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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
BY
BERTHA M. CLAY
pscale of '
Charlotte Mary Breme
CHICAGO
A
DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.
PUBLISHERS
CHICAGO
DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.
407-429 DEARBORN STREET
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
CHAPTER I
"SUNSHINE and roses!" cried Diana Cameron. "What
more is needed to make one perfectly happy?"
She was answered by a chorus of laughter.
"One is easily made happy at seventeen," observed
Lady Colwyn.
"I hope," said Sir Royal good-humoredly, "that sun-
shine and roses will always content you;" while Rich-
ard Marche looked into the beautiful tace of the young
girl and said slowly:
"You have much to learn, Di."
"I do not want to learn anything," she replied with
a dauntless air. "I should not care to study philosophy,
and be as serenely indifferent to everything as you are,
Sir Royal. I should not like to learn to be practical
and analyze every detail as you do, Rich. I prefer my
own ignorance."
"What you call ignorance," said Lady Colwyn, “is
at your age wisdom."
"Wisdom must come from experience," remarked
Sir Royal; "and that you cannot hope to gain for the
next ten years.
"Much wisdom maketh a man's hair gray," sung
Richard Marche.
"Yours will keep its color for some years yet, Rich,"
1007454
6
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
retorted Diana; and Richard bowed his thanks for the
inference.
It was the afternoon of a fair June day; the air was
so warm and fragrant that none of the speakers cared
to go indoors. A more striking group would have been
difficult to find. The very soul of it, as she was the
center of attraction everywhere, was Diana Cameron,
laughter and heiress of Peter Cameron of Ferness,
one of the wealthiest and most successful men of his
time. She was a girl with a sweet but somewhat im-
perious face and a faultless figure. The arched neck,
sloping shoulders and grace of limb, the carriage and
noble contour of the head, the classical profile, the
line of beauty from the broad, low brow to the white
throat, recalled the far-famed Diana of the Louvre.
Miss Cameron had an uncommon face; it was dainty
and refined, exquisite in coloring, with eyes of the deep.
est, darkest blue, veiled by long, dark lashes. Her hair,
fine, soft and fair, broke into rings and rippling waves
that defied all control. Her hands, of which she was
proud, were beautifully formed, and her shapely arms.
were white and wax-like. She had perfect taste in
dress and the gowns she wore seemed always of a fash-
ion suitable only to herself. On this evening, as she
stood amid her friends, her elegantly fitting dress was
simply perfection. She wore no ornaments except a
few lilies of the valley. A girl more fresh and charm-
ing it would have been almost impossible to find; but
the expression of her face, at once gracious, sweet and
proud, nevertheless puzzled those who did not know
her. She had the air of one accustomed to command
rather than obey; nobility of soul shone from the blue
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
1
eyes, yet there were suspicious lines about the beauti-
ful mouth indicative of scorn if aught should call it
forth. Diana Cameron, belle of the county, one of the
loveliest girls in England, blessed with a sweet, sunny
temper, endowed with a brilliant intellect, vivid fancy,
keen wit and an artistic soul, was undeniably
ite both of nature and of fortune.
"I have had a battle royal to-day, Lady Colwyn," she
said, with a little musical laugh. "Hughes, our head-
gardener, has ideas of his own, as have I; and to-day
we came into collision."
"I have often expected that event," observed Rich-
ard Marche.
"Which won?" asked Sir Royal, briefly.
"I did," she replied; "but another such victory would
cost me dear. I want white hyacinths for the center
of the beds on the lawn next spring. He said they
were colorless he preferred something more pro-
nounced. He told me that he had lived fifteen years
in the service of his Grace the Duke of Colonsay, and
no one had ever called his taste in question before."
"It is not often, Queen Diana, that your subjects
rebel," said Sir Royal.
"No," she allowed with a merry little laugh. "I am
amazed at times when I hear people speak of the
trouble they have in managing a household. I have
little or none. Hughes is my most rebellious subject.",
"If I were a subject of yours, I should never rebel,"
exclaimed Sir Royal.
"And if I were one, I should do nothing but rebel,"
declared Richard Marche.
"You must tear yourself away from your beloved
1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
sunshine and roses," Lady Colwyn observed at this
point; "the dressing-bell will soon ring."
;
"People ought not to trouble about dinner on such
lovely days as this," objected Diana, with a lingering
look at the roses.
Sir Royal and Richard laughed.
"So think not I," said Richard. "And you, Lady
Colwyn?"
"I agree with Diana," she replied. "It is hard to
leave the roses. How sweet and beautiful they are
this year!"
"I think the rose-garden is the prettiest spot at
Ferness," Sir Royal remarked.
This rare rose-garden had been planned by Diana
Cameron and she was proud of its loveliness. It was
protected from cold winds by dense masses of hollies
and chestnut trees. A white marble fountain and a
few graceful statues gleamed from among the roses.
For those who loved the queen of flowers the place was
a paradise. Every kind of a rose found a home there;
but Diana loved the old-fashioned ones best-the
damask rose with its dark loveliness, the cabbage-rose
with its luscious perfume, the maiden's blush with its
dainty color, the moss-rose with its mystical veil, the
white rose, fairest emblem of innocence, the Gloire de
Dijon with its rich yellow hues. There were
There were count-
l'ess varieties, from the humblest rose that grew to the
latest product of high cultivation. Strangers were
seldom, if ever, taken thither. The little group with
Miss Cameron now were her most intimate friends-
Lady Colwyn, of Colwyn Hall, who loved her with a
warm, motherly affection, Sir Royal West, a man past
Kdy
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
++
his first youth, owner of the neighboring estate of West-
water, and Richard Marche, called by courtesy her
cousin, although he was related to her only in the third
or fourth degree. These three composed the heiress's
court, and one or other was almost invariably with
her.
It was with something like a sigh, after a few min-
utes' silence, that she held out her little jeweled watch
to them.
"It is time to go indoors," she said. "You are stay-
ing to dine, Lady Colwyn? I am so glad!"
If the desire of Lady Colwyn's heart could have been
granted she would have stayed at Ferness altogether.
"It is my turn, Diana, to escort you," said Richard
Marche. "I am growing jealous of Sir Royal.'
"Dear Sir Royal!" cried the heiress; and she turned
to him a face full of bright, kindly regard-eyes shin-
ing with kindness, lips sweet with smiles. Next to
her father, Diana Cameron esteemed Sir Royal more
highly than anyone on earth; but it was not, and
never would be, as a lover. She laid her hand on
Sir Royal's arm, and smiled
unconsciousness of inflicting pain. "You take care of
Lady Colwyn, Rich," she said; and her cousin obe-
diently followed her sweetly imperious command.
They wended their way amongst the roses, laughing
and talking carelessly, brightly, and happily.
on him with utter
"I wonder," said Diana, as they drew near the house,
"whether papa has returned."
"Where did you say he had gone?" asked Sir Royal.
"To Sir Grantley Tresham's," replied Miss Came
"He went yesterday morning."
ron.
11
$
10
SUNSHINE AND ROSES,
"How is it that you did not go with him?" asked
Sir Royal.
They were very anxious for me to do so; but I was
there on Tuesday, and I did not much care for some
of the people staying in the house. I did not like
Lady Scarsdale and her daughters."
'Why not?" inquired Richard Marche.
"They are not my style. They are proud and arro-
gant; and I did not like Lady Scarsdale's manner
cither to my father or myself."
She did not see the look, half of wonder half of dis-
may, exchanged between Lady Colwyn and Sir Royal.
"I thought the daughters were nice girls," said Sir
Royal carelessly; yet under the veil of those light
words there was no little suppressed anxiety.
"Good-bye to the sunshine and the roses!" cried the
beautiful young heiress, as she entered the house.
As she looked round she was all unconscious that
the brightest day of her life would close with the
setting of the sun. The following day was to bring
her news of a dinner party-one that would prove the
beginning of her troubles.
1
CHAPTER II
He was
begun life
of a
PETER CAMERON, the millionaire, could not be said
to belong to the class of self-made men.
neither vulgar nor uneducated, nor had he
with the proverbial sixpence. He was the son
respectable tradesman, who eventually became inter-
ested in some large ironworks, but, after a
short ex-
perience of the works and the business, had preferred
to enter the office of a stock-broker in London. It was
by dint, not of good luck or of good fortune, but of
patient industry and keen calculation that he had made
his enormous fortune. The first time that, by closely
watching the share-market, he, by buying and selling
at the right moment, realized twenty pounds, he was
bewildered by his good fortune. From that hour until
he became a millionaire and the owner of Ferness,
his keen judgment never failed him. People called
him lucky; but he was really only shrewd. He suc-
ceeded where others failed simply because he had a
thorough knowledge of the state of the home and for-
eign markets, and was thus enabled to buy and sell
with substantial profit. He studied foreign markets,
stocks and shares with
a perseverance and closeness
that could not but bring about good results.
the ladder of life.
So, slowly, carefully and successfully, he climbed
He allowed himself one luxury-he
He was content for many years,
married for love.
11
12
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
1
-en-
while his fortune accumulated, with a modest little
home in Holloway and no luxuries. The golden ball
went on rolling; his wife--a quiet, gentle woman
grossed in her household cares and thinking chiefly of
the comfort of her husband, never troubling herself
about his earnings or his income. They paid their
way, and were free from anxiety. At rare intervals
they had a little holiday and went to the seaside; and
at times she indulged in the comparative luxury of a
new dress, not having the faintest idea that while she
saved pennies her husband was accumulating thou-
sands of pounds.
He intended to tell her some day, and to purchase
a mansion for her to live in, and surround her with
luxuries. But, to the surprise of everyone, when he
had been married sixteen years a daughter was born
to him, and the gentle, patient mother died. That was
a terrible blow to him. He lived many years after his
wife; but the best part of his life was buried in the
grave of the fair-haired woman whom he had loved so
well. As his grief abated he found himself with a
new object in life-the welfare of his lovely little
daughter. He resolved to save for her; she would be a
wealthy heiress and she should be educated according
to her position. While she was still a little, lisping
child she was sent to one of the best schools in
England and from there she went to Paris to be "fin-
ished."
Untiring were her father's love and devotion. He
went to see her when she was fourteen years of age,
and he then determined not to live any longer with-
out her. He found her, at that age, beautiful, bright,
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
13
and intelligent. What was more than all to him, she
had the greatest possible love for himself. He talked
to her for a short time about her dead mother, and
asked her whether she would like to come home and
take her mother's place. The girl flung her arms
around his neck in an ecstasy of joy, and told him
that there was nothing would delight her so much.
"You will hear from me in a few months," he said;
and then he bade her farewell and returned home.
When Peter Cameron came to look into his affairs
and realize his fortune, he found that it amounted to
three millions sterling. He might have gone on add-
ing to his wealth, but, unlike the majority of his fel-
low men, he was content with the fortune he had al-
ready secured. He had nothing to do in life now but
devote himself to his daughter.
He spent some time in looking over a number of
estates offered for sale, and at last decided on Ferness,
a magnificent place in Devonshire. He was more than
well pleased with his purchase, and at once had such
alterations made as seemed necessary.
necessary. Wherever it
was possible to place a large window in lieu of a
small one, he did so, for he dearly prized the two
great advantages of light and air.
He added every
modern improvement and luxury. In the whole of
England there was no mansion more sumptuously com-
plete than Ferness Court; and all was managed with-
out detracting in the least from the picturesque beauty
of the place. Money was no object to Peter Cam-
eron, and he intrusted the decoration and furnishing
of his palatial residence to the hands of a well-known
firm, and, when all was accomplished-pictures,
14
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
statuary, and flowers in their destined places, and
everything arranged for her reception-he brought his.
daughter home. The magnificence of the house and
the beauty of the grounds astonished her.
"I had no idea," she said to her father, as they
drove through the park, "that Ferness was so exten-
sive or so beautiful."
When they stood in the great entrance hall, he
turned to her and tenderly embraced her.
"Welcome home, Diana!" he said.
"This is yours,
now and forever. You are not only my daughter, but
you are heiress of Ferness. At my death all this will
be yours;" and by a wave of the hand he indicated the
noble mansion and the extensive grounds surround-
ing it.
She was old enough to be deeply impressed by his
words. All hers! This magnificent mansion, on
which a fortune had already been expended, this grand
estate, all hers! From the moment in which she
heard those words Diana Cameron ceased to be a
school-girl and became a woman.
Many people said Peter Cameron had made a mis
take in placing so young a girl at the head of his es
tablishment. He did not think so. He said that, had
she remained at school twenty years longer, she could
have learned no more. She could speak French and
German fluently: she could draw, paint, and sing;
indeed, he considered that the most important part of
her training--the home-education-had now to begin.
SHEWEY
Diana Cameron was by no means dismayed at the
prospect before her. On the morning after she
reached home she went over the house. She carefully
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
15
noted the elegance, size, and number of the rooms,
and the superb works of art which filled them. She
went to the picture gallery, the contents of which
were worth a king's ransom. She inspected the suite
of rooms prepared for herself; they were fitted with
every luxury and in the most exquisite taste. She took
down the number of servants, and tried to understand
the duties of each. She had a lengthy interview with
Mrs. Seldon, the housekeeper, a worthy person who
had seen better days, and on whose shoulders the real
responsibility of the household rested.
In two days from the time she entered Ferness
Court Diana Cameron laughingly told her father that
she was mistress of the whole position; and in very
truth she was. No one ever thought of disputing an
order that she gave, or even evading a suggestion; she
was obeyed implicitly, readily, and cheerfully. She
found herself mistress of everything that a girl's heart
could desire. Her pretty Parisian maid Susanne was
an adept; she had an expensive and elegant wardrobe;
her jewel-cases were filled to repletion; she had a pony-
carriage with a pair of ponies; she had a perfect rid-
ing-hack-in fact, she had every luxury that taste
could devise or money procure.
&
She was fortunate even in her friends. Lady Col-
wyn, who was a widow in the prime of life, and by
no means disinclined for a second marriage, became
her chief friend and counselor. Her ladyship, perhaps
through having no children of her own, was exceed-
ingly fond of young people; and for Diana she had
an honest, true affection. For some months good-nat-
ured Lady Colwyn had entertained a faint hope that
16
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
the millionaire himself might think of a second wife.
She dressed herself for him, and brought all the artil-
lery of her somewhat passé charms to bear upon him;
but she had very soon the good sense to see that it
was all in vain, and to content herself with being on
the most friendly terms possible. Diana was warmly
attached to her, and in any difficulty went at
Lady Colwyn for help or advice. Mr. Cameron was
delighted that his daughter should have so useful and
so charming a friend.
once to
Their neighbor, Sir Royal West, from the moment
he had first seen Diana, a bright, lively girl of fifteen,
fearless and outspoken, had literally worshiped her.
He was the happy possessor of an extensive estate
called Westwater. His lands adjoined those of Mr.
Cameron, and the two gentlemen were excellent friends.
Sir Royal had never married; but somewhere far back
in his life lay a buried romance. He was a handsome
man, trusty and generous-"truest friend and noblest
foe."
Richard Marche was the only son of a favorite cous-
in of Peter Cameron, who had married unhappily, and
dying young, had left this one child, whom Peter Cam-
eron had adopted. He told the young man frankly
that he must not look forward to a handsome legacy in
the future, but would have to work hard for his living;
and Richard was quite content. He lived at Ferness;
but his was no idle life. The estate was large, and
Richard Marche did the work of steward or agent. He,
too, worshiped Diana, and would have given his life
for her. His was scarcely a lover's affection; but, of
all the blessings that fell to the lot of Diana Cameron
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
17
none perhaps surpassed this young fellow's honest,
unselfish devotion.
Such were Diana's three friends. As they all stood
in the rose garden at Ferness, little dreamed she or
they how their friendship for her would be tested
and proved.
CHAPTER III
PETER CAMERON had succeeded perfectly in all his
ambitious projects, and for many months after his
daughter reached home they lived without a cloud to
darken the perpetual brightness of their daily life.
Diana was undoubtedly the belle of the county; and
she gave the most delightful balls and parties. Her
archery fetes, her picnics, her garden parties, were
perfect and, to her father's surprise she could order a
dinner that would satisfy the most fastidious con-
noisseur.
Then fell the first shadow. The Duke and Duchess
of Stone, the great country magnates par excellence,
gave a grand ball, to which Mr. Cameron and his
daughter were not invited. He felt the slight severely.
Sir Royal and Lady Colwyn both went, while he,
the envied owner of three millions of money, was left
out in the cold. On talking the matter over with Sir
Royal, he realized that money was not everything. It
had bought him Ferness; it had surrounded him with
every conceivable luxury; but it could not purchase his
entrée into the society he coveted; and from the hour
in which he made that discovery Peter Cameron was
a changed man. He had declined an offer of knight-
hood made to him after some grand civic ceremony;;
now he wondered if it would have availed him. He
consulted his oracle Sir Royal, from whom he learned
18
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
19
that a new title was as useless as a newly made fortune.
"What will gain me admittance into this charmed
circle?" he asked.
And Sir Royal told him that aristocratic connections
were all that he required.
"How am I to get them?" said Mr. Cameron; and
Sir Royal could not help smiling at the utter simplicity
of the millionaire.
The question became of paramount interest in his
life.
He had money, he had everything but the entrée into
the society for which alone he craved, and until he had
that there would be no further happiness for him. He
persuaded himself that it was for Diana's sake rather
than his own. Diana, with her exquisite beauty, her
splendid dowry, her brilliant charms, ought to have
the entrée everywhere, and that she was not invited to
the duchess' ball annoyed him beyond expression.
When summer came round again, and the duke and
duchess returned to Stonedale, they gave a series of
summer fetes; but still no invitation was sent to the
beautiful young heiress of Ferness. Again Mr. Cam-
eron sought the friendly advice of his oracle.
"How is it, Sir Royal?" he asked. "It cannot be
difference of position. I know that last week the duch-
ess called on Mrs. Herondale, and I know equally for
a fact that she has not five hundred a year, or any-
thing like it."
"No," replied Sir Royal; "but she belongs to one
of the oldest families in Devonshire. I am not quite
sure, but I think I have heard that both the duke and
duchess have said they must draw the line somewhere,
1
20
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
and they draw it at people who have been in trade.
"Then I can never cross the line," said Peter Cam-
eron; "and it will be hopeless to try."
Peter Cameron was fairly miserable. He wished that
he had chosen a different county, or that he had made
an effort to secure an introduction to the duke. That
his daughter, the heiress of Ferness, should not re-
ceive one of the invitations so widely distributed was
intolerable.
"
Sir Royal's idea had been a perfectly correct one:
The duke and duchess "drew the line" at trade. Rumors
of Mr. Cameron's wealth and of Diana's beauty had
reached them, but without avail; the barrier of ex-
clusiveness was not removed.
At first Mr. Cameron had merely felt annoyance;
afterward the subject became an intolerable grievance;
it was strange that so sensible a man should care for
what was really but a trifle. He had plenty of friends
-estimable friends-but he was not happy because
the Duke of Stone did not bow to him and the Duch-
ess of Stone did not invite his daughter to her fetes;
and it was this grievance which caused the real trag-
edy of their lives.
-
In the spring of the following year the duke and
duchess had spent the Easter holidays at Stonedale,
and had once more given grand entertainments to the
élite of the county, excluding Mr. Cameron and his
daughter. Among the visitors at Stonedale were Lady
Scarsdale and her two daughters, who, when the fam
ily left Stonedale, accepted an invitation from Lady
Tresham of Tresham Park to remain with her for a
month. Whatever the Duke and Duchess of Stone-
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
21
might think, Sir Grantley and Lady Tresham had both
been pleased and proud to make the millionaire's ac
quaintance, and to rank him amongst their friends.
As soon
as Lady Scarsdale and her daughters ar-
rived, Sir Grantley sent out invitations for a dinner-
party, including the master of Ferness and his beau-
tiful young daughter. The invitations were accepted,
and it was at Tresham Park that Diana Cameron had
met and learned to dislike Lady Scarsdale.
W
Lady Scarsdale was the eldest daughter of an in-
poverished Irish earl, and possessed all the beauty and
vivacity which distinguished so many of her country-
women. At the age of eighteen she had been very
glad to leave the earl, her father, the countess, her
mother, and the old .castle in Ireland, to marry a
wealthy English gentleman, Sir Stanhope Scarsdale.
Even in her marriage misfortune pursued her; the
Scarsdale estates were all strictly entailed, and she
had no son. But Sir Stanhope had made ample pro-
vision for his wife and daughters. The money was in-
vested in a London bank, one that Sir Stanhope believed
to be as safe as the Bank of England. But Sir Stan-
hope died while his daughters were children, and the
bank in which their money was invested failed. Lady
Scarsdale had nothing to live upon except a small
sum coming to her from her marriage settlement. How
she managed to exist was a mystery; how she educated
and brought out her daughters was a still greater mys-
tery; but she did both. She had a bijou house in
Mayfair, where she gave, during the season, one or two
little parties, at which only the creme de la creme were
present; for she was, though incomprehensibly so tr
SUNCHINE AND ROSES
many, 2 ady co the very first fashion. Those who did
not like her feared her; and between those who liked
and those who feared her she was very popular. Lady
Scarsdale was still very handsome, with dark eyes,
dark hair, and a peach-like complexion, and she dressed
with exquisite taste. She was welcome at all country
houses, for she had studied the great art of making
herself agreeable. She was invaluable in charades and
private theatricals, and was simply a treasure in a dull
house on a rainy day. She played an excellent game
of billiards, and was quite au courant on all topics of
interest; she shone in repartee; and, though she could
tell a good story in the most piquant fashion imagina-
ble, she never spoke ill-naturedly or talked scandal of
anyone. So that Lady Scarsdale was welcome every-
where. Perhaps the solution of the mystery as to how
she lived, lay in the fact of her spending nine months
out of the twelve in the houses of her friends.
Sir Grantley and Lady Tresham were quite new ac-
quaintances. They had met Lady Scarsdale at Stone-
dale, and good-natured Lady Tresham was touched
by the fashionable lady's longing for country air.
"Nothing," Lady Scarsdale had said, "has ever done
me so much good as this pure Devonshire air. Unfor-
tunately the dear duchess must return to town, or I
*. should have had the opportunity of enjoying it for a
week or two longer."
As a matter of course Lady Tresham fell into the
snare, and begged that Lady Scarsdale would honor
her by visiting Tresham Park, which, after a slight
discussion with her two daughters, she consented to do.
One of the first persons she heard mentioned there was
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
23
Peter Cameron, the millionaire. She was impressed by
his enormous wealth. Three millions of money!
"I should like," she sighed to herself, "to have the
spending of it."
She was much interested, too, in the history of his
daughter, the beautiful young heiress, and amused
when she heard how deeply Mr. Cameron resented
the duke's want of cordiality. She asked many ques-
tions about Ferness and its owner.
"He dines with us on Tuesday," said Lady Tresham,
"and will bring his daughter with him;" and Lady
Scarsdale did not forget the words.
Diana Cameron liked the Treshams personally, and
was in her turn a great favorite with them. She always
enjoyed her visits to the Park. "Just a quiet dinner,
with a little dance for the young people afterwards,"
as Lady Tresham usually said to her friends.
Diana looked very charming on that May day when
she went with her father to Tresham. She looked so
lovely in an exquisite dress of dead-white silk, with
plain gold ornaments, that Lady Scarsdale was struck
with her.
"How much is given to some," she mentally reflect-
ed, "and how little to others! This girl has beauty
and money; I wish my daughters had either. The
duchess has made a mistake in ignoring Miss Cam-
eron."
She was most gracious when introduced to the man
worth three millions of money. He was quite different
from what she had expected to find him. There was
nothing vulgar or showy about him; he was well edu
cated and fairly presentable.
24
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
Lady Tresham had arranged that Mr. Cameron ·
should take Lady Scarsdale in to dinner. She laid the
tips of her delicately gloved hand on his arm with a
confiding smile. She read his strength and his weak-
ness, read both as though she had studied him for
years. There was a royal road to his heart, and she
knew it.
"I was hardly prepared," she said, softly, "to meet
a girl so charming and graceful as your daughter, Mr.
Cameron."
He bowed, so delighted that his face flushed crim-
son at the compliment.
Lady Scarsdale herself was looking her best in pur-
ple velvet and diamonds, and Mr. Cameron was flat-
tered by her attention.
"I cannot think," said the shrewd, worldly woman,
"how I missed her at Stonedale."
"My daughter was not at Stonedale," he replied,
coldly.
"I mean at the ball," she added.
"My daughter was not at the ball," said honest Peter
Cameron, who knew nothing of woman's wiles.
"So much the worst for the ball," remarked Lady
Scarsdale; "she would have been its chief ornament.
I was there, and I saw no one half so beautiful.'
From that moment Peter Cameron considered Lady
Scarsdale the most clever, sensible, reasonable woman
he knew.
2
**
"You are a friend of the Duchess of Stone?" he in-
terrogated.
"Yes," she replied, with a smile that said a thou-
sand things. "We have been dear friends for a number
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
25
L
of years.
eron?"
"I do not," was the uncompromising reply.
And then Lady Scarsdale knew that the game she
intended to play was in ner own hands.
Do you not know her yourself, Mr. Cam-
CHAPTER IV
A DINNER party at Tresham Park was always a great
success. Sir Grantley and Lady Tresham had but one
thought-the comfort of their guests.
of their guests. There was no
formality in the drawing-room when dinner was over.
There were music and cards for those who preferred
such amusements, and the long French windows were
opened wide for those who chose to step out and en-
joy the peaceful beauty of the moonlit garden.
Lady Scarsdale, who was in one of her most amiable.
moods, looked very handsome and stately as she
stood against the long, open window, the light flash…
ing on her diamonds and on her rich, gleaming dress.
!
06
When the gentlemen entered the room, with a prac
ticed turn of the head she looked for Peter Cameron.
An almost imperceptible smile brought him to her side.
You have been talking politics," she said, in her
blandest manner. "Whenever gentlemen leave the din-
ner-table looking very much in earnest and very de-
termined, I know they have been talking politics.
May I ask whether you are Liberal or Conservative?"
"I am an ardent Liberal," he replied.
"And I am a Conservative," she rejoined, laughingly.
"We must agree to differ. How beautiful the moon
is to-night! Mr. Cameron, I should very much like
to speak to you for a few minutes, if you are disen-
gaged."
•
26
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
27
វ
"You do me great honor," said Mr. Cameron, with
me politest bow he could make.
"We will walk round the lawn," said Lady Scars-
dale, with a smile.
Mr. Cameron, while just a little surprised, was de-
lighted, for great ladies, as a rule, had not taken
much notice of him.
of him. How beautiful this woman
looked, he thought, her gems flashing in the moon-
light, her eyes bright as her diamonds. What a del-
icate fragrance came from the flowers she carried! As
he looked at her he thought of the gentle, fair-haired
woman so long dead. How many years was it since
she had clung to his arm in the white moonlight? But
what a different world, what novel surroundings were
here! His gentle wife would have been quite out of
place amid so much splendor and wealth.
Lady Scarsdale wondered a little at the dreamy ex-
pression of her companion's honest face.
"I hope," she said, gently, "that you will not think
me intrusive, but I was struck not so much by what
you said as by the tone of your voice when you were
alluding to the Duchess of Stone. If you will forgive
me, I should like to speak to you about the matter. I
take the greatest interest in you and-need I add?-
your beautiful daughter."
"You are very kind, Lady Scarsdale," he replied,
somewhat astonished at the announcement of this
fashionable lady.
"I am quite sure," she said, "that there has been
some mistake-that the duchess would never have
passed over your daughter in her invitations if she
had seen her.'
28
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
K
"I have been told," he answered somewhat stiffly,
"that the duke and duchess, in dispensing their hos-
pitality, draw the line rather rigidly. I am not
ashamed of my origin, Lady Scarsdale, I assure you.
Lady Scarsdale laughed.
"There are grades and grades," she said. "I re-
peat that I am quite sure there has been a mistake,
for, if the duchess had ever seen Miss Cameron, she
would-she must-admire her. You must allow me to
remedy the mistake by introducing your daughter and
yourself to the Duchess of Stone when she comes to
Stonedale."
"You are very kind to think of such a thing," he re-
plied, half hesitating; "but-”
"I understand," she interrupted-"you have scru-
ples. But you need have none. The duchess is a very
noble woman, and always ready to admit when she
has made a mistake. Your daughter would grace any
position. You see, Mr. Cameron, I understand per-
fectly the science of social politics. I know and real-
ize the fact that, beautiful and wealthy as your daugh-
ter is, unless she is known to the duke and duchess
she is excluded from the inner circle. The entrée to
Stonedale is, in fact, the entrée to the upper circles,
in this county at least, and certainly in town also.
The Duchess of Stone is very popular in town; she is
also a great favorite with royalty. Of course it is of
the utmost importance to your daughter-I see that
plainly."
"You are very good to take so
us," replied Mr. Cameron. "As
deep an interest in
regards myself I feel
nothing but a sense of annoyance; for my daughter,
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
29
exclusion from Stonedale means much more. I do not
like to see the pained expression on her face when
she hears, as she does continually, of the gayeties
there, to which all her friends are invited; but she is
so brave and true that she comes to me always with
a smiling face, and says, 'Never mind, father, you are
worth all the dukes and duchesses in the world.' I
must say it would be a great satisfaction to me to see
her in what I must call her rightful place. You are so
kind and so sensible, my dear Lady Scarsdale, that it
is a pleasure to me to talk with you. I consider it a
great advantage to be able to hear your opinion on
the matter; and I am sure you will realize the awkward
position in which this exclusion places me. For in-
stance," he continued, "only a few weeks since I was
at a great political meeting at Edenwood and, for a
time, I saw and felt that I was the leading man pres-
ent. The people all looked up to me; my words car-
ried weight. I suppose you will laugh at me, Lady
Scarsdale, but I must own that I felt a sensation of
pride when I heard people say, "That is Mr. Cameron
of Ferness, one of the richest men in England, a man
of mark.' They listened to me, and my influence would
have prevailed but that shortly afterward the Duke of
Stone came on to the platform. He shook hands with
most of the gentlemen present, but not with myself;
and from that moment I could see that I lost caste. I
could hardly blame the people; the duke is a popular
man, and to be unknown to him is simply to be no-
body. You understand, Lady Scarsdale?"
"I both understand and sympathize," she replied,
warmly. "The duke is one of the kindest-hearted men
30
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
A
living. You acknowledge that the duke and duchess
must 'draw the line' somewhere. But to every rule
there is an exception and I am quite sure that, when
the matter is laid before them, they will see it in its
right light. Excuse me if I ask another question:
Have you no friends or relatives who could procure
for you the introduction into society that you need?"
"No," he replied; "I have not a friend or relative'
who could be of use to me in that respect."
"I hope," said Lady Scarsdale with great cordiality,
"you will never say that after to-night. I shall be.
only too pleased to offer my services for your daugh-
ter's sake. I shall make it my especial business to lay
this matter before the duchess; and I am quite sure of
one thing: The duke and duchess may draw the line
somewhat rigidly; but if they knew you and Miss
Cameron, they would never draw it at either of you."
The flattering words were spoken in the sweetest of
voices, with the sweetest smiles, and in Lady Scars-
dale's best 'manner. Peter Cameron was more than
delighted; he had never perhaps been so happy. Here
was this fashionable lady, a friend of the powerful.
duchess, a visitor at Stonedale, taking the greatest
possible interest in himself and his daughter. Great
ladies whom he had previously met had eagerly sought
subscriptions to charities, and had been glad to util-
ize his influence in various ways; but none of them
had ever seemed in the least degree interested in him-
self or his daughter personally. Lady Scarsdale
seemed to him the very embodiment of worldly wis-
dom; she understood matters at once. She looked very
handsome too in the brilliant moonlight, as she said,
with something like a sigh:
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
31
"These are difficult times in which which we live.
Money alone is useless; good birth alone is useless.
The right thing is a happy combination ol both; but
so few people possess it." She almost longed to tell
the millionaire that the bane of her life was the want
of money. "You may rely upon me, Mr. Cameron,"
she added, as they turned to re-enter the house. "I
think Miss Cameron simply one of the loveliest girls.
I have ever met. Properly introduced, I am con-
vinced she will make quite a sensation.”
"Do you really think so?" he asked delightedly.
“I do indeed," she replied; "and I may tell you that
I am considered an excellent judge. If your daughter
is what I may call properly launched in society, her
success will be assured.
""
"You are so kind, Lady Scarsdale, so gracious,
that I am almost emboldened to ask if you could help
me," Peter Cameron said hesitatingly.
"If I can I will," she promised; "you may be quite
sure of that. But we will discuss the matter at greater
length another time. How long has your daughter left
school?"
"Two years," answered Mr. Cameron.
"And since then-pardon me, it is the fault of your
good nature if I presume-since then has she had the
advantage of living with a perfectly trained woman of
the world?"
"No; she has lived alone with me," he said, feeling
for the first time somewhat ashamed of the fact. But
he added hastily, "Lady Colwyn has almost taken
charge of her."
Lady Scarsdale broke into a musical laugh.
32
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"Lady Colwyn is a kind, motherly woman," she re-
marked; "but she knows no more of the training re-
quired by a fashionable young lady of these days than
I know how to fashion the manners of a Chinese.
She is a hundred years behind the age. How strange
it is! I shall believe for the future in my own insight;
for it struck me, when I saw Miss Cameron, that she
lacked the most essential of all training, that of a wo-
man of the world. She is so unconventional."
"Is that a fault?" asked Peter Cameron.
Her ladyship raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"A fault, my dear Mr. Cameron!" she replied. "It
is an unpardonable one in the eyes of society."
"Why, Lady Colwyn told me Diana's greatest charm.
was her freedom from all affectation and convention-
ality!"
A shrug of the shoulders was more expressive than
any words.
"I can only say that Lady Cowlyn is a most excel-
lent and amiable woman, but behind the age.
"Yes," thought her ladyship, as she sunk into a lux-
urious easy chair, "I have done an excellent night's
work. I have left him with two very clear impres-
sions. One is that his daughter is not quite perfec-
tion, the other that he absolutely needs the help of
someone moving in good society to win a place for
him in the great world of fashion."
Such was the opening scene of a melodrama the
end of which no one could foresee.
}
}
"
•
CHAPTER V
THE TWO ideas became fixed in Mr. Cameron's mind.
There must be something wanting in the education
of his daughter. Personally he could discover no
fault, no flaw; to him she was perfection; but this
kind-hearted lady of fashion had evidently seen some-
thing or other that she did not quite approve. It was
true that Diana was free of speech-more free than
the generality of girls-that is, she said what sha
thought, expressing her opinions frankly; but tha,
Lady Colwyn and Sir Royal had always assured him,
was one of her greatest charms. Diana's ideas and
opinions were always original; she rarely gave utter-
ance to commonplaces. Sir Royal said he would rath-
er hear her talk than read a book; and Lady Colwyn
admired her freshness of ideas and the freedom with
which she expressed them. But Lady Scarsdale said
such unconventionality was unpardonable in the eyes
of the world. Who was right?
-
As they drove home that evening Peter Cameron
studied his young daughter more keenly and more at-
tentively than he had ever done before. He failed to
see any evidence of want of training. The pure light
of truth shone in her blue eyes, and the sweet lips
could utter no word that did not befit them.
He watched her when she reached home, and, ob-
serving every movement, scrutinizing every word, he
83
34
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
•
admired her more than ever. But what if he had
made a mistake, if he had taken her from school too
young, if he had intrusted to her too much authority
and power? Perhaps he ought to have had some el-
derly fashionable lady residing with them; but then
all the freedom of their happy lives would have been
spoiled. He was not quite at his ease, for, as she was
one of the most beautiful and the wealthiest, so he
wished her to be one of the most accomplished and
highly trained girls in England.
"Have I spoiled you, Queen Diana?" he asked her
that same evening, when she went to bid him good
night.
"I do not think so," she replied.
"They tell me you are unconventional, Diana."
"I hope so," she said. "Why, papa, you would not
have me think and speak by rule, weigh my words,
and never do anything that I had not seen someone
else do before me, would you?"
“No, no," he cried hastily; "nothing of that kind,
Diana!"
"Who told you that I was unconventional?" she in-
quired. "I know by instinct that it was Lady Scars-
dale. I saw her looking at me once or twice while I
was talking with Sir Grantley. Would you wish me to
be like her daughters, papa? They speak and move by
rule; they would never dream of giving utterance to an
original thought. But they make up for it when their
mother is not present. They are by no means con-
ventional then. Now I say everything I think to you,
papa. You like that best, do you not?"
He was as wax in her hands.
$
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
35
"Certainly that is best," he replied. "Then I have
not spoiled you, my Queen Diana?"
es
"No," she replied; "I shall bear a great deal of
spoiling yet."
Still in his own mind Peter Cameron was not quite
happy. His ambition was growing apace, and he
yearned for a lofty place in the fashionable world for
his daughter. He began to think that neither his money
nor his magnificent home was of any value to him un-
iess he obtained the desire of his heart-the "hall-
mark" of society. He thought a great deal, too, that
evening, of Lady Scarsdale. If he could secure the
friendship of such a woman for Diana, he would be
content.
He watched his daughter all the next day, but he
failed to detect anything that was not perfectly correct
and natural in her; and he felt that he should not love
her half so well if she were other than she had hither-
to been. He was astonished when, as he was gazing
fixedly at her, she looked up at him with a smile and
said:
"How intently you are watching me, papa! Have
you made any fresh discoveries as to my character?”
"No, you are always the same to me," he replied.
"By the bye, Diana, we must have a dinner-party-
Sir Grantley and Lady Tresham, Lady Scarsdale and
her daughters, Lady Colwyn and Sir Royal-and you
must give us one of your most recherché dinners.
should like Lady Scarsdale to see Ferness."
I
If Diana had yielded to the impulse of the moment
she would have said, "I do not like Lady Scarsdale,
papa." She would have said it frankly enough to an
36
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
one else; but she seldom, if ever, opposed any wish
that her father expressed.
"Do you hear, Diana?" he asked.
"Yes; and I will obey, papa. Would you like a few
young people and a little dance 'afterward,' as Lady
Tresham says?"
"No, not this time. I want Lady Scarsdale to see
Ferness at its best. I should like to show her the
house after dinner."
Diana looked fearlessly into her father's face as she
asked:
"Why?"
"It is in her power to render me a great service, my
dear," he replied, "and I want her to see the kind of
people we are."
|
"What service can she render you, papa?" asked the
girl. "You require services from no one.
Peter Cameron's face flushed. After all, he did not
care that the clear eyes of his daughter should fathom
an ambition that even in his own heart he acknowl-
edged to be a mean one.
"I can hardly explain, Diana," he said slowly; "but
she is intimate with people whom I wish to know,
and she can procure me introductions I desire."
Diana made no reply. She worshiped her father as
one of the noblest of men. The only trait in his char-
acter that she disliked was his ambition—his desire
to make a place for himself among the great ones of
the great world; that to her was the one blemish in
an otherwise perfect character.
;/
They had argued about it often, but never agreed.
"I almost wish, papa," Diana would say, "that 1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
37
}
+
could look at matters as you do. In what way is the
Duke of Stone your superior?"
"We cannot disregard what the world thinks, Dian,"
he would reply.
But his daughter would object.
"Any right-minded person," she would say, "would
consider it an honor to know you. You have been in-
dustrious, persevering, generous, and patient all your
life; you have amassed a large fortune by dint of your
own hard work, skill, and talent; you have made for
yourself a home second to none in England; and I
should esteem it a greater honor to know you than
the Duke of Stone.
"The world does not think so," Peter Cameron
would answer.
And his daughter would look half-sadly at him.
"The world!" she would say contemptuously. "Papa,
a man like you should rise superior to the fleeting
and ever-changing opinions of the world. You have
made your own place in it; let all men pay homage to
you, and, if they will not pay you homage where you
stand do without it. Why, papa"-her lovely eyes
brightening--"I would rather ten thousand times.
rather-be your daughter than the daughter of the
Duke of Stone!"
On this point alone father and child disagreed.
Peter Cameron, now that he was master of a vast fort-
une, longed for privileges that money could not buy,
and would have purchased them at any cost had that
been possible; whereas his daughter despised them.
She had a sense of sturdy independence which her
father lacked. If Diana Cameron had had her own
38
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
}
way, they would never have made an advance to any-
one. Those who wanted her father and herself might
seek them out; those who did not might leave them
alone. She was just as sensitive in one respect as her
father was in another. All mention of the Duke of
Stone was distasteful to her. Her father thought that
she looked distressed when the balls and festivities at
Stonedale were discussed in her presence; but he mis-
took the expression of her face. It was rather scorn
than pain that darkened her eyes and curled her lip.
Of her own free will Diana Cameron would not have
raised her little finger to be at once installed as the
most intimate friend the duchess had. Was not she
Miss Cameron, heiress of Ferness, quite as worthy of
honor and respect as the duchess herself? She knew
this longing for the duke's acquaintance was as a thorn
in her father's side, the one small cloud that dimmed
the perfect sunshine of his life. For his sake she
would have been glad had the duke consented to rec-
ognize him; as for herself, she was quite satisfied with
the existing state of affairs. Consequently her father's
proposition with regard to Lady Scarsdale was not re-
ceived with any eagerness.
After a few minutes' silence she said:
"Papa, will you tell me what introductions Lady
Scarsdale has promised you?”
?
He colored as his daughter asked the question,
knowing that his answer could not fail to displease
her.
"One that I have long wished for, Dian," he
answered. "Lady Scarsdale is a personal friend of
the duchess—"
1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
39
?
"But do you not see that you will lay yourself un-
der obliagtions to Lady Scarsdale?" she asked impa-
tiently.
"Oh, no! Lady Scarsdale says the whole affair has
been a mistake; she is quite sure it has. Remember, I
should like everything to be seen at its best on Tues-
day. I think we had better say Tuesday, Dian."
"Just as you wish, papa," she answered. Then she
drew nearer to him, put her arm around his neck and
kissed his kind, dear face. "Papa," she said, "I wish
you did not care so much about this tiresome duke."
"I cannot help it, Dian. You do not see the im-
portance of the matter.'
"Indeed I do not," she said. "To me it seems of
no importance whatever. Oh, papa, do pause before
you lay yourself under an obligation to this lady, who
seems, I think, just a little capricious! I wish-please
bear with me, papa-I do wish that you did not care
quite so much for grand people. Why should you seek
the society of those who evidently do not care for
you? You are so independent in everything else that I
cannot comprehend your running after persons above
you as you do."
"Dian," cried Peter Cameron, "you must not speak
in that fashion to me!"
¡
"You are so good
"I cannot help it, papa," she said.
and true that I cannot bear to see
you. Do not be angry with me.
Lady Scarsdale says; wait until the duke asks for an
introduction to you. He will do so in time."
a single fault in
Never mind what
For two or three minutes Peter Cameron was silent,
little dreaming that he had reached the turning point
of his life; then he said:
1
40
SUNSHINE AND ROSEB
ง
"I think it must be as I wish, Diana. I may never
have another such chance. Send the invitations for
Tuesday."
And his daughter felt that it was useless to say
more.
But the invitation was not at once accepted. Lady
Scarsdale was too diplomatic to be hurried; so it was
early in June before the dinner party was arranged to
come off, and it was to take place on the morrow of.
the day on which Diana Cameron entertained her
friends in the rose-garden. She did not allude to it,
for the simple reason that the subject was utterly dis-
tasteful to her; but her faithful friends had already
a vague idea that there was something between Lady
Scarsdale and Mr. Cameron which did not quite meet
with her approval. Rumor said so, and rumor makes
shrewd guesses, at times.
1
CHAPTER VI
To her great surprise, Diana Cameron found herself
more anxious with respect to this dinner-party than
she had ever been as to any other. She examined the
menu, she consulted the housekeeper, she made sug-
gestions as to the arrangement of the flowers on the ta-
ble. Mr. Cameron was just as anxious in his way, but
it was from a very different cause. Diana's one desire
was to show Lady Scarsdale how well they could do
without her; Mr. Cameron's great wish was to impress
her with his wealth and magnificence. Though not of
the ordinary class of self-made men, he was undoubt-
edly proud of his wealth, and not disinclined to display
it. He rejoiced now that Lady Scarsdale would see
for herself what manner of man the duke had ignoreȧ;
while Diana flattered herself that, when Lady Scarsdale
saw Ferness, she would understand that they did not
require her patronage.
It was the morning of the day appointed for the
dinner-party, and Miss Cameron's faithful counselor,
Sir Royal, had ridden over from Westwater to see if
he could be of any service to her. The young heiress
was on the lawn talking to her friends under the
spreading boughs of a stately cedar, her exquisite face
flushed into loveliest bloom by the fresh morning air,
her eyes star-like in their brightness, her lips wreathed
with smiles.
-
41
42
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"You are early, Sir Royal," she said. "We have but
just finished breakfast, and I have come to feed my
doves. Will you take some coffee?"
1
/
"No, thanks. You will be amused, Diana, when I
tell you; but the fact is I drove over so early simply
to see you.
I have been dreaming about you all
night long."
"If I am to believe all you tell me, Sir Royal, that
is often the case;" and her merry laugh rung out mu-
sically.
1
1
"Yes, your face haunts me by night as well as by
day; but last night my dreams were far from pleasant
ones. It seemed to me that you were always in danger
-that some subtle danger was hanging over you;
yet 1 could never discover what it was or how to help
you. It was a disagreeable dream, which came to me
every time I closed my eyes, and made me uneasy and
anxious about you; so I rode over early that I might
be quite sure there was no cause for my disquietude. "
Diana laughed heartily.
"No," she declared; "there is no cause. I am well
and happy, Sir Royal."
W
His eyes dwelt with half despairing fondness on her
face; the mere dream of trouble in store for her had
utterly unnerved him. He remembered her always as
she stood that morning, in her fair loveliness, under
the drooping boughs of the old cedar. She had been
out gathering lilies and roses for the vases in her
room, and her white hands were filled with the sweet
blossoms. "A man might live and die," Sir Royal
thought, "for one so fair.
Suddenly her face clouded.
7
#
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
43
£
;
"You are right, after all," she said. "I am not as
happy as usual to-day. Papa's dinner-party is to come
off this evening, and the very thought of it is unpleas-
ant to me."
1
"You do not like Lady Scarsdale?"
****
"No-nor her daughters. I shall be glad when they
leave Tresham. Papa spends a great deal of time
there. He has an idea that Lady Scarsdale is a most
wonderful woman-that she is a queen of society,
and knows everything that the great world thinks
worth knowing. He fancies-poor papa!-that he
can get into society by her aid; but my opinion of her
is very different. She gives me the idea of an advent-
uress," added candid Diana, with flashing eyes.
Sir Royal looked somewhat startled.
"But, Diana, she is the daughter of an earl!" he ex-
claimed,
"And a very disreputable, broken-down earl he was,
according to all the stories told of him. I see nothing
to be proud of in that. I should be far prouder of
being the daughter of a man like my father."
Sir Royal looked at her anxiously.
"Diana," he said, gently, "I have all the privileges
of an old friend. Do you know what your 'rock
ahead' in life will be?"
"No, indeed, Sir Royal," she answered.
"Pride," he said—"but pride of no common kind. It
would perhaps be better for you if you were proud of
your father's wealth or position, but you are not."
"No," she replied, smiling, "I am not. Yet you are
right, Sir Royal; I am proud."
"You are not vain of your beauty either," he con-
专
​¦
44
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
!
tinued, "as some girls like you would be. But in this
instance, in all that concerns Lady Scarsdale, your
pride shows itself. You have set yourself against her
-will accept no favor, no grace, at her hands, simply
because the pride that is innate in you rises against
her. Is it not so?"
She laughed and blushed.
"How well you know me, Sir Royal," she said.
"When I hear you talk I could faney I was listening
to the teachings of my own heart.
"You are an anomaly to me," he declared. "To your
inferiors you are sweetness and gentleness itself; but
I fancy Lady Scarsdale will see more of the opposite
side of your character. I cannot reconcile your sweet-
ness to some people, Diana, with your haughty pride
to others."."
"You speak fearlessly," she said.
"You know that I care for you more than for any-
one else in the world," he returned; "I speak by the
right that my love gives me. I can imagine that in
certain circumstances, Diana, you would become
obstinate, immovable; you would torture yourself for
the sake of your pride; you would sacrifice your life
rather than give in."
"Do you really think," she asked frankly, "that I
am as bad as that?"
"I am afraid so," he answered candidly.
"But, Sir Royal," she said, as she toyed with a love.
ly rose, "while I acknowledge the perfect truth of all
that you have said, pray tell me why you have chosen
this glorious morning for your lecture?",
"Because I have been dreaming all night of some
}
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
45
}
售
​6
subtle danger awaiting you; and all the way hither I
have been thinking of you, of your character and tem-
perament, of the difficulties you would probably meet
with, and I came to the conclusion that your 'rock
ahead' would be pride.'
"And you wish to teach me humility?" she said,
with a slight tremor of the lips.
"Who am I that I should teach you?" he answered
gently; then, after a pause: "But this very day,
Dian, you will have an opportunity of checking your
pride. Be gracious to Lady Scarsdale and her
daughters. That will be your first lesson in discipline.
For I really think that up to the present time you
have had your own way in everything; you have always
done just as you liked. Is it not so, Dian?"
"Yes," she replied frankly. "It will certainly be a
novelty for me to control my likes and dislikes."
"Such is the discipline of life," he remarked; "and
that we must all undergo."
r
She was silent for a few minutes, then looking up to
nim she said:
"Thank you, Sir Royal. That was a nice little lect-
ure; and you are a true friend. I will do my best.
I will begin my life's discipline by being gracious and
cordial to Lady Scarsdale. I wonder," she continued,
with a sigh, "if I should have been
a very different
girl if anyone had ever taken the trouble to scold me."
"You are essentially one of those people easy to
lead but difficult to drive, according to the familiar
phrase," said Sir Royal.
"No one has ever driven me, or has ever tried to
do so," she remarked simply.
1
A
46
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"Put the time wi" doubtless come when someone
will," he said. We cannot expect to be led gently all
our lives; we are nearly all driven sooner or later—
and that is what you should look forward to, Dian.
"Who will ever attempt to rule, or to manage, or
to force me?" she asked. "Not papa, I am sure, and
not you."
"No," he replied, with a laugh that had some little
bitterness in it: "I should not have the courage. But
you see, Dian, I am a helpless slave-you govern me
with a look. One glance from your eyes, and it is all
over with me."
91
"Still you are an excellent mentor," she said. "You
have given me a lecture; all my glances did not pre-
vent that."
'It was for your good, Dian. And now I must go.
I am riding to Edenwood-have you any commis-
sions?"
None," she replied. "But, Sir Royal, you will
come early? I will be good; but I dread being alone
with those women.
10
"You will have Lady Colwyn to help you," he said.
"Lady Colwyn!" cried Diana. "They will extinguish
her completely in three minutes!"
"It will take less time than that to extinguish me,
he laughed. "Still, I will come early, Dian, and will
help you as much as I possibly can."
"You are always good to me, Sir Royal," she said,
gratefully, "good, kind and patient. I do not know
what I should do without you.
11
"1
"I am quite content to give my whole life to you
and never to ask for any return, Dian
*G
Fo
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
47
t
"It is hardly tai said the girl, "that you should
give everyining and ask nothing, What a pity you
did not love someone who would have loved you in
return!"
1
"I am content," he replied. "You were a child when
I saw you first-only fifteen-a lovely, imperious child,
and my heart went out to you, Dian, as you stood
here under the spreading boughs of the old cedar and
the sun touched your hair with gold. A child now; but
one day she will be a woman and a queen, I said to
myself; and I have been quite content to love you
from that day to this without any reward. You were
an imperious child, dear; you must not be an imperi-
Dus woman."
"I will try not to be," she said, with graceful hu-
mility. "But am I really imperious?"
"Just a little sa, at times," he answered.
"I will try never to be so again, Sir Royal," she
said. "You have found many faults in me this morn-
ing, and yet it is not long since you said I was per-
fection."
"May I tell you a secret?" he asked.
"Yes, as many as you will," she replied.
"Then, Dian, I must frankly own that I love even
your faults.”
"That is very wrong," she answered laughingly.
"It is true," he said. "And now I must go. In
olden days you might have been burned as a witch, for
I have been trying to leave for the last half-hour, and,
have not been able to tear myself away."
"That does not prove that I am a witch," she re-
marked, her face beaming with smiles.
}
48
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
}
"It proves that I am bewitched," he replied. "Now
good-bye, Dian; and I will be with you this evening.
He kissed the flowers that she held and the white
hands that held them.
"I wish," said Diana, with a gentle sigh, "that the
party were over. I do not look forward to it with any
pleasure.
"Bear in mind that it is your first lesson in disci-
pline," he replied.
"Yes-in life's discipline," she said.
00
How little did either of them guess what a terrible
discipline it would be!
In the after-years Sir Royal dwelt long and often on
that scene. How lightly the word "discipline" had
fallen from her lips! How his thoughts went back to
the girlish figure, the bright face, the sun-touched
hair, the white hands filled with flowers!
The time came when the memory of that picture filled
his eyes with burning tears; but it never lost its sweet
ness for him.
!
í s
?
;
CHAPTER VII
THE dinner over which Diana had expended so much
thought was a great success, a triumph of culinary
art. The young heiress of Ferness gave a sigh of relief
when it was at an end. She did not know exactly
what she had dreaded; she simply felt a sense of re-
lief when it was over. She knew from the expression
of her father's face that he was pleased. Remember-
ing Sir Royal's lecture on pride, she had exerted her-
self to be pleasant and gracious. He had arrived early;
and Diana had completed her toilet in good time to
insure a few minutes' quiet tete-a-tete with him. She
had taken more than usual pains with her toilet, and
looked the very personification of youth and grace.
Her dress was of the richest white lace, worn over
pale blue silk. Her ornaments were a suite of pearls.
Sir Royal looked admiringly at her as she entered the
room.
"Equipped for conquest, Dian?" he said.
"No," she replied; "I do not want to make any
conquest, but simply to hold my own."
They had a few minutes' conversation before the
arrivals took place. Mr. Cameron had joined them
when Lady Scarsdale and her daughters appeared. Her
ladyship looked very stately and handsome in a dress
of pale amber brocade richly embroidered with white
satin flowers, and a head-dress of point-lace and dia
49
50
•
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
1
monds Carrying a superb plumed fan, she sailed into
the room with the air of an empress, smiling, bowing
with an undulating grace that was delightful to Peter
Cameron and hateful to Diana.
1
"So charmed, so delighted to visit Ferness at last!.
The fates had seemed to be against it."
She allowed her admiration, as her eyes rested on
Diana, to be plainly seen-a proceeding which delight-
ed the master of the house but angered his daughter.
Then she made way for her two daughters, the girls
whom from instinct Diana disliked. Miss Scarsdale,
who rejoiced in the quaint name of Thea, came first.
She was not handsome, but there was something strik-
ing and distinguished about her. She had a good fig-
ure and fine features, brilliant dark eyes and dark hair;
but her face was marred by its cold, haughty expres-
sion. Yet it was a true face; one felt that she whose it
was could never be false. The second daughter was
of a very different type. She was not so tall as her
sister, and had a fairy-like grace and lightness. Lady
Scarsdale was very proud of the bright loveliness of
Evadne, and had great hopes of her marrying well and
securing a brilliant position in the world. As is often
the case with parents, Lady Scarsdale made a great
mistake in her reading of the characters of her two
children. She did not see that beneath a mask of fairy-
like loveliness was concealed a depth of deceit and .
falsity. Evadne Scarsdale was one of those to whom
truth was all but impossible; it never came naturally
to her.
Yet her face was so fair, the lips from which
the false words fell were so lovely, the deep violet
eyes were so full of childlike faith and innocence, that
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
51
no one ever doubted her. Lady Scarsdale believed im-
plicitly in her, The only person who read her char-
acter correctly was her sister Thea.
Thea Scarsdale bowed coidly. She looked proud
and stately, neither particularly beautiful nor very
amiable. She wore a dress of pale lemon-colored silk
-which had evidently done duty before-half covered
with black lace with deep-red roses.
Evadne, dressed in white muslin trimmed with ferr
leaves, shone with a brilliancy second only to the queen-
ly dignity and grace of Diana. Honey-sweet were the
words that fell from her lips; loving and tender was
her gaze as she looked around her.
"What a charming girl-how sweet, how fair, how
amiable!" said most people when they saw Evadne.
It was only Thea who knew that the persons on
whom Evadne lavished the sweetest smiles and the
kindliest words were those upon whom she privately
bestowed her most caustic remarks. To ordinary peo-
ple her face was fair and frank; but a keen reader of
character would have noticed a restlessness and want'
of sincerity in the beautiful eyes which belied the
outward show of innocence and ingenuousness.
The dinner passed off most satisfactorily, and Peter
Cameron was rejoiced to see that Lady Scarsdale was
impressed with the magnificence around her, the mass-
ive silver, the delicate glass, the recherche dishes, the
choice wines. Nothing was wanting, no luxury was
missing. Lady Scarsdale was far too well bred to
praise openly, but she insinuated such delicate and
graceful compliments, she hinted such exquisite flat-
tery, that Peter Cameron's cup of happiness was full
to overflowing.
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"What a woman!" he said to himself, over and over
again. "She is as gracious as she is charming."
It was in the drawing-room that Diana's discipline
was to be first tested. Lady Colwyn had some faint
ideas that her beautiful young friend was in danger
was in the camp of the enemy; but she was powerless
to help her. She could only sit and look at her with
sympathizing eyes.
the view
As the five ladies entered the drawing-room, the fad-
ing western light shone in through the, long French
windows. They looked out on a broad stone terrace,
from which embraced one of the loveliest
scenes in England-luxuriant gardens, park-like
grounds, and the blue waters of the restless sea be-
yond. The terrace with its lovely fountains, its grace-
ful statues surrounded by great masses of scarlet blos-
soms, its luxurious garden-chairs, was a source of
pride to Peter Cameron.
Lady Scarsdale sunk into the luxurious depths of a
velvet chair, careful that her dress should fall in artis-
tic folds, that the light of the wax candles
candles should
shine on her diamonds, that the languid use of her
jeweled fan should indicate fatigue. Lady Colwyn,
who had given the whole matter up as hopeless, re-
tired to her favorite place. Thea went to one of the
open windows, and stood intently watching the steady
roll of the distant sea. Evadne had seated herself not
far from a mirror, where now and again she could
steal a glance at her own fair face.
With a smile that would have dazzled a man, but
would have set any woman upon her guard, Lady
Scarsdale invited Diana to take a seat by her side.
I
}
3
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
53
}
2
"My dear Miss Cameron," she began, “I am so full
"I
of amazement that I cannot help giving expression to
it. How have you learned-you so young-to manage
this superb establishment?"
"I find it easy enough," answered Diana. "We have
certain rules, and everyone obeys them.."
'But it is such a responsibility for one of your
years," said her ladyship, pityingly. "I am sure that
neither of my girls could undertake it.'
BO
"Probably not," allowed candid Diana. "I was very
young when I began."
"It seems quite a burden to lay upon such young
shoulders," said Lady Scarsdale, even more pityingly.
'It is not a burden to me," declared Diana.
"You must find an immense deal to do. You have
hardly leisure, I should imagine, for the enjoyments
of life.'
"No girl enjoys life more," said Diana.
"Indeed! I am well pleased to hear it. I should have
thought you would have liked some help-someone
to take the heavy responsibility from you, and leave
you more time for recreation."
"No, I should not like that at all," replied Diana
quickly; and a gleam of light that meant much shot
from her ladyship's eyes.
Chacun a son gout! At your age I should have
thought housekeeping an intolerable bore," said Lady
Scarsdale.
40
/
"I do not call presiding over an establishment like
this housekeeping," returned Diana proudly. "I must
see if your daughters are amusing themselves, Lady
Scarsdale," she added, rising from her seat, for she
had no desire to continue the conversation.
$4
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
She was annoyed, though she could hardly tell why;
and, as she walked down the long room with the grace
and dignity of a young queen, Lady Scarsdale looked
after her saying to herself:
"It will be war, I see-war a l'outrance; but I shall
win."
Diana went first to Miss Thea Scarsdale, who was still
looking out intently toward the sea. There was no
sweet smile or honeyed speech here. Thea's face
bore no trace of gratification or pleasure, and her man
ner was as frigid as her mother's had been warm.
"I am afraid," said Diana, "that you are dull. The
gentlemen are long over their wine to-day."
"Their return will not enliven me," was the ungra,
cious answer.
Miss Scarsdale could not allow it to be supposed
that Mr. Cameron, Sir Grantley, or Sir Royal had any
great interest for her, and she wished this to be un-
derstood beyond doubt by her hostess.
"I am sorry," said Diana stiffly, "that you find Fern.
ess so tedious;" and then she passed on.
Evadne, with her fair face and golden hair, sat look-
ing over some photographs. She looked up at Diana
with a sweet smile.
[
"Dear Miss Cameron," she said, "I sympathize with
you. You are anxious to entertain us and you find us
so difficult to amuse. The Duchess of Stone does not
make any attempt to amuse her guests-her lady
guests, I mean-after dinner. They wake up to new
life when the gentlemen appear. Mamma generally
sleeps during their absence."
At first it seemed to Diana that there was a sharp
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
55
sting hidden in this little speech; but, when she looked
at the face of the speaker, it was impossible to believe
it.
"I am one of those happy people," said Evadne,
"who can amuse themselves. You have some beautiful
photographs here."
"I am glad you are pleased with them," answered
Diana. "My father has had photographs of Ferness
taken from every point of view."
"Yes," said Evadne, with an air of sweet simplicity,
"I should imagine that he is very proud of it;" and
again Diana would have thought that there was veiled
insolence in her words but for the childish innocence
that shone in her face.
Then Evadne laid her hand on Diana's.
"It is a beautiful home," she said; "and you are a
queenly châtelaine. I am so glad to have made your
acquaintance. I shall always remember with pleasure
our visit to Stonedale, because we have met you."
"You are very kind," returned Diana, somewhat
surprised at these friendly overtures, and wondering if
she had misjudged the girl, after all.
Evadne laughed.
"Kind, you call it, Miss Cameron? I am kind to
myself in trying to secure your friendship. I hope we
shall always be good friends. I am given to great
likes and dislikes; are you?"
Diana, not prepared to discuss her own character
with a stranger, made some evasive reply. In her own
mind she was at a loss to know which she preferred-
the ungraciousness of Thea or the effusive frankness of
Evadne.
}
CHAPTER VIII
THE soft shadows fell more darkly outside, the rose-
clouds had given place to faint amber light, the
odors of rose and lily filled the night-air, the musical
ripple of the fountain could now be plainly heard.
Suddenly there was a display of animation among the
ladies. The gentlemen had at length returned. Lady
Scarsdale, still enjoying the comfort of her velvet
chair, was careful not to disarrange one fold of her
dress. She looked at Peter Cameron, and he went no
further, but took a seat by her side.
"What a pleasant evening you have given us," she
said. "The duchess has no room at Stonedale like
this. You cannot obtain a glimpse of the sea from
the windows there."
This was delicious flattery to the man who had
suffered so much annoyance from the duchess' slights.
"I should like to see your picture-gallery," contin-
ued the fair lady, "I am fond of pictures."
"It will give me great pleasure to show you the
gallery," he said; "I have some rare pictures."
"So I have heard," she replied. "I do not care much
for the picture-gallery at Stonedale."
.
After that expression of opinion, Peter Cameron
would have done anything on earth for her. He would
have been ashamed to plead guilty to such meanness,
but in truth nothing delighted him so much as depre-
56
I
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
57
ciation of the Duke and Duchess of Stone. And Lady
Scarsdale knew it well. She lauded his pictures with
a judicious amount of praise, she commended his taste.
in respect of the decoration of his house, and insinuated.
such pleasant things generally that he was delighted
with himself and the fair lady who honored him with
her presence.
"This is the blessing of knowing an appreciative
woman," he thought to himself.
He took Lady Scarsdale through the handsome.
rooms; he pointed out to her the costly and mag-
nificent works of art to be found in extravagant profu-
sion throughout the vast mansion.
"I should like to show you the conservatory," he
said, at length. "It is considered the finest in the
county, and certainly it is one of the largest."
Here Lady Scarsdale was genuinely astonished. In
all the course of her visiting she had seen nothing
like this. It was, she said, a little Crystal Palace in its
way. Beneath the grand dome were choice tropical
trees; fountains played amongst the flowers and foli-
age; prettily arranged seats were placed near them. No
expense had been spared to make this what it was,
one of the finest conservatories in England. Lady
Scarsdale was charmed, and she felt that here she
might praise without stint or measure. Peter Cameron
had two hobbies-one was the conservatory, the other
his stone terrace-and clever Lady Scarsdale was not
long in discovering them.
Mr. Cameron left her seated near one of the fount-
ains while he went in search of a particular flower that
he wished her to see, and Lady Scarsdale looked
around her with a self-satisfied smile.
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ROSE
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
•
•
"Yes," she said to herself; "nothing could be bet
ter. He has money; I have birth. I could be quite con-
tent with my lot in life as the wife of Peter Cameron,
the millionaire. I can be his wife if I will. I have
but to insinuate a few trifling matters against the duke
and duchess, and my success is assured. Yet not quite!
My best weapon will be consideration for his daugh-
ter's welfare. His daughter is, after all, the weak
point."
"I think this the most peculiar flower I have ever
seen," said Mr. Cameron, suddenly appearing at her
side with a remarkable orchid in his hand. "It is
difficult to distinguish it from a butterfly."
She looked at it, as he thought, intently, but in
reality her mind was engrossed in the one idea that
she would marry him and become mistress of Ferness.
She recovered herself and talked to him for a short
time about the flower that was so like a butterfly, then
with subtle sweetness turned the conversation to him"
self.
Peter Cameron had never before felt the full force
of such fascination. The dim light of the conservatory,
the odor of the flowers, the handsome face of the state-
ly woman before him, her lustrous jewels, her exquisite
„dress, her caressing voice and manner-all told upon
him; there was a spell upon him which he could not
resist. Moreover, this lady who talked so familiarly
of the most distinguished people in the land, always
spoke very kindly of his daughter, and praised her
skill and management. Still, she half-pitied her. So
much responsibility, she pointed out, was a burden to
so young a girl. And then Peter Cameron suddenly
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
59
}
seemed to see things in a new light. He hac never
thought of that before.
Lady Scarsdale looked at him with her fine dark
eyes, a faint smile playing around her ruby lips.
"Ah, Mr. Cameron," she said, gently, "if you had
consulted your best interests. and your daughter's too,
you-you would have married again!"
"Married again!" The words came upon him with
such suddenness that for a moment he did not realize
their import. He had never thought of such a thing.
When he had buried his wife, he had buried his heart
in her grave, and had never even thought of giving her
a successor. He lived now for his daughter, as before
he had lived for his wife. The words seemed to shock
him.
"Marry again! I have never thought of such a thing,"
he said.
"I can imagine that," she replied. "But it is the only
reasonable step for a man left with a daughter like
yours.
'Marry again!" repeated Peter Cameron. "Do you
know, Lady Scarsdale, the idea never occurred to me?"
She laughed softly; and her laugh stirred his heart.
The spell grew more powerful.
"1
"That is because you are so true and faithful of
heart," she said; "but, for your daughter's sake, I think
it would have been better had you married someone
who could have been of use to you-one who could
have introduced her to the great world, and have done
all that money alone can never do. Do you not see?"
"I have never thought of it," he answered.
Lady Scarsdale rose from her seat, gracefully gath
бо
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
ered up her dress-train, and laid her hand on his arm.
"We must go back to the drawing-room; Diana will
think we are lost," she said.
But Peter Cameron made no reply, for his mind was
full of conflicting thoughts. "Marry again!" He could
not forget the words; they haunted him. Marry some
one who could be of use to the child he idolized,
some lady already within the charmed circle which so
rigorously excluded him and his! He wondered that
he had not thought about it before.
He had money;
but he wanted something more, and this was exactly
what he craved. If he could marry some high-born
lady of title, the only thing he lacked would be his.
If he were to marry again, why not marry someone
like Lady Scarsdale-indeed, why not Lady Scarsdale
herself? At the very thought Peter Cameron's face
flushed and his whole frame shook with suppressed
excitement. He had seen no one like her.
She was
handsome and clever, kind and sympathetic; she was
a prominent figure in the great world of fashion, and
her influence was equaled only by her high-born con-
nections. But of course it was impossible; he might
as soon think of marrying the Queen of England. Still,
at intervals, the thought returned to him, "Marry Lady
Scarsdale!"—and when it came a thrill ran through
him. Her ladyship saw that she had made the very
impression she desired, and was wise enough to leave
the rest to time. For the remainder of the evening she
talked brilliantly, and had, perhaps, never been seen
to greater advantage; but she said little more to the
master of Ferness. She knew from the lingering
glances at her face, by the sudden flush that overspread
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
61
his countenance when she caught the somewhat per-
plexed expression of his eyes, that he was thinking
of what she had said.
Diana, whose fine, open nature was free from the
faintest taint of suspiciousness, saw nothing to make
her uneasy; but those who loved her did. Lady Col-
wyn managed to secure five minutes with Sir Royal
before the party broke up, and, as she talked to him,
tears gathered in her eyes.
"How I wish," she cried, "that I were clever and
brilliant! Do you know, Sir Royal, until to-day I never
found out how stupid and helpless I really am?"
"You are the only person who could make such a
discovery, Lady Colwyn," said Sir Royal, for he had a
warm regard and respect for his kindly neighbor. "Why
do you accuse yourself in this fashion?"
"I only wish I were clever enough to foil her
scheme," she answered, somewhat vaguely; "but I am
not-I never shall be."
"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Sir Royal, with
a puzzled expression.
"Oh, Sir Royal, have you not seen it? I am sure
everyone must have remarked the flirting of that
woman with Mr. Cameron."
"You mean Lady Scarsdale?" he said. "Well, yes,
to tell the truth, I noticed it; but I did not think any-
one else had."
"I am miserable about it," cried Lady Colwyn.
"Diana is so noble herself that she never suspects any-
one; but I am sure Lady Scarsdale has set her cap at
Mr. Cameron; and men are so weak, so lamentably
weak!"
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"Mr. Cameron is not," he replied. "Besides, it is a
mere whim. A lady of fashion like Lady Scarsdale
would not marry Mr. Cameron, a man whose fortune,
large as it is, has been made by himself. And you
know he rather prides himself on being the son of a
tradesman."
1
Lady Colwyn looked at him, her eyes full of sur-
prise.
!
"Why, Sir Royal, I am more worldly-wise than
you! He is just the man she would marry.
Do you
not know that Lady, Scarsdale is exceedingly poor, and
that the way in which she and her daughters maintain
their position in society really puzzles her own friends?
She has high birth, an ancient name, high connections
-in fact, she has everything but money.
It is money
she wants; while Mr. Cameron lacks all she has, and
has money.
"Mr. Cameron would never think of marrying again,"
said Sir Royal. "He is too fond of Diana."
"But Lady Scarsdale is clever enough to
think that it is for Diana's good," sighed
wyn.
make him
Lady Col-
And Sir Royal stood aghast at the thought of so un-
desirable an event.
"It must be fancy, Lady Colwyn," he said, after a
few minutes' silence. "If Mr. Cameron had cared
about marrying again, he would have done so before
now."
t
"He has not met a Lady Scarsdale until now," re-
sponded Lady Colwyn, in desponding tones.
If the matter had not been so serious, Sir Royal
would have smiled at the wistful face of the speaker;
but he was thinking of Diana.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
63
"I cannot believe," he said suddenly, "that Mr. Cam-
eron will ever take such a step. It would be cruel to
Diana. She has been mistress of the house for so long
that it would be painful to ask her to make room for
another."
"Cruel or not, Sir Royal, you will see that he will
do it," declared Lady Colwyn, confidently. "I am
grieved for Diana." Grieved for that tall, splendid
young beauty who had queened it so royally over them
all! The word seemed out of place. "I have always
thought," said Lady Colwyn, "that a very large fortune
is a great mistake. Peter Cameron has three millions
of money, and his immense fortune has fired his am-
bition. He would have been happier and wiser had he
had less.'
11
**
Sa
But that part of the question did not interest Sir
Royal. His thoughts were concentrated on Diana, for
he knew how terrible such an event as her father's
marrying again would be to her.
"I shall hope against hope," he said. "Mr. Cameron
has always seemed to me a very kind and sensible
man.
"No man is sensible who is bitten with the pride of
life," affirmed Lady Colwyn; "and that is what has
happened to him."
Sir Royal was miserable for days after that conver-
He could not endure the thought that a cloud
sation.
should darken the sunshine of Diana's life.
CHAPTER IX
LADY SCARSDALE had decided. She was quite tired
of the struggle with splendid poverty, quite tired of
keeping up appearances, and of straining every nerve
to make both ends meet. She was tired of the cease-
less economy, the great self-restraint that the absence
of wealth imposed upon her. It was seldom that she
could indulge any whim, any wish of her own; and
she knew that no life was more hollow than hers. It
had happened to her more than once that, