
 terrible sorrow, and after awhile, she told it to me. It 
 was a strange story, but, knowing her son's romantic 
 nature, I cannot say that it surprised me." 
 
 It was by a supreme effort that Violet refrained from 
 speaking ; she felt that it was her own story she was about 
 to hear, and, for some inexplicable reason, she dreaded 
 bearing it. 
 
 " It seems," continued Miss Marr, " that Lord Ryvers 
 always had a dread of being married for money or title, 
 that the great wish of his heart was to marry for love. 
 That was his dream, just as some dream of a seat in Par- 
 liament and others of the Victoria Cross. It was the de- 
 sire of his heart, the one grand ambition of his life. As 
 I have told you, he went on a sketching-tour. He would 
 have no valet, no servant ; he left all ceremony and for- 
 mality behind him. He dropped even his name and title 
 for a time ; he wanted to realize to its fullest extent the 
 freedom and charm of an artist's life. It was his whim, his 
 fancy, his. last real glimpse of liberty before he entered 
 upon public life. No one can say that he was to blame. 
 
 While he was on this sketching-tour, he Mind, my 
 
 dear Miss Beaton, you are letting my locket fall ! " for 
 the treasure had slipped from the white trembling hands. 
 
 Miss Marr raised it, and touched it with her lips. 
 
 Noting her companion's action, Violet's face flushed with 
 anger. / Her husband had kissed her face a thousand times 
 with passionate kisses, and her heart had not been stirred 
 she had taken them very much as her right ; but now, 
 as the beautiful lips of Miss Marr touched her husband's 
 pictured face, something rushed through both heart and 
 brain, leaving her faint and bewildered. 
 
 The heiress put the portrait into her hand, and went 
 on. 
 
 "During the sketching-tour he met some beautiful 
 country-girl, quite uneducated, I believe. He fell in love 
 With her. Neither his name nor his rank <lid he disclose. 
 
THORNS AND OK A NO K- BLOSSOMS. 261 
 
 He wooed her as a poor artist. Lady Ryvers does not 
 seem to think that she cared very much for him ; but I do 
 not believe that. Why, in that case, did she marry him ? 
 If one does not marry for money, it must be for love. I 
 should think this young girl married Lord Ryvers, be- 
 lieving him to be an artist working for his daily bread. 
 The strangest part of the story is that she is what you 
 seldom find so young a girl to be, a real democrat. She 
 was brought up, it seems, to detest and condemn all 
 aristocrats; and Randolph, who understood this, knew well 
 that she would never marry him if she knew-his name arid 
 position. He kept both secrets from her. Lady Ryvers at 
 first suspected that she knew it, and had entrapped her 
 son ; now it seems quite certain she was ignorant of every 
 fact connected with him, except that he was an artist. He 
 managed to keep his secret for some time. In the end she 
 found it out. Lady Ryvers says that she never liked him 
 afterward." 
 
 "It was a gross deception ! " cried Yiolet, suddenly. 
 
 " It was nothing of the kind," said the heiress, with flash- 
 ing eyes. " Look at his face there ; it is open as the day* 
 No man with a face like that could be deceitful. It shows 
 it shows," she continued, wringing her jeweled hands, 
 44 that no one understands him as I do, no one in all the 
 wide world. Deceit never entered his soul : it could not, 
 even as a dark spirit cannot enter heaven. It was not de- 
 ceit. I will tell you what it was the graceful poetical 
 fancy of an artist, the whim of a man who wanted to be 
 loved for himself and married for himself; and I say, let 
 who will declare to the contrary, that there was no harm in 
 it, no shadow of guile or deceit. What do you candidly 
 think yourself? " 
 
 And Miss Marr fixed her eyes on the pale, agitated face, 
 and waited for an answer. 
 
 44 What do you candidly think yourself? " she repeated* 
 
 It was a crucial question, a trying moment. For the first 
 time since she had found out her husband's secret, she felt 
 that she had judged him too hardly, and had not given 
 sufficient consideration to the motives which actuated him. 
 
 " It matters little what I think," said Yiolet. " The girl 
 looked at it from her point of view, the man from his." 
 
 44 The girl wanted shaking ! " declared Miss Marr. 
 
 For a few minutes Yiolet was quelled by the heiress* 
 
62 THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS, 
 
 sudden outburst. Hitherto she had felt that the wrong 
 and injury were all on her side. She had taken no tolerant 
 view of her husband's conduct. But to be told that she 
 cc wanted shaking " was a shock to her which brought a 
 flush of color to her fair face and light to her eyes. 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " she asked, coldly. 
 
 " Why, any one could answer that question ! " declared 
 Miss Marr. " Here is a girl living quietty in the country, 
 without expectations of any kind, and a gentleman falls in 
 love with her. He does not love and ride away, as many 
 men would have done ; he does not play fast and loose with 
 her. He marries her, he gives her the richest dower that a 
 king could give to a queen, the first, best, and truest love 
 of his heart. What more royal dower can man give to 
 woman than that ? He gives her one of the oldest names 
 in the land and one of the most stainless. He gives her 
 wealth, luxury, every comfort and delight that any woman 
 could desire. I maintain that she ought to be grateful to 
 him. I should have been. I only wish to Heaven he had 
 given me one tithe of the love he has given to her ! " 
 
 A world of wistful longing shone in the dark, beautiful 
 face, a world of passionate love and pain. 
 
 " Why do you think she is not grateful ? " asked Violet, 
 jently. 
 
 " I know she is not ; the dowager told me about it. She, 
 this young wife, really Lady Ryvers, although she seems 
 never to have used the name, was brought up in some ex- 
 traordinary fashion to hate, without rhyme and reason, all 
 aristocrats ; and, when she found that she had married one 
 of the class she hates, all her love seemed to die. Lady 
 Ryvers assured me that she believed honestty that all the 
 love was on his side. Was that being grateful? I think 
 when she found what his marriage had cost him she ought 
 to have been doubly grateful to him, she ought to have 
 loved him more than ever. I should in her place. Lady 
 Ryvers said he never looked quite happy. Then, after 
 all, she left him." 
 
 " Left him ? " repeated Violet, mechanically. 
 
 She wondered if this other woman could hear the quick 
 beating of her heart ; to her it seemed to drown all other 
 sounds. 
 
 u Yes left him " there was a passionate ring of scorn 
 in the speaker's A r oice " left him ; but I must own that she 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 20& 
 
 seems to have had great provocation. Lady Ry vers had 
 wanted ine to be her son's wife ; this marriage was altogether 
 distasteful to her. The girl was very beautiful ; but she 
 was high-spirited and willful. The dowager might have 
 made matters much pleasanter, but she never tried. The 
 Ry verses are all proud people. This girl was just as proud, 
 but in the very opposite direction. She admired all that 
 they disliked, she contemned all that they most admired \ 
 she did not abate one of her prejudices ; she gave back 
 coldness for coldness, pride for pride. Ah ine, I would 
 not have done so had I been in her place 1 " 
 
 :i What would you have done? " asked Yiolet, wistfully. 
 
 She did not like this portrait of herself drawn by another 
 hand. 
 
 " I, for his dear sake, would have done my best to con- 
 ciliate them," she replied ; " I would have trampled all my 
 own miserable feelings under foot ; I would have thought 
 first of him and his interests ; I should have studied him, 
 not asserted myself, as she did." 
 
 Again the warm blood rushed over Yiolet 's face, and a 
 mist seemed to hide tho face of her husband from her view. 
 
 " True, feeling makes all the difference," said Miss Man*. 
 " 1 should have done all this because I loved him ; she 
 failed to do it becaude she did not love him enough." 
 
 Did she not ? Was it love, hate, or jealousy that sent 
 that burning thrill through her heart, that made her 
 long almost to check the very words that came from her 
 rival's lips ? 
 
 "It was, or rather it is, a sad story altogether," contin- 
 ued the heiress. " I really think that if the dowager had 
 seen that the girl loved her son, she might in time have 
 learned to like her ; but she assured me that she did not 
 love him. When she saw this, when she realized what a 
 fatal mistake the marriage was she, the dowager, took a 
 desperate, and, I think, most unjustifiable step. She tried 
 to set the marriage aside. I do not know on what grounds 
 or under what plea. I condemn the action altogether. 
 Nor can I understand it on the part of a woman like Lady 
 Ryvers, unless she were driven almost to despair ; but she 
 did it. She thought that, as her son was not of age, some 
 flaw might be found in the marriage, and that it could btf 
 Bet aside," 
 
284 TffOIiNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 u I call that wicked," cried Violet, with hurrying breath 
 . " wicked and cruel ! " 
 
 " 1 quite agree with you," said Miss Marr. " Nothing 
 could justify such conduct. It had a fatal result, too. 
 Lady Ry vers wrote to London to consult a firm of lawyers 
 about the validity of the marriage, and most unfortunately, 
 through the mistake of a servant, the answer to this letter 
 was taken to the young wife. She read it, and it drove her 
 almost mad." 
 
 Faster and faster teat the heart of the listening girl. 
 This was how her conduct looked to others ; this was how 
 others thought and spoke of her. 
 
 " She went to the dowager with the open letter in her 
 hand. There was a terrible scene between them. She waa 
 proud, indignant the dowager c8ol, contemptuous. She 
 declared that she would save them all trouble, that she 
 would annul her marriage herself. She left them ; aiid they 
 have neither seen nor heard of her since. A strange story, 
 is it not ? " 
 
 " Most strange," replied Yiolet, with quivering lips. 
 
 " How many lives are spoiled by this unfortunate mar- 
 riage ! " said Miss Marr. " Mine, for I shall never love 
 any one else ; Lord Ry vers', fpr he is the most miserable of 
 men ; the poor young wife's, for she must be wretched ; and 
 the dowager's, who can never be happy again. All those 
 lives, which might otherwise have been happy, have been 
 spoiled by this one most unhappy marriage. When I last 
 visited there, Ryversdale did not seem like the saii^e place. 
 Lord Ryvers had gone awa} r , vowing that he would never 
 return until he had found his wife ; Monica Ryvers, one of 
 the sweetest and brightest of girls, was never without tears 
 in her eyes ; the dowager was quite unlike herself. It was 
 a most miserable visit for me, and I was glad when it 
 ended. Of course, what must be, must be ; but, oh, how 
 happy we should all have been if he had chosen me ! " 
 
 " It seems that the best thing would be for the young 
 wife to die," remarked Violet, dreamily ; "that would leave 
 him free." 
 
 But Miss Marr shook her head. 
 
 " It would make no difference," she said. " If he did 
 not care for me before his heart was filled with love for his 
 young wife, it is not likely that he would do so now. Hef 
 death would make no difference to me." 
 
TffOHNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 26*1* 
 
 ** If he loves her so very much, one would imagine that 
 he would set to work to find her," observed Violet. 
 
 44 It would be useless to look for her* She told her hus- 
 band that, even if they met face to face, she would never 
 return to him ; and the dowager quite believes it. She says 
 she does not believe that anything would induce her to re- 
 turn." 
 
 " Is she glad of it?' 1 asked Violet, impulsively. 
 
 " I do not think so. I believe she would be glad to undo 
 all that she has done. She was most bitterly annoyed with 
 regard to the marriage at the time; but, now that she sees 
 how unhappy her son is, she would like to undo her part in 
 producing the present state of affairs, if she could," 
 
 44 Is he so very unhappy?" asked Violet, with a strange 
 softening in her voice. 
 
 44 Yes, He has gone to London, and his mother says he 
 is giving himself up wholly to art. He shuts himself up , 
 he sees no one, speaks to no one, paints all day, is losing 
 all his grand opportunities, will not hear of public life, and 
 all for love of a girl who cares so little for him that she has 
 left him. I would not have left him. If he had been the 
 norst of criminals, instead of the best of men, I would not 
 have left him. I would have gone with him to prison and 
 to the gallows ; I would have stood by his side on the seal- 
 fold. But then I love him, and she does not." 
 
 Another burning blush, more quick beating of the heart. 
 The locket that held the handsome face almost fell from 
 Violet's hands. 
 
 44 How will it all end? n she asked, suddenly. 
 
 And the heiress sighed despairingly. 
 
 44 1 cannot tell ; I cannot even imagine. In general 
 misery, I should think. The dowager will never be happy 
 in." 
 
 "1 do not think she deserves to be," remarked Violet, 
 kly. 
 
 44 Perhaps not ; bnt we must make allowances for her 
 wounded pride and her bitter disappointment. Her whole 
 heart was fixed on her son. Then it is terribly sad for him. 
 His mother wept bitterly one morning because he would 
 have no son to succeed him. The titles and estates both 
 go to people who are almost strangers." 
 
 Violet had never thought of that ; all through the mat* 
 $er she had thought more of herself than of him. 
 
266 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " There could be no more cruel blow for a woman like 
 the dowager than that," said Miss Marr, " and there can be 
 little consolation for her ; it is her own fault. The person 
 who will suffer least will be the young wife herself. She 
 will return to her own class and her own people, and prob- 
 ably :;orget all the havoc and misery she has caused. I am 
 not hard-hearted, but I do detest her. I should have loved 
 her it :he had stood bravely by him." 
 
 '" He did not stand bravely by her, it seems to me," com- 
 mented Violet. " Why did he allow his mother to do sucb 
 a cruel and wicked thing ? " 
 
 "I do not think he did allow her. I feel sure she did it 
 entirely without his knowledge. I look at the common 
 Bens of the matter if he loved her well enough to give 
 up all liie world for her, why should he . ish or try to find 
 out a flaw in his marriage ? I do not believe that he knew 
 his mother had written." 
 
 " It seems to me," said Violet, " that the blame lies 
 wholly with the dowager Lady Ryvers." 
 
 " Quite as much rests with the wife," declared Miss 
 Marr. " She left him very easily. It did not seem to 
 cause her any pain ; that was what his mother and sisters 
 felt. After all his sacrifices for her, it was a poor return. 
 She really seemed glad of an excuse to get away. If she 
 had quarreled with his mother, no one could have felt any 
 surprise ; but I cannot see why she left him." 
 
 This was how they judged her they thought she cared 
 little for him, little for her marriage-vows ; no one knew 
 that the dowager had stabbed her to the heart by telling 
 her that her husband was aware that she had written. 
 
 " It is a miserable story," she said ; " there does not 
 seem to be a glimpse of happiness in it anywhere." 
 
 " No. Love is a marvelous thing," remarked the heiress 
 " I have often read that love wins love ; it is not true, I 
 loved Lord Ryvers well enough to have won love in re- 
 turn ; but it never came. It would all have been so differ- 
 ent if he had loved me;" and the girl stretched out her 
 arms with wistful, passionate longing that went to V r iolet 7 s 
 heart. 
 
 Violet turned away, still holding the locket in her hand. 
 
 " How will it end ? " she asked herself. " ilow can it 
 end ? " And she could read in the future no answer to the 
 self-put question. 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 CHAPTER XLYIII. 
 
 " I WONDER," said Miss Marr, suddenly, " why I have 
 opened my heart to you, Miss Beaton ? I have not told 
 this trouble of mine to any one else. Lady Ryvers guessed 
 it, but then she knows how it is. Grandmamma does not 
 know. She wonders why I care for no lovers, why I refuse 
 ail offers, why the world is all a weariness to me. And it 
 is a weariness. I am ashamed to say that ' my days are 
 dreary.' I am young, and I have everything to make me 
 happy ; bu,t happiness and I have parted forever. I am 
 glad that I have told you ; my heart feels lighter. I am 
 impulsive, .you will say ; but my heart warmed to you the 
 first moment I saw you." 
 
 Violet wondered whether she would have liked her at 
 sight had she known who she was. 
 
 " Give me my locket," requested Miss Marr. " But tell 
 me first, do you wonder at my loving that handsome 
 face?" 
 
 u I do not," said Violet, frankly ; " it is handsome 
 enough to win love." 
 
 Yiolet, in her heart, longed to know if Randolph had 
 given the portrait himself. The question trembled on her 
 lips, but her sense of delicac}^ would not let her ask it, 
 Miss Marr answered it quite unconsciously. 
 
 u The dowager gave me this photograph," she said a in- 
 deed, I am afraid I asked her for it. He did not give it to 
 me." 
 
 Yiolet felt a great sense of relief when she heard that. 
 
 u I wish he had," the heiress went on. " I should like to 
 treasure something that he had given me. If he touched 
 only the withered petal of a flower, it seemed clothed witU 
 new life to me. You seem surprised You have nevef 
 loved any one in that mad fashion, have you ? " 
 
 " No ; that I certainly never have," she replied. 
 
 And Miss Marr laughed a mirthless laugh that did not 
 suit her youth or beauty. 
 
 From that hour they were the truest and warmest of 
 friends. 
 
 They were talking one day on the usual theme, Lord 
 Ryvers, when Yiolet, looking up with shy, sweet eyes nil 
 fyer companion, asked suddenly 
 
268 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 " What was the name of this young wife of his whom nc 
 one loved ? " 
 
 " One did love her. Monica loved her. She was, I be* 
 lieve, devoted to her, but she never mentioned her. The 
 dowager would not allow it. Monica told me that she be- 
 lieved her sister-in-law was far more sinned against than 
 sinning. And, as for Lord Ryvers, he loved the very 
 ground on which she stood. Lady Lester, the other sister, 
 was simply indifferent. The dowager was the only one whc? 
 actively disliked her, and she would not, as I have said, 
 allow her name to be mentioned. I think she generally 
 called her * that girl.' I do not remember to have heard 
 what her Christian name was." 
 
 During nearly all the hours they spent together they 
 had but one subject of conversation, and it was Lord Ry- 
 vers. 
 
 They stood one morning on the brow of the hill watch- 
 ing the waterfall that dashed into the basin below. The 
 heiress turned to her companion. 
 
 " Have you read," she asked, " that beautiful old story 
 of the two lovers who were drowned by a royal decree ? " 
 
 " I do not remember it," answered Violet. 
 
 " It impressed me," said Miss Marr, her dark eyes lin- 
 gering on the white, leaping waters; "and, strange to say, 
 I always think of it when I stand here. A great king sen- 
 tenced a man to death. What do you think the death was, 
 Violet ? He was to be bound fast to the girl he had long 
 loved, and they were to be thrown, alive, into the sea. 
 The man was delighted with his death. Perhaps he had 
 loved the girl long and hopelessly I cannot say ; but he 
 welcomed his sentence. He declared the supreme moment 
 of his life would be the last. I think I know it is a vain, 
 foolish thought I cannot help it I think often, when J 
 stand here, that I should like the same fate." 
 
 Violet shuddered at the "words. 
 
 " I do not call that love," she said ; " it is infatuation." 
 
 " It is the truest of love," cried the heiress ; " and the 
 woman who cannot feel it does not understand even the na- 
 ture of love." 
 
 In some vague way the picture took possession of Violet. 
 She could see her tall, fair, handsome husband on the brow 
 of the hill, the glint of the sunlight on his hair ; she could 
 see him with his arms clasped round this woman who loved 
 
THORNS AND OR AN3E -BLOSSOMS. 269 
 
 him so well ; she could see them fall together over the 
 brink, down through the seething, foaming water, undying 
 love in the woman's eyes. A cry came from her lips, as of 
 one in pain ; and Miss Marr looked curiously at her. 
 
 " Of what are you thinking ? " she asked. 
 
 And Yiolet, startled, answered truthfully : 
 
 " I was picturing the scene. I saw you go over the fall.* 
 
 The heiress laughed. 
 
 " I may some day," she remarked; "but Lord Ryvers 
 will not be with me. It is strange that one woman should 
 value so little what another would give her life for. I wish 
 that either Lady Ryvers could see her husband with my 
 eyes or that I could see him with hers." 
 
 Another morning they stood on the lawn at Queen's Elm 
 feeding the robins. The heiress had been relating to her 
 attentive listener some of the incidents of her late visit to 
 Ryversdale. She added, suddenly : 
 
 "It is really a terrible thing for a grand old race like 
 that to become extinct, all through a mistaken marriage." 
 
 Violet looked at her curiously. 
 
 " If you could rule destiny," she said, " if you could con- 
 trol circumstances, what would you do ? Would you let 
 the young wife drift away die and marry Lord Ryvers 
 yourself, or would you like them to meet again and be 
 happy together ? " 
 
 " I have often asked my own heart that question," re- 
 plied Miss Marr. " Whether I am a noble woman or not I 
 cannot say ; but mine is a noble love. I love him better 
 than myself ; I place his happiness higher than my own. 
 He loves her ; all his life is centered in her ; he does not 
 love me. So that he may have the highest happiness and 
 the highest bliss he can ever know, I wish that they may 
 meet again and be happy together." 
 
 " You are a noble woman ! " cried Violet, involuntarily. 
 u It is a thousand pities that Lord Ryvers did not love 
 
 " It may be all for the best ; he will learn what indiffer- 
 ence is like, which he would never have done had he 
 married me ! " 
 
 " I am not sure whether that is any advantage," said 
 Violet. 
 
 " I have thought," continued Miss Marr, " that I would 
 toy to find this wife of his, and if I succeeded in doing so, 
 
270 THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 use all the eloquence I could command to persuade her to 
 go to him and beg his pardon." 
 
 Violet looked up with flashing eyes. 
 
 " To do what ? " she cried. 
 
 " To beg his pardon," repeated Miss Marr, with innocent 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 " So far as I have followed the story," said Violet, " it 
 seems to me rather that it is he who should beg her par* 
 don." 
 
 4 There I cannot agree with you," said the heiress. u I 
 &1 ink she had cause for anger and annoyance, but nothing 
 could justify her in leaving him ; she ought to beg his par- 
 don for that. I fear I shall never be so fortunate as to find 
 her ; but if ever I do, I shall try to persuade her to go to 
 him and acknowledge the wrong she has done. My dear 
 Miss Beaton, why are you looking at me with flashing 
 eyes ? " 
 
 " I am thinking," Violet replied, " what this unfortunate 
 young wife would say if she heard you." 
 
 " If she were sensible, she would say I was right. I caii 
 understand her passion and her anger, but I cannot under- 
 stand how she could talk of such nonsense as annulling her 
 own marriage." 
 
 u The nonsense of those who want to annul it for her is 
 far greater," said Violet. 
 
 And Miss Marr made no reply. 
 
 Violet could not forget what her friend had said r that the 
 young wife should go to her husband and beg his pardon. 
 She., who had always been queen and mistress, who had left, 
 him with a sense of injury, who had felt herself wounded 
 and hurt, to beg his pardon ! The idea was decidedly novel 
 to her. 
 
 One evening the two ladies were seated in the drawing 
 room. Mrs. Ingram had gone to her own room, for the 
 night was chill. Outside a drizzling rain fell, and a cold 
 wind blew ; inside all was warmth and comfort. They were 
 startled at times by the eerie sound of the ivy-branches 
 tapping against the window panes. 
 
 " This room is the picture of comfort on a winter night/' 
 said Miss Marr. " I wonder why it is that we all love 
 scarlet and crimson in whiter ? " 
 
 " Because they represent warmth," answered Violet. 
 AJter a minute's pause, Miss Marr sighed deeply, 
 
AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 871 
 
 " I should think one London house must be very dull, 1 *" 
 she said. u I cannot help picturing Lord Ryvers shut up 
 by himself." 
 
 " You are always thinking of Lord Ryvers," remarked 
 Violet, not knowing whether she was amused, sorry, or 
 pleased. 
 
 44 That is quite true ; it is a habit of which I shall never 
 now cure myself. I wish almost that I could. I cannot 
 help grieving. I picture the bright handsome face all sac. 
 and worn, the light heart and high spirits, the noble, artistic 
 fancies all drooping and dying. I have heard a great deal 
 of pathos about deserted wives ; there seems to me to be 
 much more pathos in the idea of a deserted husband. If I 
 could but pierce the distance and see him ! If the same 
 ruin be falling in London, and the same chill wind blowing, 
 \vill be sitting there all alone, listening to the dreary 
 sounds, his face hidden in his hands, tears probably very 
 car his eyes, and he will be thinking of days that will 
 lever come back to him." 
 
 " Hush I " said Violet. " You make me feel sorry for 
 aim ! 
 
 She had never thought of him as lonely, or desolate, or 
 ead at heart, frit always as an aristocrat living in luxury. 
 She had not realized yet that the greatest hunger of all is 
 hunger of the heart. Still from that hour the tender pity 
 born of love lived in her heart for him. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 "I DO not know whether it is my conscience or my heart 
 that is awakening," thought Violet to herself; " but I am 
 not even so happy as I used to be." 
 
 She was not. Her education and training had been so 
 different from that of other girls ; she had never talked of 
 love and lovers. She had been brought up to think of love 
 as something rather to be despised than esteemed. For the 
 first time in her life she was brought into contact with a 
 passionately loving woman ; for the first time in her life 
 she heard a woman speak of love. She had discovered 
 what love was like to a woman. No matter how deeply a 
 man loves, he cannot say much about it, he speaks but lit- 
 tle ; a woman has her love always on her lips, as she has it 
 always living and burning in her heart" 
 
813 TffQXNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Yiolet might have lived and died without knowing he* 
 own powers of loving, had not Miss Marr,with her passion 
 and eloquence, brought them to life ; and now she was be- 
 ginning to realize a truth that puzzled her. She was rapidly 
 falling in love with her husband after a fashion in which 
 she had never loved yet. During that wooing in the sum* 
 mer woods of St. Byno's, the love had been rather on his 
 side than hers. She had fallen in some degree under the 
 glamour of it. The wooing of the handsome young artist 
 had been a pleasant novelty. When she married him, she 
 did not know that there was a higher, deeper, truer love 
 than that which she felt for him. Now she was beginning 
 to understand that she had not really loved him. She knew 
 it by the difference in her own feeling toward him. She 
 had heard his loving words with pleasure, but her heart had 
 not beaten the more quickly for them. She had taken his 
 caresses as a matter of course ; she had accepted all the 
 love, the homage, and devotion that he lavished on her 
 without thinking anything of it. She had never understood 
 what jealousy meant. As for being jealous of her husband, 
 she would have laughed the idea to scorn. Now it was n, 
 different matter. Her heart beat with a new passion, a new 
 pleasure, a new pain. She stood face to face with a great 
 truth at last. She loved her husband loved him with a 
 love quite new to her, that had been called into existence 
 by the devotion, the passion, the eloquence of another 
 woman. 
 
 She hardly admitted to herself that she missed him, but 
 she did. He had cared for her so tenderly that the wind 
 had hardly been allowed to touch her face ; now she found 
 the difference. There was no one to take care of her ; but 
 she herself had to take care of others. No one knew or 
 dared if she was out in the cold or the damp, if she felt 
 Hi or well, if she was blithe or sad ; no loving eyes followed 
 ;ier going out and coming in, no loving words greeted her. 
 She found the difference between being a beloved wife and 
 a paid companion. If she felt tired, no one pitied her. 
 She could not help remembering the days abroad, the 
 balconies laden with flowers which hung over the blue 
 moonlit sea ; if she was tired then, loving arms folded her, 
 her head was pillowed on a loving breast, every comfort 
 and luxury were found for her. Now Mrs. Ingram, al- 
 though always polite^ looked annoyed if her companion 
 
THORNS AND ORAN&E-BLOS8Om> 
 
 tieemed tired ; and of late she had not felt well. The first 
 time that Violet stretched out her arms with a weary cry 
 of " Oh, Randolph, how I miss you ! " her husband waa 
 nearer to her heart than he had ever been before. 
 
 Still she had annulled her own marriage ; and there was 
 an end of it. She was concerned about her health. She 
 was so far from well that the least exertion seemed to tire 
 her ; she had no strength, no spirits. When she looked in 
 the mirror, she saw a pale face with woful eyes full of 
 shadows, all the brightness gone. She asked herself anx- 
 iously, Was she ill ? Was she going to die ? Her death 
 would clear away all troubles. If she were dead, mother 
 and son would be reconciled, and Randolph would marry 
 Miss Marr. 
 
 But the thought of it, instead of giving her a comfort- 
 able sense of resignation, flushed her face with anger. It 
 was one thing to say to herself proudty that she would 
 annul her marriage ; it was quite another matter to please 
 them all, like a good Christian, by dying, and leaving her 
 husband to the woman who loved him. No, she would 
 not do that if she could possibly avoid it. She would do 
 her best to keep strong and well. Hitherto she had en- 
 joyed robust health : she had been so active and vigorous 
 that she could not understand the languor and depression 
 that seemed never to leave her now. She had never thought 
 much of death. She knew in a vague fashion that she must 
 die some day, but it seemed very far off to her in the bloom 
 and spring-tide of health. 
 
 She was watching the November moon one* night and 
 she began to wonder whether, if she were to die, she would 
 feel quite satisfied with herself whether she would feel 
 that she had done her best or not whether, as she lay dy- 
 ing, she would long for Randolph, cry out for Randolph 
 whether she would long to die with her head on his breast 
 and his arms around her. She' felt that death in such a 
 fashion would be sweet ah, sweeter far than life without 
 Mm 1 The moon was rising above the trees, the silent 
 night-scene lay outspread before her. Her heart ached with 
 its own sense of desolation and sorrow. She held out her 
 arms with a gesture of anguish. 
 
 " How blind, how mad I have been, Randolph," she cried 
 " for I have loved you all the time with a great love, but 
 I did not know it ! n 
 18 
 
274 THO&NS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Surely under that November moon there w^is *io one sd 
 desolate, no young face so sad, no young heart so heavy. 
 she wept as she had never wept before. That ni^ht seemed 
 to bring a crisis in her life. She stood face to lace with a 
 strong passion and a terrible despair* She could never go 
 back to l\er husband that was certain. She had left him 
 of her own accord, and she could never return. 
 
 The black curtain of despair seemed to fall over her. All 
 at once the great love and great mistake of her life appeared 
 to her in clear colors. She had put herself out of his life ; 
 she had separated herself from him; and she must abide by 
 the consequences. 
 
 " Of what could I have been thinking ? " she asked her- 
 gelf. She had, as it were, seen his face in the glass held by 
 the fair hands of another woman, and its beauty dazzled 
 her. 
 
 She knew that, if she went to him, he would forgive her 
 ho had never refused a wish of hers in his life ; but her 
 pride ^ould not bend or lend itself to that. She would 
 abide by what she had done. Even if she could have 
 brooked asking him to take her back, she would never meet 
 the dowager Lady Ryvers again. She had solemnly vowed 
 never to re-enter Ryversdale until the dowager herself 
 asked her to do so. 
 
 The new-born love for her husband struggled in her 
 heart with pride, and pride gained the victory. She 
 would not give in, whatever she had to bear ; she would 
 suffer in silence, die if needs must be, but never go back, 
 never yield so sweet a triumph to Lady Ryvers as to be 
 seen, humbled and contrite, asking for her husband's love 
 again. She had never thought to weep as she wept now r 
 Bever thought to feel that longing for him which she felt 
 now. She said to herself over and over again that she 
 must be mean and dishonorable. Her husband had done 
 all he could to win her love, and yet it had never seemed 
 realty to wake in her heart until jealousy aroused it, 
 What love, devotion, and untiring affection had failed to 
 do, jealousy had done. " I am not a very noble woman," 
 she confessed. 
 
 The clouds that had passed over the face of the moon 
 seemed to her a type of the clouds that passed over her own 
 soul. She wished that she had more love or more pride* 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 273 
 
 that she could humble herself to go to her husband, or that 
 she could forget him. 
 
 The memory of all his goodness to her swept over her 
 heart like a whirlwind. How little she had thought of it 
 at the time how little she had valued it ! Oh, for one 
 touch of that kind hand now, for one kiss from those loV' 
 mg lips I 
 
 CHAPTER K 
 
 THE reign of King Frost had begun ; silvery fringes 
 hung from the trees and hedges. The robin-redbreasts 
 outside the windows were waiting to be fed, and Miss Man 
 stood watching them. She had read her letters, and there 
 was a look of determination on her face, when Violet, look- 
 ing very pale and ill, came into the room. The heiress ut 
 tered a little cry of dismay when she saw her. 
 
 "Miss Beacon, you are really ill, I am surel" she ex- 
 claimed. " You should see a doctor. You have not bee? 
 well for some time.' 7 
 
 And in her heart Violet knew it was true. 
 
 " I have been making up my mind to a vigorous cour&w 
 of action," continued Miss Marr " most vigorous. Are you 
 well enough to listen ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Violet ; but her heart contracted with a sud- 
 den sense of coming evil, 
 
 44 I have had a long letter from the dowager Lady 
 Ry vers this morning," said Miss Marr, " and she begs me 
 to go to see her. She has gone to her own estate , Athel- 
 stone she was an Alton by birth, and very proud she is 
 of the name and Monica is with her. She wants me to 
 spend Christmas with them. I think I shall go. I have 
 an object in going," she continued. " I ^hall make a most 
 desperate effort." 
 
 " In what direction ? " asked Violet. She tried to smile as 
 she spoke, but her lips were white and trembling. 
 
 " I shall try to reconcile mother and pen," replied the 
 heiress. , " I am quite sure that they art both unhappy ; 
 they must be ; they have never been at variance in their 
 life before. The dowager seems perfectly wretched ; . she 
 says that life has lost all its charm for her, ttat she misses 
 her son more than words can tell, and she begs me to come, 
 
2?8 THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 so that together we may contrive to bring about a umerent 
 state of things." 
 
 No comment came from Yiolet. A " different state of 
 things " must mean something that would affect her. 
 
 " I wish," said Miss Marr, thoughtfully, " that I could 
 find that foolish young wife of his, and bring about a gen* 
 eral reconciliation. That is impossible," she added, with a 
 sigh ; " but I think I shall be able to do something." 
 
 " Will Lord Ryvers be there ? " asked Yiolet. 
 
 " I shall take a bold step, I think, and ask him to meet 
 me there. You see, they are my dearest friends. I love 
 them all the handsome, chivalrous son, the stately 
 mother, the placid Countess of Lester, and bright loving 
 Monica. I love them all so well that I take the greatest 
 possible interest in them. I would do anything to see 
 them all happy together as they were before this unfortu- 
 nate girl came amongst them -Lady Ryvers was a proud, 
 happy mother, and Randolph a most devoted son. I won- 
 ner what I could do? " 
 
 " It seems a very hopeless state of affairs," said Yiolet. 
 " I do not see what any one can do." 
 
 "Nor I, at present; but I am determined to do some- 
 thing. Loving them gives me the right of interfering. J 
 shall ask Lord Ryvers to meet me at Athelstone." 
 
 " Will he come, do you think ? " asked Yiolet. 
 
 " I hope so. He said he would not look upon his mother's 
 face again, until he had found his wife, but I shall try my 
 best to induce him to come." 
 
 " What can you do with him there ? What is the use of 
 it?" 
 
 " If I can only reconcile mother and son, it will be some* 
 jfching," said Miss Marr. " Of course in the marriage ques- 
 tion I cannot interfere ; but I love the dowager Lady Ry- 
 vers, and I do not like to think of her as unhappy." 
 
 " What a pity it is," remarked Yiolet, with a great bitter 
 sigh, " that Lord Ryvers did not marry you I " 
 
 " So I think," returned the heiress. " Men very seldom 
 marry the right women, I believe. He has not done so, 
 but he has paid a heavy price for his mistake. I think I 
 shall go to Athelstone to-day, Miss Beaton. The only re* 
 gret I have is not leaving you in better health." 
 
 u I shall ijoou be well, I hope," said Yiolet. 
 
OBANGE-BLQSSOm 27* 
 
 But there was a wistful, frightened look in her eyes that 
 startled Miss Marr. She took Violet's hand in her own. 
 
 " Miss Beaton," she said gently, " are you in trouble ? 
 You have been so kind, so full of sympathy for me ; you 
 have listened so patiently to all my long stories. If you 
 have any trouble of your own, tell it now to me." 
 
 u I have no trouble in which any human being can help 
 .me," Yiolet declared. " I have a trouble known only to 
 Heaven." 
 
 Ah, what a tangled web of fate she held in her hands! 
 It seemed to Violet in that moment that Miss Marr was 
 the only person who could help her ; yet, if the beautiful 
 heiress knew that she was Lord Ryvers' wife, she would 
 probably detest her. 
 
 " We shall have a brilliant Christmas, no doubt," said 
 Miss Marr. " The dowager Lady Ryvers is not one of 
 those who parade their sorrows before the world. I do 
 hope Lord Ryvers will come. Bad as things are, there is 
 no use in mother and son quarreling and keeping apart, 
 both wretched." 
 
 " No," replied Violet ; " there is no sense in that." 
 
 " I shall go to-day," repeated Miss Marr. " I have been 
 some time with grandmamma. She will be quite happy 
 with you. But, my dear Miss Beaton, are you quite sure 
 that I can do nothing to help you? You have been a good 
 friend to me ; I should like to help you, if it be possible. I 
 wish I were leaving you with more color in your face, with 
 a light in your eyes. I shall think of you with great 
 anxiety." 
 
 She could not understand the look, half wistful, half fear- 
 ful, of Violet's eyes, for she had no key to what was pass- 
 ing in her mind. 
 
 " I ne er make many protestations," continued the heir* 
 ess ; " but I do say this to you, Miss Beaton, that I likf 
 i better than any woman I ever met. There is the charm 
 of originality about you." 
 
 " You make me very happy by saying so," answered 
 Violet, In her heart there was a wild cry of wonder as 
 to whether she would like her if #he knew who she was. 
 
 " Come with me to my rooni," said Miss Marr " I like 
 to superintend my own packing. I will finish what I was 
 about to say, though. Let us make a compact of friend- 
 ship, Miss Beaton. Let tis be friends always." 
 
278 THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS, 
 
 " You are a rich heiress, and I a poor paid companion* 
 Is it possible, do you think ? " asked Violet gravely. 
 
 " We are both women," cried Miss Marr, u and we care 
 much for each other ! Why do you hesitate in giving me 
 that promise ? " She looked not only surprised, but hurt. 
 
 Violet laid her hand on her companion's arm. 
 
 u 1 do promise," she said, " to be 3 T our most loyal and 
 faithful friend, so far as our different circumstances will 
 permit. I wonder if you will ever repent having asked me 
 ohis ? " 
 
 " No," said the heiress, kissing the pale, sweet face sc 
 wistfully raised to her own, " I am sure I never shall 
 What a fanciful girl you are ! " 
 
 " No, it is not fancy. I know all your life; you have 
 told it all to me. I know your secret your love-story $ 
 and you know nothing of me less than nothing. I too 
 have a story ; you have not heard it. I have a secret 
 you do not know it." Her eyes were full of tears ; her face 
 quivered with emotion. 
 
 " I do not wish to know it," said Miss Marr. " I lovt 
 you for your beautiful face, which charms me, for your in 
 dependence and originality, for your noble ideas and th 
 harmony I find in your character, tastes, and sentiment*.. 
 Most of all," she added, with a smile, " I think that I love 
 you because I have trusted you." 
 
 44 That is very likely," answered Violet, simply. " You 
 will find me faithful and loyal ; but I am afraid I can never 
 be of any use to you." 
 
 u I am the best judge of that," said her companion. 
 " You have been of the greatest use to me, as you express 
 it. How patiently you have listened to all my love 
 troubles ! " 
 
 " They interested me," replied Violet. " I should like tc 
 add one thing more. If ever, in the future, you should 
 hear an} 7 thing of me that surprises or displeases you, you 
 will remember it was the knowledge of what is in my own 
 heart which made me hesitate to promise what you asked 
 me." 
 
 " My dear, one need lock no further than your face ^ said 
 the neiress, laughing ; " your whole soul shines there ; and 
 it is a very honest soul, loyal, sweet, and pure. Now that 
 #e are friends, I shall write to you and tell you how my 
 oiissloii fares. Come with me now." 
 
V&OENS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 27 
 
 The two women who could never be thoroughly happy 
 because of each other went to Miss Marr's room, where the 
 onerous business of packing was to be performed. There 
 were such treasures laid out there lace, velvet, brocades, 
 jeweled fans, ornaments of every kind, suits of shining 
 gems that ' Violet was bewildered. The heiress laughed 
 at her amazed face. 
 
 " The paraphernalia of a professional beauty," she said. 
 
 In vain did the wealthy heiress offer Yiolet one thing 
 after another. She would have lavished gifts upon her, 
 she would have given her the richest lace, the most costly 
 jewels ; but Yiolet would accept nothing. She felt slightly 
 embarrassed when she remembered the treasures shut up in 
 her wardrobes at By versdale nothing like those belonging 
 to the heiress, but beautiful enough in their way. 
 
 She marveled at Miss Marr's continual reference to Lord 
 Llyvers; she seemed to have no other thought. She took 
 up a beautiful bracelet and said : 
 
 " 1 wore this when I met Lord By vers at the French 
 Embassy." 
 
 Her white fingers seemed to caress a rich piece of lace, 
 as she said : 
 
 " Lord Byvers admired this." 
 
 She lingered lovingly over one of her di'esses, and said : 
 
 " The first time I wore this I danced twice with Lord 
 Byvers." 
 
 At last Yiolet could stand it no longer. She looked up 
 at the loving, impetuous woman. 
 
 "It is all Lord Byvers," she cried, impatiently ; "you 
 tMuk of nothing else, you speak of nothing else ; every in- 
 cident in your life seems to have taken its coloring from 
 him." 
 
 " You are right," said Gwendoline. " Indeed, it is a 
 worse case than that. My life takes its light and darkness 
 from him, but it is almost always dark." 
 
 In Yiolet 's heart the flame of jealousy burned so fiercely 
 that she could have stamped on the laces and jewels that 
 had been worn to charm him. There was a curious ring ol 
 suppressed passion in her voice as she said : 
 
 u It seems a great pity to waste so much love." 
 
 Miss Marr seemed slightly surprised. 
 
 u Longfellow says that love is never wasted. Do you 
 know those beautiful lines ; 
 
280 THORNS AND URANGE- BLOSSOMS, 
 
 u Talk not of wasted affection, 
 Affection never was wasted ' ? 7? 
 
 " Yes ; I know them. But not even Longfellow will 
 change my opinion that it is a sad, pitiful waste of love." 
 
 " I would rather waste it on Lord Ryvers than receive 
 the fullest return from another," cried the heiress, passion- 
 ately. 
 
 And Violet had to use more self-control than she had 
 ever used in her life before to keep back the hot, angry 
 words that rose to her lips. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 DR. WEALD footed considerably astonished when he saw 
 his young patient. He was a man of great experience and 
 kindly heart. He had three fair young daughters of his 
 own, and he thought of them as he looked at the delicate f 
 exquisite, unconscious face. 
 
 " What name did you say ? " he inquired of the house* 
 keeper, who took him to the young lady's room. 
 
 " Miss Beaton," she replied. 
 
 " Miss Beaton ? " repeated the doctor, with some em- 
 phasis. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; she is quite a young lady unmarried." 
 
 " Then there is a mystery," sighed the doctor, as he pro- 
 ceeded to examine his patient. " It is nothing to be 
 alarmed at it is only a long swoon," he said to the house- 
 keeper, who, at the sight of the white, silent face, had cried 
 out that she was dead. " A few simple remedies, and she 
 will be all right." 
 
 He sent for all that he required. The housekeeper as* 
 sisted him, and Violet soon showed some signs of conscious* 
 ness ; but there was a puzzled look about the doctor's face 
 as he bent over her, an anxious look in his eyes, More 
 than once his thoughts traveled back to the three fair 
 young girls at home, and he murmured words to himself 
 which might have been a prayer. 
 
 u There," he cried, when the blue wondering eyes opened 
 " that is better ; that is right! " 
 
 He thought Violet, as she sat up, the loveliest girl he ha<f 
 ever seen. The golden hair had fallen over her shoulders, 
 and on her beautiful face was the pathetic wonder of a 
 child. 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 231 
 
 " Have I been dead and come back to life ? " she asked> 
 in a strangely startled voice. 
 
 " No,' 7 replied the doctor ; " it has not been quite so bad 
 as that." 
 
 " Where have I been ? " she said. " It seems to me as 
 though I fell and died." 
 
 " There is no coming back from death," answered Dr. 
 Weald, solemnly. " You have had a very long and very 
 exhausting fainting-fit. You must be very quiet, and try 
 to regain your strength." 
 
 A fainting-fit ? It must have been a curious one. A soft 
 languor seemed to overcome her, and she sank back again 
 upon the pillows. 
 
 " You will soon be well," he added, cheerfully. 
 
 But the expression of his face was at variance with his 
 words. He seemed ill at ease. He bent over his beautiful 
 young patient, and then, after a few words, walked away 
 hurriedly. He stood for a few minutes looking from the 
 window, then returned to her. 
 
 He wandered away again. He, the man of wide expe- 
 rience, of great and varied knowledge, a man who had 
 never made a mistake, stood now confused and embarrassed, 
 not knowing what to say to this girl whose eyes sought his 
 face so anxiously. 
 
 " Doctor," she said, in a low. weak voice, " am I going to 
 die?" 
 
 u I see no reason for thinking so," he replied. 
 
 " For a long time now," said Violet, " I have felt that I 
 was going to die. Are you quite sure ? " 
 
 u Quite sure, humanly speaking," he replied. 
 
 " Then I must be very ill. It is long since I have felt 
 Well or strong. Why do you look at me so ? " 
 
 With an impatient hand she pushed aside the thick waves 
 of golden hair. The soft eyes looked piteously into his. 
 
 Bidding the housekeeper go to prepare something that 
 he ordered, he drew nearer to his patient, but did not speak 
 until the woman had disappeared and closed the door ; then 
 he bent over her. 
 
 " Are you quite yourself? " he asked. " Can you hear 
 and follow my questions ? Can you answer them ? " 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 
 "Poor child!" he said to himself; and once more he 
 thought of his fair young daughters at home. 
 
;4B2 TffQRNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Why, even when seated by her side, did he pause and 
 hesitate, why in his heart beg from Heaven that he might 
 make no mistake, that his skill might not fail nor his wis- 
 dom err ? 
 
 He seemed strangely reluctant, but at last raised her 
 white hand and looked at it earnestly the left hand* 
 Laying it d^wn again gently, he said, slowly : 
 
 u You wear no wedding-ring." 
 
 Her startled face betrayed her, and told him that she 
 understood. At his next words she shrunk back with a 
 faint despairing ciy. When he spoke again, she covered 
 her face with her hands, and he heard her moan, " What 
 shall I do ? What can I do ?" 
 
 " If you will trust me," he said, " I will help you." 
 
 " I cannot," she gasped. u There is nothing left for me 
 but to die." 
 
 u You will not die," said the doctor. " Take heart. 
 There is nothing so dreadful but that time and patience 
 will help and overcome it." 
 
 " Is it really true ? " she asked. " It cannot be. I am 
 going to die, and you tell me this to bewilder me. It can. 
 not be true ! " 
 
 " It is most undoubtedly true," said the doctor. 
 
 44 How blind and mad and foolish I have been 1 " she 
 cried. 
 
 " I am right," said the doctor, looking at her with pene< 
 tratiug eyes. " No one could be deceived in a face like 
 yours, I am right in my thoughts. You have worn a 
 wedding-ring, and in a fit of either anger or jealousy you 
 have removed it." 
 
 She looked at the white thin hand on which no wedding 
 ring shone. 
 
 " You are right," she replied. " I have annulled my own 
 marriage." 
 
 He looked down on her with a kindly smile. 
 
 * My poor child," he said, pityingly, u what vain words I 
 You sa} r you have annulled it, while Heaven has confirmed 
 it more strongly than ever. Can you trust me ? " 
 
 1 No," she replied " not here in this house, where I 
 begin to believe the hand of Heaven has brought me. Of 
 all places in the world, my lips are most tightly sealed 
 here," 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. && 
 
 " Still you are sure of the fact that you are legauy, 
 formally, and validly married ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am the more sure of it," she answered, " because my 
 my husband's mother hated me, and tried to set my mar- 
 riage aside. When I knew that, I said to myself that I 
 would annul my own marriage ; and I have done so." 
 
 A faint smile played round the doctor's lips. 
 
 " When the tide of a restless sea is set floating," he said 
 " no human power can stop it ; yet it would be easier tc 
 gtem such a tide than to set aside or break the sacred tie 
 of marriage when once it has been formed." 
 
 She listened with beating heart and white, trembling 
 tips. 
 
 " Then why," she said, " should they try to set it aside ? " 
 
 " They could not. Child, do you think that men can 
 undo the work of Heaven ? You see the proof of the utter 
 futility of the idea. You thought to yourself that you 
 would annul your own marriage, while Heaven has con- 
 firmee! it. I am an old man, with daughters young and fair 
 &8 you. I do not wish to pry into your secrets, nor do I 
 . jk your confidence. I thank Heaven for you that you 
 have a right to wear a wedding-ring. For your own sake I 
 counsel you most strongly to put it on at once ; and I ad- 
 vise you to go down upon your knees and ask pardon from 
 Heaven for having arrogated to yourself so much power, 
 for having thought it possible that you could dissolve or 
 annul }^our marriage. Then seek your husband, and ask 
 him to take you back. I give you this advice from the 
 depths of an honest heart." 
 
 But she fell to moaning that it was all too late, that she 
 had left him forever, had bidden him an eternal farewell. 
 
 " Child," said the doctor, steadily, " why did you leave 
 your husband ? What did he do ? Was he untrue to you I 
 Did he give his love, his cares, his attention to any one 
 else ? " 
 
 " No," she replied earnestty ; " his fault was that he 
 .oved me too much. He he deceived me in order to marry 
 me, and my heart was sore and heavy on account of that 
 deceit." 
 
 " Did that deceit hurt you in any way, remembering that 
 -11 is fair in love and war? " 
 
 u It did not hurt me," she replied. * The secret he kept 
 from me was with respect to his wealth and position." 
 
284 TBOKNS AND CHANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " And you resented it ? " interrupted the doctor. 
 
 " I did greatly. Then his mother hated me, and tried 
 to make out that our marriage was not valid. Oh, what 
 am I saying ? In this house least of all, I should not have 
 spoken. But you will not betray me, you will never say 
 one word ? " 
 
 " Seek your husband, child. If it be wounded love that 
 stands between you, vanquish it ; if it be wounded pride, 
 trample it under foot ; let nothing stand between your hus 
 band and you." 
 
 " You do not know ! " she cried, wringing her hands. 
 
 " I may not know the details of your story," he said, im- 
 pressively. " A different set of circumstances surrounds 
 every individual, but grand and immortal truths never 
 change. Take my advice. Seek your husband, seek a rec- 
 onciliation with him ! " 
 
 No ; she would not be treated with scorn by his proud 
 mother ; she would not return to the husband who had 
 known his mother's intentions, yet had not told her of them. 
 And yet the newly-awakened love cried out that all this 
 was less than nothing compared with the bliss of being with 
 him again. 
 
 " I am tortured," she said. 
 
 " I know it ; I read it in your face. Do right, child- 
 never mind the result ; do right, come what may. Now I 
 must leave you. You are still very weak and ill ; be carer 
 ful, and keep quiet. Calm your mind, your soul, your con, 
 science, and all will be well. I shall drive over again this 
 evening to see you." 
 
 " And you are quite sure that it is true ? " she repeated, 
 
 " I am quite sure," he replied. " I will keep your secret; 
 but I am quite sure. When I return this evening, we will 
 talk over what will be the best for you to do ; until then 
 good-by." 
 
 But the doctor never saw the face of his beautiful patient 
 again, 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 DR. WEALD saw the housekeeper. He assured he* tfoa*. 
 there was nothing to fear ; the young lady wanted ret ana 
 npurishment. He would return in the evening and <$ee how 
 she was. He sent a, message to Mrs. Ingram tc, say that, 
 
THOfiNS AND ORANGE -BLOSSOMS, 285 
 
 there was no need for anxiety ; but he went home with a 
 grave face and a sad heart. Who was she, this beautiful, 
 winsome, helpless girl ? How had she drifted into the old- 
 fashioned mansion of Queen's Elm ? She was not related 
 to the Ingram family. He knew every member of it ; he 
 had attended them for many years. He could not under- 
 stand why she had said that she must not speak in that 
 house above all others. She was no relative, no friend, 
 simply the companion whom every one knew Mrs. Ingram 
 had engaged to amuse and attend her. 
 
 There was a mystery. He could not make it out. Only 
 one thing w r as plain to him, and that was that she must be 
 persuaded to go back to her husband. He thought to him- 
 self, with an indulgent smile, that she was most probably a 
 spoilt jhild who had run away from home in some sudden 
 pique, and was hiding under the disguise of a lady's com- 
 panion. He had come across one or two romances in the 
 course of his professional career; this was another, with 
 certainly the fairest heroine man ever dreamed of. The 
 good doctor promised himself that he would go back to her 
 that evening, that he would persuade her to trust him, to 
 tell him her story, to let him act for her. He was deeply 
 interested in her, as is the nature of man to be deeply inter- 
 ested in a beautiful woman ; he would not rest until he saw 
 her happy and reconciled to her husband. He felt grieved 
 for her, there in her loneliness, with no friend or companion, 
 no one in whom to trust or confide. 
 
 "But I will make it all right this evening," he said to 
 himself. 
 
 While Violet, left to herself, went almost mad from ex 
 cess of emotion. The doctor had left a sleeping-draught, 
 which he said was to be given to her at once ; but all the 
 sedatives ever thought or dreamed of would not have 
 brought rest to her. Was it joy or despair ? Was it 
 pleasure or pain ? Was it wonder ? Was it regret ? She 
 sprang from the bed. The faintness and the languor had 
 disappeared under the stimulus of what she had heard ; a 
 burning fever seemed to course through her veins ; yet her 
 face was white and her hands were cold as death ; her ej'es 
 were aflame, her lips quivering. She knelt first with a 
 frantic cry to Heaven ; then she rose with a wail of pain, 
 and paced the room. 
 
 " What shall I do ? What must I do ? " was the burden 
 
286 THO&NS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 of her cry. Then a feverish longing to go away seized her. 
 -t I cannot stay here," she said; " I must go away." Then 
 * fresh longing came to her, it was to lie down on the 
 pretty white bed and never open her eyes again. 
 
 For the news the doctor had told her was startling 
 enough. In a few months she would be the mother of a 
 little child, and she did not know whether to rejoice or to 
 grieve. If she had been living at peace and in union with 
 her husband, her happiness would have been without bound? 
 or limit ; but she had left him, and had annulled her own 
 marriage. If it should please Heaven to bless her with a 
 little son, he would be Baron Ry vers of Ry verswell. How 
 could she persist in hating the aristocracy when, if Heaven 
 did send her a son, he would be an aristocrat ? 
 
 What would Randolph say ? She remembered his great 
 love for children, and how often he had said to her that his 
 one fervent prayer was that Heaven would bless him with 
 a son. Once, as they were standing on the bridge at Salz- 
 burg, watching the fast-flowing river, he had said to her 
 quite suddenly : 
 
 " Violet, if ever Heaven blesses us with a son, I shall 
 call him 4 Byno,' in remembrance of the dear old woods 
 where I first met you." 
 
 She had laughed carelessly at the time. Now the words 
 came back to her and pierced her heart. 
 
 If Randolph knew he who had always been so kind to 
 her how devotedly he would tend her ! But he did not 
 know, and most probably was with Miss Marr. No ; that 
 must never be now. Suddenly Randolph seemed to have 
 grown doubly dear to her. Then the difficulty of her posi- 
 tion dawned upon her. What was she to do ? Of all houses 
 in the world, her secret must never be known here. She 
 must go at once. Gradually all other thoughts and ideas 
 resolved themselves into the decision that she must leave 
 Queen's Elm. When the doctor returned that evening, she 
 must not be there ; she must go at once, and leave no trace, 
 no address behind her. To her bewildered mind this one 
 thing was clear. She dressed herself and rang for the 
 housekeeper. 
 
 " Do you want to kill yourself, Miss Beaton," asked the 
 astonished woman, " by going out after such an illness? " 
 
 a No ; but I must go. I am not going out merely for a 
 fttroll. I am leaving Queen's Elm never to return." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 
 
 tt It is madness," said the housekeeper, " and most 
 ably will terminate in death." 
 
 44 I cannot help it," cried Violet. " Do not oppose me. 1 
 have made up my mind to go, and nothing will induce me 
 to stay." 
 
 44 Well, I enter my protest," said the housekeeper. " Two 
 aours since we all thought you were dying ; now you are 
 ~oing out. Why, you have hardly strength to walk, Miss 
 >eaton 1 " 
 
 " I shall be better soon. I cannot stay here. I ^m going 
 i-o see Mrs. Ingram. See that the carriage is ready. I muiJfc 
 be at the station by four." 
 
 Violet had decided on going to London, not knowing 
 where else to go. 
 
 Mrs. Ingram looked much astonished when Violet stood 
 before her. 
 
 44 Do not be alarmed," she said. " I wish I had more time 
 that I might speak more fully to you, n 
 
 Mrs. Ingram roused herself and looked into the lovely,, 
 Colorless face. 
 
 44 I hope I shall not startle you," pursued Violet ; and 
 there was a ring of impatience in her voice. u I am sorry 
 to tell you that I am obliged to leave Queen's Elm to-day. 
 I am afraid it will be a great inconvenience ; but I am com- 
 pelled to go." 
 
 44 It is very sudden, very unexpected, my dear," said the 
 stately, gentle old lady, " but of course, if you cannot help 
 
 44 1 cannot, I cannot ! w cried Violet " I am in 
 
 trouble I must go 1 " 
 
 44 1 have known it ever since you went with me to TO j 
 usband's grave," said Mrs. Ingram, quietly. "Only tell 
 ae how, and I will do all I can to help you." 
 
 44 You are very good,' returned Violet; "but you could 
 ,iot do anything for me. I am .sorry to leave you ; you 
 have been very kind to me." 
 
 " Go then, my dear. Do not be anxious about me. I 
 shall find some one to take your place. I am sorry you are 
 going ; you are a great favorite of mine, and I shall mis* 
 you very much; but if it is urgent that you should go ,.I 
 will make no effort to detain you. When are you going ? * 
 
 " I want to catch the foar o'clock expraw to 
 replied Violet. 
 
*88 THORN8 AND OEA1\\ 
 
 " Then you have but little time to spare," saiu Mm 
 Ingram. " You must have something to eat before you 
 start. Shall you come back to me ? " 
 
 Yiolet fell upon her knees by the old lady's side, and 
 took the thin, withered hand in hers. 
 
 " I am sorry to seem ungrateful and unkind,'' she said, 
 i; No ; I shall never come back. I am in great trouble ? 
 rnd I do not see the end of it. I grieve to leave you m 
 * his fashion, but I cannot help it." 
 
 " I always thought from your face that you had a 
 **tory," remarked the old lady. " 1 knew it when you 
 ' rere with me at my husband's grave.'' 
 
 Before they parted, Mrs. Ingrain made Yiolet promise 
 .hat she would not forget her, that she would come back 
 o see her at some time or other. 
 
 " I have had many companions," she said, " since my 
 laughter, my bonny Jean, died, but none that I have liked 
 Jo well as you." 
 
 An hour afterward Yiolet found herself in the express, 
 speeding as fast as steam could take her to London. She 
 aad not thought yet what she should do when she reached 
 there ; her only idea had been to hasten away from Queen's 
 Elm. As the train sped rapidly onward through the 
 fast-falling shades of evening, her mind grew calmer, and 
 once more she was able to think. 
 
 Mrs. Car stone was the best friend she had in the world. 
 She had thought once of appealing to her aunt in her 
 distress ; but she knew that that good lady would say 
 things of her husband that she herself could not and 
 would not tolerate. She liked Miss Marr ; but in this case 
 it was impossible to make her her confidante. 
 
 So she made up her mind tbat she would send for Mrs. 
 Garstone, tell her all, and hear what her advice was. She 
 would abide by it, let it be what it might. When she 
 reached London, she took a cab to the Great Northern 
 Hotel, and from there she telegraphed to Mrs, Garstone, 
 asking her if she would come to see her there at once. 
 
 The answer to her telegram soon arrived, telling hei 
 that Mrs. Carstone would be with her in the morning. 
 After that Yiolet slept well, her mind being at rest. Mrs. 
 Carstone was not a particularly clever woman ; but she 
 had a good judgment and a kindly heart. Some way out 
 of the difficulty would present itself to her 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 281o 
 
 CHAPTER LIU. 
 
 MRS. CARSTONB wept tears of genuine deliglit at the 
 unexpected news. 
 
 " It is a gift from Heaven," she cried, " sent to recon 
 cile .you and your husband a gift from Heaven direct 
 my dear ; and I am thankful for your sake. And now 
 what have you thought of doing ? " 
 
 " I thought of laying all my cares and troubles on your 
 shoulders for a time," answered Violet. " Whatever acU 
 vice you give me, I will follow it." 
 
 " I should say, seek a reconciliation first with your hus- 
 band,'' said Mrs. Carstone. " That was the course I ad- 
 vised even before I knew of this. You can do nothing bet- 
 ter. I have a few days to spare ; I will stay with you. 
 Write to your husband. Do not tell him your news that 
 will be an agreeable surprise to him but tell him you are 
 tired of wrong-doing, and ask him to be frends. I should 
 use just that simple expression, ' Be friends. 7 J: 
 
 "I can not call it i wrong-doing,' " remarked Violet, 
 a because I really thought 5 was doing right." 
 
 " We will not argue over A word," said Mrs. Carstone. ' 
 " Tell him that you are tired of being away from him, and 
 want to be friends that is the first thing to be done and 
 I will stay with you till the answer comes." 
 
 "I do not know where he is," she said. " I heard that 
 he was living somewhere in London." 
 
 She remembered that Miss Marr had told her that he 
 was living alone, dejected and miserable, in London ; but 
 she had told her also of her intention to draw him, if pos- 
 sible^ to Athelstone- Athelstone was the Dowager Lady 
 Ry vers's own house, whither she had gone after her quarrel 
 with her son. He might be in London, or he might have 
 gone to Athelstone. 
 
 " Send your letter to Ryverswell, and, no matter where 
 Lord Ryvers has gone, it will be safely forwarded to him," 
 Mrs. Carstone advised. 
 
 " If I do it at all," said Violet, " I must do it at once, 
 while there is a rush of feeling in my heart which pre- 
 vents me from thinking clearly or remembering bitterly. 
 I must forget much before I can write that letter, and in 
 this confusion I have forgotten much." 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " So much the better ," remarked Mrs. Carstone, briskly. 
 ^ This is the very time." 
 
 She rang quickly, and ordered writing materials to be 
 brought into the room. She would not delay , lest Tiolet 
 should change her mind. The beautiful face of the voung 
 wife had grown very pale, and Mrs. Carstone saw l*ow her 
 lands trembled. 
 
 " Write, now," she said, as she placed the per, 41 Via 
 .et's hand. 
 
 And she wrote the simple words : 
 
 *' I am tired of being away from you, Randolph. Wltf you bi 
 friends ? I am remaining at the Great Northern HOte* until I re- 
 ceive your answer." 
 
 As she sealed and stamped it, a great burning blush 
 covered her face. So this was the end of ker grand reso- 
 lutions, her high spirit, her rebellion, he* u enternal fare* 
 well " 1 She winced as she thought of it* Mrs. Carstone 
 read her feelings. 
 
 " Remember," she said, " it is for y<>nr child's sake, 
 You may, if you have a very elastic conscience, ordei 
 your own life as you will ; but you cannot blight the life 
 of your child. Give me the letter, nd iet it be posted at 
 >nce." 
 
 Again she rang. She placed tb* letter in the servant** 
 hands, saying : 
 
 " Let this be sent at once to <ae post, and see that a 
 trustworthy messenger takes it, us it is of great impor- 
 tance." 
 
 Violet wondered in her OWA mind whether Miss Man 
 would be with Randolph when ne received it, looking at 
 him with those dark, loving eyes of hers? Would hig 
 iuuidsome, eager face flush with pleasure or grow pale 
 vith anger as he read? She could not say. She knew 
 uiat he had loved her with all his heart; but she was un- 
 ertain as to whether or how far her anger and her caprice 
 :iad interfered with that love. 
 
 " I am glad I had not much time to think about it, w 
 she said, with a deep sigh. " I am quite sure, if I had 
 been able to remember all the reasons that induced me to 
 'eave him, I could not have written it." 
 
 While good Mra. Carstone sat sipping her favorite after- 
 iuiner wine, the beautiful young wife lay with a dreamy 
 
THOHNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 291 
 
 smile on her lips. She need never be jealous of Miss Mart 
 again. She was happier than she had been since the dis- 
 covery she had made of her husband's title and wealth. It 
 would not be so bad, after all, to be called " young Lady 
 Ry vers," the mother of the future heir of Ry versdale ; ii 
 would not be so bad to enjoy money and rank ; it would ail 
 be sweetened with love. 
 
 " Love will waken by and by." 
 
 Love had awakened with a passionate rush. 
 
 " Oh, my husband,'' cried the girl, who had once thought 
 iove a trouble, and had talked of annulling her own mar- 
 riage, " if I could see you now, if I could tell you how full 
 of love my heart is for you ! " 
 
 Some one was singing in the next room a girl with a 
 soft, clear voice and Violet lay listening. Noiselessly 
 Mrs. Carstone rose to open the door, so that they should 
 lot lose one word, and the sweet, girlish voice sang on. 
 
 " I know not when the day may be, 
 
 I know not when our eyes may meet, 
 What welcome you may give to me, 
 
 Or will your words be sad or sweet 
 It may not be till years have passed, 
 Till eyes are dim and tresses gray ; 
 The world is wide, but, love, at last-, 
 
 Our hands, our hearts, must meet some day* 
 Some day I shall meet you, 
 
 Love I know not when or how; 
 Only this, that once yon loved me 
 Only this, I love you now. 
 
 ** I know not are you far or near, 
 
 Or are you dead, or do you live ; 
 I know not who the blame should bear, 
 Or who should plead, or who forgive. 
 But, when we meet at length some day, 
 Eyes clearer grown thft truth may see, 
 And ev'ry cloud shall roll away 
 That darkens, love, 'twist you and me. 
 Some day I shall meet you, 
 
 Love I know not when or how ; 
 Only this, that once you loved me 
 Only this, I love you now." 
 
 The beautiful melody died away ; but the words of the 
 long had entered Violet's heart. It had needed but this 
 
292 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 to fill her whole soul with unutterable longing for her hus 
 band, longing so great that it was almost pain. Tears 
 filled her eyes, and Mrs. Caratone crossed the room to her 
 quietly to kiss them away. 
 
 u You must not agitate yourself," she whispered. 
 
 A strange coincidence happened that same evening. Al- 
 though tired, Violet knew she should not sleep, and she 
 asked for some books Amongst others there was sent to 
 her a volume of extracts ; and the first lines upon which 
 her eyes fell were these : 
 
 " Marriage, rightly understood, 
 Gives to the tender and the good 
 A paradise below. " 
 
 They struck her with strange force. Had she voluntarily 
 deserted an earthly paradise ? Ah, let her but once return, 
 let her but once more stand in the safe shelter of her hus- 
 band's arms, and she would be all that he could wish, she 
 would love him with her whole heart and soul ! Peer or 
 peasant, noble or plebeian, mattered little now ; she loved 
 him.; 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 Two days had passed, and no answer had come to Violet's 
 letter. It was the third day now, and the young wife's 
 heart misgave her. Within three da} r s, she and Mrs. Car- 
 stone had argued, a letter must reach any part of England. 
 In the first flush of sanguine hope she had felt quite sure 
 that the moment Randolph read her letter he would hasten 
 to her. She had expected him every hour, every minute ; 
 every footstep on the stairs, every hand on the handle of 
 the door, she had believed to be his. She had started a 
 hundred times each day, her face flushing, her heart beating 
 &ist, a faint cry on her lips, which turned always into a wail 
 w disappointment. 
 
 It was the end of the third day. He would not come 
 now ; he was not in such a great hurry to see her, after all. 
 And no wonder, she owned to herself in sorrowful honesty 
 no wonder, after all her caprices and the scornful fashion 
 in which she had treated his love. Once a terrible disap- 
 pointment happened to her. A hansom dashed up to the 
 grand entrance, and some one sprang from it in hot haste- 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 293 
 
 dome one who looked up at the windows of the hotel as 
 though he expected to see a beloved face there. For one 
 moment her heart stood still. It was surely he surely 
 Randolph come at last. But, as the face and figure drew 
 nearer, they were strange to her. It was not Randolph* 
 A horrible sense of dismay came to her a horrible fear 
 What should she do if he never came and never wrote ? 
 That was impossible ; he must write. In all their little 
 misunderstandings he had ever been the first to yield. A 
 smile, a glance, a word from her had always brought him 
 to her feet. Was it likely that he could or would with- 
 stand such words as she had written a Let us be 
 friends"? 
 
 The dawn of the fourth day found her trembling between 
 hope and despair. On the fifth day Mrs. Carstone's kindly 
 heart failed her when she looked at the white worn face. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " you must not look so. Try to 
 regain some of your indifference, some of your carelessness ; 
 your face is becoming quite drawn and haggard." 
 
 And Violet, clasping the friendly hands in her own, cried, 
 in a voice that was pitiful to hear: 
 
 " I do not think my husband will answer my letter ! " 
 
 Mrs. Carstone tried to comfort her with all the gentle 
 eoothing women use to each other in the hour of distress. 
 It was possible, she urged, that the letter had not reached 
 him. There was plenty of time yet. She must be patient, 
 and, above all, she must remember how precious her life 
 was. 
 
 On the sixth day Violet shut herself up in her room. She 
 had resolved on sending another letter. This should be not 
 a friendly invitation, but a passionate appeal to him to come 
 to her. She would not ask him to be friends, but she would 
 tell him how passionately she had learned to love him. She 
 would not break her news to him ; but she would beg him 
 to forgive her for the old love's sake. 
 
 44 Think of me," she wrote, " not as the proud, injured, 
 haughty wife who bade you farewell, careless of your love 
 and careless of your pain, but as the girl whom you wooed 
 in the woods of St. Byno's. In those days, I frankly own, 
 love was new to me, and I did not love you as you de 
 served ; now it is different. Come back to me, Randolph* 
 Come back to me, darling, for I have learned at last to love 
 with my whole heart and soul, just as you loved me a* 
 
,94 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 
 
 first. And, beloved, I shall wait here six days six days. 
 If, at the end of that time, I have not heard from you, I 
 shall know that you will never either write to me or come 
 to see me again, and life will be all over with me. But you 
 will come, beloved, you will come ! My heart longs for you 
 You will take me in your arms and kiss me, and lay my 
 head upon your breast ! " 
 
 She wrote the letter on her knees ; she covered it with 
 burning tears and passionate kisses. Then she carried it 
 herself to the post. She put it into the letter-box, and, as 
 it dropped from her fingers, turned to Mrs. Carstone with j? 
 smile more sad than any sigh. 
 
 " That will bring me either life or death," she said. 
 
 " It will be life, my dear," returned Mrs. Carstone. " N? 
 man who loved his wife could turn a deaf ear to such pray- 
 ers as j^ours. You have promised to wait here six days. 
 Let us spend those six days more sensibly than we have 
 the last. Let us spend them in shopping. Have you 
 money, my dear ? " 
 
 And the answer was " Plenty," with a dreary sigh. 
 
 " You will want it all," said Mrs. Carstone, delighted to 
 think how easily she could make up any little deficiency of 
 that kind. " After writing that letter, you must rest to* 
 day, and to-morrow we will go out shopping. Have you 
 any idea what we shall buy ? " 
 
 " No," replied Violet ; but there was a flush on her face 
 and a shy, sweet light in her eyes as she answered. 
 
 " Such marvels," said Mrs. Carstone " such dainty mar- 
 vels of lace and embroidery little pretty things that will 
 make your heart beat with joy ! And do you know for 
 whom they will be ? " 
 
 " Oh, happy me 1 " sighed Violet, even as she smiled 
 '* In spite of all my trouble, thrice happy me ! " 
 
 " Thrice happy every good woman to whom Heaven sends 
 the gift of a little qhild ! " said Mrs. Carstone, with tears in 
 her eyes. u You will have no time for watching at the 
 windows for the postman ; the next six days must be spent 
 in making provision for the future Lord Ryvers." 
 
 So during the next six days the beautiful face regained 
 gome of its color and some of its calm ; for Violet was taken 
 out of herself by this new and keen delight, and Mrs. Car 
 Btone was just as pleased. 
 
 Violet roused herself from this new and engrossing occu 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 295 
 
 pation to ask where her husband was. No letter had yet 
 arrived ; until the end of the sixth day Mrs. Car stone would 
 not have the question discussed. 
 
 " He will come or write," she said. " It is not likely that, 
 loving you as he does, he will refuse. If he did not intend 
 to come, he would at least write and say so." 
 
 The fifth, sixth, seventh day came without news or letter; 
 and then they knew they must look the cruel fact straight 
 in the face. 
 
 u He will neither write nor come now," said Violet, with 
 the calm of despair. " I cannot deceive myself or buoy 
 myself up with false hopes any longer ; he will not come." 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Carstone; " I have been mistaken; 
 he will not come." 
 
 The dainty purchases were all packed. There was no 
 more shopping ; they could remain no longer at the hotel. 
 
 " In ten days more," said Mrs. Carstone, regretfully, " I 
 must leave you. My husband and son return from abroad, 
 and I must join them. Will you come home with me ? " 
 
 " No. I thank you with all my heart, but I could not do 
 that. Think for me I cannot think for myself; find some 
 place for me where I can die." 
 
 " Die ! What nonsense, my dear ! Why should you die? 
 ' Hope on, hope ever.' Let me think what it is best that I 
 should do for you." 
 
 She thought for some time, while Violet knelt by her sida 
 with a white, despairing face. Suddenly Mrs. Carstone 
 looked up. 
 
 u I know the very thing ! " she cried. " I have an endless 
 array of poor relatives, and my husband is very generous 
 to them all. I have a cousin, Miss Mary Marston, by name^ 
 who lives in a pretty little house at Weston-on-Sea. I will 
 take you there, and you shall stay with her until we can 
 see more clearly what better we can do. You must do your 
 best to gain health and strength. I can come there to see 
 you very often." 
 
 " You are so good to m ! " sobbed Violet with a sudden 
 burst of tears. 
 
 So it was arranged. Nothing better could be done ; and, 
 on the day following, the two ladies left the Great North- 
 ern Hotel and went to thf pretty little house at Weston-on- 
 Sea. 
 
 Miss Marston received them with open arms ; and Mrs 
 
896 THORNS AND^ORANGE-BLOSSOm. 
 
 Carstone told what she thought necessary of Violet's his- 
 tory. Miss Marston promised to take the greatest care of 
 the beautiful young lady. And there, within sound of the 
 restless sea, Violet lived for many weeks. She never 
 guessed the truth that the letters sent to Ryverswell had 
 fallen into the hands of the dowager, who, feeling sure that 
 Violet would write at some time or other, had ordered all 
 betters sent to Ryverswell to be forwarded to Athelstone, 
 Her son had been too wretched, too indifferent to give any 
 directions with regard to his letters ; he did not expect any 
 from Violet. The dowager opened both letters, read and 
 burned them then thanked Heaven that the danger was 
 past, and hoped that the girl's word would come true, and 
 that she would soon die. 
 
 One morning, Miss Marston, going into her lodger's 
 room, found her lying with her face on the ground and a 
 newspaper crushed in her cold, white hand. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 THE feir aweet month of May, bringing its own fair 
 crown of hawthorn the fairest May that for many years 
 had blessed the land. It came with smile of sun and song 
 of birds and sweetest bloom of flowers. Over the land lay 
 a veil of tender green, the sea shimmered beneath the glori- 
 ous sun. 
 
 To one heart the sunlight, the song, and the flowers 
 brought no joy, no happiness, no hope, nothing but the 
 chill of despair. For the long weeks had passed without 
 bringing to Violet any intelligence of or from her husband 
 Mrs. Carstone had been several times to see her, and found 
 tier on each visit looking paler, more languid, and more ill 
 each time more hopeless. 
 
 44 1 shall never see him again," was the burden of her cry, 
 14 1 must not blame him. It was all my fault. When I 
 had his love, I did not value it ; now that I have lost it, I 
 am dying for it. It is strange, loving me so dearly, that he 
 should not have sent me one word." 
 
 44 Do you think it possible that he may never have re- 
 ceived the letters ? " asked her friend. 
 
 44 No ; had there been any mistake in the address, they 
 would have been returned to me. It is that he will nol 
 some ; I have tried him too fiur. It is beat perhaps as itiit 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. $91 
 
 I shall die, and he will be free to marry the girl his mother 
 has chosen for him." 
 
 And Mrs. Carstone this time had no cheering words. She 
 agreed with Yiolet that he had lost patience and cared no 
 more for his wife. She was terribly anxious concerning 
 Yiolet, for the girl had clung to her with kisses and tears, 
 imploring her not to tell any one, either friend or foe, where 
 she was, threatening that, if she did so, she would go where 
 no one could follow her or find her ; and Mrs. Carstone 
 knew that she would keep her word, so that to neither hus* 
 band nor son could she say one word. 
 
 " I am sure I shall die," Violet would say to her quite 
 calmly, her woful eyes looking over the restful sea ; " and 
 then they will all be happy. I shall be out of the way, and 
 no more trouble to them." 
 
 44 But what if you do not die f " asks Mrs. Carstone, anx 
 tons to rouse her. 
 
 " You are a good woman," said Violet, " and Heaven 
 hears the prayers of such. Pray for me that I may 
 die!" 
 
 As she spoke she wrung her bands with a gesture of des- 
 pair. She had given up hope. Once or twice she thought 
 she would go home to Aunt Alice, and ask to die near the 
 bonny woods of St. Byno's, where Randolph had first met 
 her. As her strength decreased a terrible languor came 
 over her. Her brain and mind were ever employed. In 
 Imagination she was always with Miss Marr and her bus* 
 band. She was sure that they were together. The dowag- 
 er's influence had prevailed ; Randolph had learned to look 
 npon her coldly, and almost forgotten her. Oh, welcome 
 death that would take her from such a troubled life ! 
 
 One morning she felt strangely ill and weak. She wenl 
 down to her pretty little parlor, where breakfost was pro 
 pared for her. Lately a craving for news had possessed 
 her, and she had ordered two or three fashionable journals, 
 hoping to see her husband's name mentioned, hoping to find 
 out where Miss Marr was. This morning she was rewarded, 
 for one little item of fashionable news ran thus : 
 
 " The Earl and Countess of Princethorpe have been entertaining a 
 large and select party of guests at Princethorpe Manor. Amongst 
 the visitors were Lord and Lady Kin tall, Miss Marr, Colonel Morton, 
 fid many others." 
 
 "Miss Marr," * Putooethorpe Manor." 8ba wrote the 
 
98 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 words down, not knowing why, but in obedience to some 
 unaccountable instinct. Presently she came to a paragraph 
 that seemed to her her death-warrant. 
 
 44 We understand that proceedings have heen taken by the mem- 
 bers of a nohle and powerful family to set aside the marriage of the 
 head of the house, under the plea that it was contracted while the 
 young nobleman was a minor. The case is likely before long to oc 
 cupy the attention of the gentlemen of the long robe." 
 
 It so happened that the paragraph referred to the mar* 
 liage of the young Marquis of Conmara, who had eloped 
 with his mother's waiting-maid, and not to Randolph, Lord 
 Ry vers. But to Violet's jealous heart it seemed as though 
 every word was meant for him and for her. This was why 
 her husband had not answered her letters or been to see 
 her. He must be a consenting party to it, or it could not 
 be done. They would annul her marriage, after all ; yet 
 she would be the mother of the heir of Ryverswell. Ran- 
 dolph would marry Miss Marr. There came to her disor- 
 dered mind a vision ; she saw her husband standing before 
 the altar with the heiress, as he bad stood with her, his fail 
 and handsome face bent over her. 
 
 44 He is mine, he is mine I " cried Violet ; and then sh* 
 fell with her face to the ground. 
 
 Miss Marston found her so, and her first proceeding was 
 to telegraph for Mrs. Carstone, and her next to send for a 
 doctor. 
 
 It was barely noon when Mrs. Carstone arrived. 
 
 u Tell me the worst I w she cried, when she saw Miag 
 Marston 's pale face. 
 
 44 I found her lying in her room this morning, with he? 
 face to the ground, and the doctor fears the worst/' 
 
 Pale and trembling, Mrs. Carstone sank into the nsare^ 
 Chair. 
 
 " Let me see the doctor," she said, " before I see her." 
 
 But he only confirmed Miss Marston's words* Then Mrs 
 Carstone went up to Violet. A white face framed in goldrx 
 hair lay upon the pillow, two beautiful eyes, shadowed with 
 pain, looked at her wistfully as she entered, a white hand, 
 thin and fragile, beckoned here 
 
 " Ask him," she said, if I shall see my baby before I 
 die." 
 
 " You will not die, Violet," answered Mrs. Carstone ; but 
 none of the old hop@ fthon-ft xu her 
 
THORNS AND GRANGE- BLOSSOMS. 299 
 
 Not long afterward came the terrible struggle between 
 Ufe and death. 
 
 More than once they had bent forward, believing she was 
 dead ; but suddenly arose on the calm summer air a little 
 cry, a faint, feeble, wailing cry, the sound of which brought 
 a faint color to the white, beautiful face. Mrs. Carstone 
 had never shed such tears in her life as those she shed when 
 khey placed the little heir of Ry ver swell in her arms. 
 
 A faint whisper came from the white lips. 
 
 ^ Shall I see my baby before I die ? " 
 
 " Can you not save her ? " cried Mrs. Carstone. " It 
 seems so horrible that she should die now ! " 
 
 " Heaven may save her I cannot," replied the doctor, 
 more moved than he cared to show. 
 
 "How long have I to live?" asked the weak voice. 
 * Days or hours ? " 
 
 " Hours, I fear," was the grave reply. 
 
 And then they placed the tiny child in the failing anna 
 *hat clasped him with such unutterable love. 
 
 Violet did not think much of her husband in that hour 
 />f desperation and pain-r-only of the child, the little child 
 she mtlst leave. 
 
 " Can you not save me ? Help me to live! " she gasped, 
 with white lips. 
 
 It was so the doctor said merely a matter of hours. 
 Who would take care of her child ? She thought of Miss 
 Marr, the noblest woman she knew in the world. Ah, yes 1 
 She should die more at peace, happier, if she knew that her 
 child was with Miss Marr 
 
 With difficulty she made Mrs. Carstone understand that 
 she was to telegraph to Princethorpe Manor. 
 
 " Say that Yiolet Beaton wants her, and begs her to come 
 it once. Shall I live," she asked, wistfully, " until she 
 monies ? " 
 
 " We will do our best for you," said the doctor ; but he 
 aad no hope. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 Miss MAKE obeyed the summons promptly, though she 
 wondered greatly why Violet Beaton had telegraphed in so 
 sudden and peremptory a manner for her. 
 
800 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Mrs. Carstone received her, and the two looked at each 
 other curiously. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Carstone," said the millionaire's wife " Mrs. 
 Carstone of Ingleshaw," she added, with a faint hope that 
 the glories of that most ancient place had reached the aria* 
 tocratic ears of the lady before her. 
 
 But no gleam of recognition came into the proud face. 
 
 " It is I who telegraphed to you, Miss Marr," she con 
 tinued. " The poor lady is dying, and her one wish was to 
 see you." 
 
 " Dying ? " cried the heiress, startled from her usual 
 calm. " You do not mean to tell me that Violet Beaton is 
 dying ? " 
 
 " I fear so. The doctor says it is but a matter of hours ; 
 and I am sure she has sent for you because she wishes to 
 leave the little child with you." 
 
 " The child ! What do you mean ? " cried Miss Marr. 
 
 " I speak of the child whose birth is to cost its mother's 
 life. Miss Marr, there can be no more secrets now. Do 
 you know who Violet Beaton is ? " 
 
 " She is Violet Beaton, I presume. I know nothing more 
 about her." 
 
 " She is Lady Ry vers ! " cried Mrs. Carstone, with a burst 
 of tears. " It is useless to keep her secret any longer. 
 Lord Ry vers must know of the death of his wife and the 
 birth of his son." 
 
 " Lady Ry vers ! " cried the heiress. " Lady Ry vers I 
 Do you mean that she is the wife of Randolph, Lord 
 Ry vers ? " 
 
 " I do. And the friends of Lord Ry vers have driven her 
 to her death ! " 
 
 But Miss Marr could not believe what she had heard. 
 
 " Pardon me," she said, " you are wrong. Violet Beaton 
 Jhas been living with a relative of mine. That is how I 
 know her ; that is why she has sent for me." 
 
 " I assure you, Miss Marr, that the young lady dying up 
 stairs is Violet Beaton, who married Lord Ryvers. I have 
 known her and her history for some time. It was with me 
 she took refuge when she left Ryvers well." 
 
 " And who," cried the heiress, sinking pale and trembling 
 upon the sofa, " did you say you are ? " 
 
 " I am Mrs. Carstone of Ingleshaw," repeated the mil* 
 iionaire's 
 

 THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 301 
 
 A sudden gleam of recollection came to Miss Marr ; she 
 fiad heard the name often enough. 
 
 " Your husband is the millionaire who bought Ingle* 
 shaw ? " she said. 
 
 And, in spite of the sorrow hanging over them, Mrs. Car 
 stone's face was a picture of complacency as she answered 
 44 Yes." 
 
 But the heiress could hardly comprehend the other intei 
 ligence, that Violet Beaton was Lady Ryvers, the unhappy 
 young wife who had left her husband. 
 
 " I have known and loved her," continued Mrs. Carstone, 
 " ever since we met abroad. She came to me in her distress 
 and despair when she left her husband ; or rather I met her 
 by accident, and took her home with me. She would not 
 remain, she would work for herself; and a friend of mine 
 found her an engagement with a Mrs. Ingram of Queen's 
 Elm." 
 
 " That is my grandmother. I met her there ; I spent 
 some weeks there with her." Suddenly Miss Marr remem- 
 bered all that she had confided in her, how she had told her 
 the story of her great love for Randolph, and how she in- 
 tended to win him for herself, if she could. She stood dis- 
 mayed, bewildered, tortured by the recollection. How little 
 she had dreamed that she was speaking to Randolph's wife 1 
 She clasped her hands with a bitter cry. " If she dies," 
 she said, " it is I who have killed her ! But I did not know 
 oh, Heaven, I did not know ! " 
 
 " I should say that Lady Ryvers has killed her," re- 
 marked Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " It is too horrible ! " said the heiress. " And you say 
 there is a little child born to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes a lovely little boy." 
 
 " Heir of Ry verswell ! " said Miss Marr. " You must 
 send for Lord Ryvers at once." . 
 
 " It is useless," replied Mrs. Carstone ; " his wife has 
 sent for him twice, and he has refused to come." 
 
 " I will not believe it ! " cried the heiress. " If ever a 
 man worshiped a woman, Lord Ryvers worshiped his wife. 
 From the time she left home, he shut himself up, and no 
 one has seen him sinceo He would have given the whole 
 world to find her ; but she told him she would never return. 
 He would have flown to her if he had thought she would 
 even speak to him." 
 
302 THORNS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " I was with her when she wrote and posted the letters." 
 
 " Then there has been foul play," declared Miss Marr, 
 u for I know that Lord Ry vers has never received one word 
 from his wife since she left him. And you say she is 
 dying ? " Tears filled her eyes. " Let me see her," she 
 said ; " there is no time to be lost.' 7 
 
 She grew pale as she entered the room and saw the beau* 
 \iful colorless face of Violet and the tiny head of the nest 
 ling babe. She was so true a woman that at the sight 
 tears tilled her eyes. With gentle step she went up to the 
 young wife and knelt down by the bedside. 
 
 " Violet," she said, gently, " do you know me ? I am Gwen- 
 doline Marr." 
 
 There was a faint stir of the white eyelids. It seemed 
 that by a desperate effort she was trying to bring herself 
 back to life. 
 
 u She wants to speak to me," said the heiress, piteously 
 " Can you do nothing for her ? " 
 
 The doctor came forward with a spoonful of strong cor 
 dial. Then the white eyelids opened. 
 
 " You sent for me, Violet. What can I do for you ? " 
 
 " I want to give you this," she said, opening her arms 
 that her friend might see her little child. " You are one 
 of the noblest women in the world. Will' you take him for 
 me ? " Then with one white weak hand she drew the dark, 
 beautiful face down to her own. " You know my story," 
 she whispered, faintly ; " you know who I am. It seems 
 to me almost that I have come back from the dead to see 
 you. You know now that I am Randolph's wife." 
 
 u Yes ; I know. Will you forgive me all the pain I have 
 caused you ? If I had known that you were Randolph's 
 wife, I should never have spoken of him." 
 
 " I know ; but you love him still ? " 
 
 " I shall love him forever," was the low reply. 
 
 " And you will marry him after I am dead ? Every one 
 will forget me, and you will be happy together. I give you 
 my little son he will be Randolph's heir ; you will love 
 him and cherish him and care for him as if he were your 
 own ? " 
 
 " I promise," answered Miss Marr. 
 
 " How strange," said Violet, " that you should have both 
 my husband and my son ! You will love him? Do not tell 
 him about me ; let him think you are his mother, And tell 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 303 
 
 Randolph I should like to be laid to rest in the old unurch- 
 yskrd at St. By no's. Mine has been a short, troubled life." 
 
 ' Violet," said her friend, " would you not like to see 
 your husband ? " 
 
 *-. He would not come to me. I sent to him twice ; he 
 would not come." 
 
 " I am sure he would come to see you and his little son 
 if he knew, Would you like to see him ?" 
 
 Oh, the rapture of love and of longing in the pale face ! 
 
 " I believe," she whispered, faintly, " that if I saw him 1 
 should not die. I should live in spite of myself." 
 
 " Then you shall see him," her friend declared. u I will 
 go and bring him to you. Doctor," she said, hastily, " I 
 am sure that Lady Ryvers is better ; give me just one 
 gleam of hope." The doctor looked up when he heard the 
 rank and name of his patient. " Give me one gleam of 
 hope," she repeated. 
 
 " The best that I can say is that Lady Ryvers is no 
 worse, and that every hour she lives adds to her chance of 
 living," he answered, gravely. 
 
 Miss Marr bent over the pale face. 
 
 " Yiolet," she said, " try to live. Try to think that Ran* 
 ciiolph is coming, and wants to see you." 
 
 " Randolph will marry you ; you are best suited for him ; 
 they all love you. I am content to die. Oh, dear friend ? 
 love my son ! " 
 
 And then the pallor deepened, the white eyelids fell. 
 
 " Is she dead ? " cried the heiress, in great alarm. 
 
 " No, she is only exhausted," replied the doctor. 
 
 Then, kissing the cold brow, Miss Marr stole softly out 
 of the sick-room, and, hastening at once to the telegraph 
 office, dispatched the following message : 
 
 " From Miss Marr, railway-station, Weston-on-Sea, Kent, to Lord 
 Ryvers, Alton House, Mayfair, London Come here at once; your 
 wife, Violet, is dying and wishes to see you. I will be at the station 
 to meet you." 
 
 What wonder, consternation, and bewilderment that 
 telegram caused Lord Ryvers ! That Yiolet, his beautiful, 
 willful young wife, should be dying seemed to him im- 
 possible. And why should Miss Marr be with her ? Yiolet 
 was dying Yiolet, whom he had found in the old woods of 
 St. By no's Yiolet, for whom he had given up the whole 
 World, who had been so brightly happy with him, who had 
 
H THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 overwhelmed him with bitter reproaches and left him! 
 Violet was dying ; and Miss Marr, the beautiful woman 
 whom every one had wished him to marry, was with her ! 
 Weston-on-Sea was not very far. He had reached the 
 railway-station and stood with Miss Marr's hand fast clasped 
 in his before he realized what had happened and where he 
 was. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 As they drove hurriedly from the railway-station to 
 the house, Miss Marr told Lord Ryvers all that had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 44 And Yiolet was with you," he cried " really and truly 
 with you ? How strange ! It must have been the very 
 hand of Heaven." 
 
 " I believe it was," said Miss Marr, quietly. 
 
 Arid then she told him of the birth of his little son. 
 He was astonished and bewildered. All he could say was : 
 
 " My poor Yiolet ! Pray Heaven that we may find her 
 living ! If I can but look in her face once more and tell her 
 how much I love her." 
 
 She was living, and her life hung upon a thread. The 
 question was whether his sudden appearance would snap 
 that thread. 
 
 44 She told me she should live if she saw yo&, and I be- 
 lieve it," said Miss Marr. 
 
 There was another surprise for Lord Ryvers when he saw 
 Mrs. Carstone and heard her story, how she had helped and 
 befriended his hapless young wife. 
 
 44 But you," he said, reproachfully " you should h?ve 
 sent to me. You knew how well I loved her." 
 
 But Mrs. Carstone had her own defense. Of what use 
 was it for her to interfere when he had sent no answer to 
 his wife's urgent prayer? Then he heard the story of the 
 letters, and for the first time it struck him how negligent 
 he had been, that he ought to have taken precautions. But 
 he had never thought that Yiolet would write. The letters 
 must have gone to Ryverswell and fallen into his mother's 
 hands. He told himself that if his wife died his mothel 
 would be the cause. 
 
 With quiet tread he entered the sick-room. Death was 
 Hot present, yet seemed very near. The beautiful face had 
 
AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 30S 
 
 evan more colorless, the nerveless arms had almost 
 t^laxed their hold. 
 
 " Violet," says Miss Marr, bending over her, " can you 
 hear me?" 
 
 But there was no answer. Again she spoke, but it was 
 with the same result. 
 
 " I am afraid we are too late," she said. " Speak to he* 
 fourself." 
 
 Then he came forward and looked upon her, his wife, his 
 darling, his only love, lying there so still and pale, with 
 their little son in her arms. He did not look at the child, 
 his eyes were riveted on her face. This was his Violet, 
 whom he had found where " June's palace was paved with 
 gold." A bitter cry, the cry of a strong man in despair, 
 came from his lips as he fell upon his knees by her side. 
 
 At the sound Violet opened her eyes. It had pierced her 
 heart, and stirred what little life was there. 
 
 " Violet," he cried " oh, my darling, speak to me, look 
 at me I " 
 
 A faint color rushed to her face, a faint light came Into 
 the shadowed eyes, the white lips smiled. 
 
 " Violet, my darling, my dear wife ! " he cried. " Oh, 
 thank Heaven that I see those dear eyes once again \ Vio 
 let, say ' Welcome ! ' " 
 
 " Welcome ! " she responded, faintly, 
 
 And then he heard her whisper something about the 
 baby. He stooped and kissed the tiny face. 
 
 " My little son ! " he said. " May Heaven bless and keep 
 my little son I Violet, you must get better. You must 
 live for my sake." 
 
 She drew his head down to her face and whispered in hi 
 ear: 
 
 " It will be better, much better for me to die ; then you 
 marry Miss Marr, and you will all be happy. I should 
 be only in the way, and she will be kind to my baby." 
 
 u If you die, Violet, I shall die," he said. " There wift 
 be neither love nor marriage for me. I want not Miss 
 Marr, or another, but you, sweet, only you. Live for me. 
 Violet!" 
 
 " You did not come when I sent," she whispered. 
 
 " I never received the letters ; I never heard of them until 
 today/* 
 98 
 
ft. TSOMNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Ann then it seemed to her as though the sting of 
 had been removed. 
 
 " I should have come at once. I should not have delayed 
 one moment," he said. " Oh, Yiolet, live for me ! " 
 
 Her eyes closed, and her head drooped upon his breast ; 
 she fell into a deep, sweet slumber, and those round her 
 watched in anxious expectation. Over the face of the doc- 
 tor came an expression of relief ; Mrs. Carstone breathed 
 more freely. 
 
 " If Lady Ryvers should recover," she said to Miss 
 Marr, " it is you who will have saved her life by bringing 
 her husband to her< 7 ' 
 
 Once the little child stirred ; and the nurse took it away ; 
 but Yiolet still slept. 
 
 " It is almost miraculous," said the doctor ; u I believe 
 fihe will live." 
 
 How long she lay in that deep, dreamless sleep, her hus- 
 band's arm round her, her head pillowed on his breast ; 
 Violet never knew. When at last she woke, it was to find 
 his handsome face bent over her with undying love shining 
 in his eyes. 
 
 Still for many hours her life hung upon a thread, a thread 
 BO slight that the least jar might have snapped it, and 
 during that time Randolph never left her, neither did 
 Miss Marr. Inch by inch they helped to fight the grim 
 battle for her. It seemed as though they wrestled with 
 Death and disputed his ground. Then came faint flashes 
 of life, a srnile, a gleam of light in the eyes, a whispered 
 word, a request for the baby. Gradually the deathlike 
 languor left the young mother, and life came back. 
 Through it all she clung to Randolph. If he were absent 
 a short time, she relapsed ; she seemed to live only in his 
 presence. 
 
 At last came the day when the doctor declared that there 
 was no more danger, and that with good nursing his patient 
 would soon recover. 
 
 Lord Ryvers was at a loss how to express his gratitude 
 to Mrs. Carstone. 
 
 " You will be the dearest friend that my wife and I have,'* 
 he said to her. 
 
 As for the heiress, neither he nor Yiolet tried to thank 
 her. She was to them simply the noblest woman in the 
 World, more angel than woman. When all danger was 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 307 
 
 past, and a faint rose-bloom returned to tlie face of Lady 
 Ryvers, Miss Marr left them. She had done all she could, 
 and no one but herself knew what it had cost her. 
 
 The day came when the windows were opened wide, the 
 lace-curtains drawn back, and the sea-breeze allowed to 
 come in and kiss the beautiful face from which all pride 
 and willfulness had died, leaving nothing but sweetness in 
 their place. And on that day husband and wife had a long 
 conversation together. Never a shadow came between them 
 in after-life, for they told on that morning the deepest 
 secrets of their heart to each other. Then Lord Ryvers 
 heard for the first time how his mother had persecuted 
 Violet, how she had insinuated that he had connived at her 
 attempts to invalidate the marriage. Viokt kept nothing 
 from him, and he no longer wondered that his fair young 
 wife left him. 
 
 There were no secrets after that ; but there came a ^exed 
 question. The doctor said that Lady Ryvers was able to 
 travel, and would be the better for change of air. Lord 
 By vers longed to take the little heir home ; he longed for the 
 people to cheer at the sight of the heir of Ry versdale : but, 
 when he mentioned this to Violet, he saw her face change. 
 
 " Randolph," she said, " I registered a vow that I would 
 never go back to Ryverswell unless your mother aske me." 
 
 " Will you go if she does ask you ? " he said. " Will you 
 go and forget all that has passed there, and begin a new 
 life that shall have no cloud ? " 
 
 " Begin," she supplemented, with a smile, " to weav 
 orange-blossoms that have no thorns ? Oh, Randolph, how 
 little I dreamed how sharp those thorns could be ! " 
 
 " There shall never be another," he said. " Violet, if m^ 
 mother and sisters come to you, and ask you to go Ryvers 
 well, will you go ? " 
 
 ".Yes," she said; and he sealed the promise with a kiss. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 THE dowager Lady By vers was not the happiest of 
 women. Estranged from the son she loved, with a dis 
 agreeable consciousness of having behaved cruelly and un 
 justly to his wife, she found little pleasure in her liJa. 
 Miss Marr had been to see her, but the visit had not been 
 of the most pleasant kind. She had done her best to heal 
 
308 THOKNS AND OBANGE-BLOSSOM& 
 
 all differences between mother and son ; but Lord Ryvei8 
 bad declined to visit Athelstone, and had refused all oveiv 
 tures. Monica was unhappy, was losing her good looks 
 and spirits in fact, life was going wrong with the dowager 
 altogether. 
 
 She knew that in destroying Violet's letters she had 
 done a wicked and cowardly deed. Her conscience re- 
 proached her with it continually. It was treachery foi 
 which there was no pardon ; and the fear of what her sou 
 would say, should he ever know it, preyed so much on her 
 mind that Lady Ryvers felt positively ill. 
 
 Great were her surprise and dismay when, one day, on 
 taking up the Morning Po.s, she found amongst the 
 44 Births " the following announcement 
 
 " On Tuesday, May 3d, at Weston-on-Sea, Lady Ryvers, 
 of a son." 
 
 So this was why Yiolet had written so urgently, this 
 was why she had begged of her husband to go to see her I 
 The dowager was disarmed. The last glimmer of hope 
 died in her heart when she read this. If ever there had 
 been a chance of setting aside the marriage or of finally 
 parting husband and wife, she felt that there was none 
 now. In spite of all her coldness, pride, and worldliness, 
 something warmed her heart as she thought of the little 
 heir of Ryvers well. 
 
 She called Monica, and showed her the paragraph. 
 " Oh, mamma," cried the girl, " you must be friends with 
 Violet now ! She is a person of double importance ! Poor 
 sweet Violet ! I am so heartily glad ! " 
 
 And, oddly enough, her mother was not angry with her 
 The dowager wondered, with some anxiety, whether she 
 should hear any further news ; but none came until the be* 
 ginning of June, when Randolph suddenly appeared. He 
 had followed her into the garden, and stood looking at he* 
 over the rose-trees. 
 
 " I want you, mother," he said. " Can you find a few 
 minutes for me? I have something very particular to 
 say." 
 
 She came from amongst the roses, looking very stately, 
 very handsome, proud, and pale. He offered her his arm, 
 and led her to the pretty trellised summer-house, then 
 placed her on the cushioned seat, and, with his arms folded, 
 etowl Hoking at her- 
 
THORNS AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 308 
 
 Ci Mother," he said at last, " my wife Violet has beeii 
 very near death. If she had died, you would have been the 
 cause." 
 
 The proud face paled a little ! 
 
 44 You would have been the cause," he repeated. 
 t4 Mother, why did you destroy the letters Yiolet sent to 
 me?" 
 
 44 How do you know that I destroyed them ? " she asked. 
 
 44 My own sure instinct tells me so," he replied. u You 
 do not deny it." 
 
 44 1 do not," said Lady Ryvers proudly. 
 
 44 Why did you do it ? " he asked. 
 
 44 It was the foolish act of a desperate woman ," she said. 
 44 1 never wished you to meet her again ; she had brought 
 sorrow enough into our lives." 
 
 44 It was a treacherous deed," he rejoined. 
 
 44 1 considered the end justified the means," she de- 
 clared; and for some minutes there was silence betwee 
 them. 
 
 44 Mother," he said gently, bending his handsome young 
 head over her, 44 we are neither of us happy while we are 
 estranged. I have come to make peace. I will forgive 
 and forget all that has passed, if you will come back with 
 me to Weston-on-Sea and ask Violet to go home tc 
 Ryvers well. She will never go without. She has nearly 
 lost her life through you. To make amends for that, 
 will you, as no else can, reinstate her and give her a 
 hearty welcome to Ry verswell ? Oh, mother, do this for 
 my little son's sake 1 Your heart will relent to the mother 
 when you see the child." 
 
 There was a short sharp struggle in the dowager's proud 
 heart before she answered. Then she put her arms around 
 her son's neck, and said 
 
 44 1 will go." 
 
 On the evening of that same day Yiolet sat watching 
 fehe sun set over the sea, when her husband's mother en- 
 tered the room, and, going up to her, kissed the beautiful 
 face. 
 
 4i Violet," she said, 44 1 have come to make friends. For 
 baby's sake forgive me all my unkindness ; forgive me, 
 dear, and let us bury the past." 
 
 But it was not for 44 baby's sake " that she kissed the 
 ftweet face so often and listened so patiently while Violet 
 
110 THOfiNS AND OEANGE-BLOSSQM& 
 
 told her story, it was not tor " baby's sake " that she 
 grew fond of the girl she had persecuted and hated ; it 
 was for her own. She made her submission with queenly 
 grace. She asked Violet to return to Ryver swell, and let 
 the past be forgotten. 
 
 Before they had been three days together, Violet took 
 'leart of grace. 
 
 u Lady Ryvers," she said, " I want to ask a great favor 
 ^f you ; so great a favor is it that, if you grant it, not only 
 :vill the past be obliterated from my mind, but I shall be so 
 grateful for it that the whole devotion of my life will never 
 repay you." 
 
 " I should hardly have thought that it was in my power 
 lo grant you a favor," replied the dowager. " What is it, 
 Violet ? " 
 
 " Let Monica marry Paul Caerlyon," she said boldly. 
 
 The dowager looked as though the sky had fallen ab her 
 feet. Then Violet told Monica's love-story. She shed many 
 tears over it, and at last, slowly, reluctantly, but in the end 
 graciously, the dowager yielded ; and Monica's joy wa as 
 great as her sorrow had been. 
 
 Paul was invited to Ry verswell ; and nothing would 
 please Lord Ryvers until the family from Ingleshaw had 
 been asked too ; and then followed such a triumphal 
 home-coming as has seldom been witnessed. How the 
 people cheered when they saw the little heir and his 
 beautiful young mother ! How they talked afterward of 
 " the string of carriages ! " Lord and Lady Ryvers were 
 in the first, with the dowager and Monica. Then came 
 the Earl and Countess of Lester ; then Mr. and Mrs. Car- 
 stone. Paul Caerlyon and Oscar Carstone rode. There 
 was such cheering and feasting, such merriment and 
 revelry, that the day is still spoken of as one to be r& 
 oiembered. 
 
 So long as they lived, Lord Ryvers did everything in his 
 power to show his gratitude to the millionaire and his 
 wife. He introduced them everywhere, and he spoke so 
 highly of them that every one was anxious to know them ; 
 and in that way he amply repaid his obligations to them. 
 Oscar made a grand match he married the daughter of an 
 impoverished earl, of whom his parents stood greatly in 
 e during the remainder of their lives. 
 
 Violet, kad.y Ryvers, took courage and wrote to he* 
 
AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 9K 
 
 Auiio Alice, telling her of the birth of her little t 3on^ but 
 N Mis* Atherton was Spartan to the last. She never an 
 swered the letter, and remains to this day quite indiffer 
 ent to the fact that her niece is one of the most beautiful, 
 most popular and admired women in England, admired 
 all the more for the little bursts of radicalism in which 
 she indulges. Since she is the mother of the future 
 Lord of Ryverswell, she cannot consistently dislike the 
 aristocracy. 
 
 Beautiful Violet had found amid her orange-blossoms 
 many thorns. She has none now ; the crown of perfect 
 wiiehoodj, perfect motherhood, sits on her queenly head, 
 Ail the romance of her youth goes with her through life, 
 aii.1 she never tires of telling her children how her husband 
 wooed her in disguise and married her for love. 
 
 There was just one shadow to the sunny picture. Miss 
 Marr went away, passed out of their lives. It was bettet 
 for all three, she said, that they should not meet. She 
 jfoade her home in Italy ; but her home was desolate, 
 just as her heart was empty, because she loved the wror 
 Han. 
 
 Violet, Lady Hyvers, laughs gayly now as she 
 1 Better a wreath of orange-blossom* with Liddoii 
 uo orange-blossom* 
 
MRS. WINSLOW'S 
 SOOTHING SYRVP 
 
 A Word to Mothers 
 
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 Hence mothers can jenjoy the home cir- 
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 humor and mirth than GEORGE W. PECK, 
 author of " Peck's Bad Boy and His Pa." 
 We are fortunate to be able to offer, 
 within everyone's reach, three of his latest 
 books. The titles are 
 
 Peck's Uncle Ike, Peck's Sunbeams, 
 Peck's Red-Headed Boy. 
 
 CLOTH Binding, 6Oc., Postpaid. 
 PAPER Binding, 3Oc., Postpaid. 
 
 By failing to procure any one of these 
 books you lose an opportunity to " laugh 
 and grow fat/ 1 When you get one you 
 will order the others. 
 
 Send for our Illustrated Catalogue of Books. 
 
 HURST & CO,, Publishers, 395-399 Broadway, New York. 
 
 A, ,.,,... ... .,.,.... .. ... , 
 
# Elegant Gift Books j 
 
 Hurst's 
 
 Presentation 
 
 Series 
 
 A Distinctive Coyer Design 
 on Each Book 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL series of Young People's Books to 
 suit the tastes of the most fastidious. The pub- 
 lishers consider themselves fortunate in being able to 
 offer such a marvelous line of choice subjects, made up 
 into attractive presentation volumes. Large type, fine 
 heavy paper, numerous pictures in black, inserted with 
 six lithographic reproductions in ten colors by eminent 
 artists, bound in extra English cloth, with three ink and 
 gold effects. 
 
 Price, postpaid, $1.00 per volume. 
 
 Alice in V ^nderland and Through 
 
 the Looking-Glass. 
 Andersen's Fairy Tales. 
 Arabian Nights. 
 Black Beauty. 
 Child's History of England. 
 Grimm's Fairy Tales. 
 Gulliver's Travels. 
 Helen's Babies. 
 Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare. 
 
 Mother Goose, Complete. 
 Palm r Cox's Fairy Book. 
 Peck's Uncle T' :e md the 
 
 Red- 
 
 Headed Boy. 
 Pilgrim's Progress. 
 Robinson Crusoe. 
 Swiss Family Robinson. 
 Tales from Scott f ~i Young People. 
 Tom Brown's School Days. 
 Uncle Tom's Cabin. 
 
 Books sure to be a delight to every boy and girl who 
 becomes the proud possessor of any or all of them. 
 
 Write for our Complete Catalogue. 
 
 HURST & CO.. Publishers, 395-399 Broadway, New York. 
 
1 
 
YB 731 19 
 
 958938 
 
 ZT 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY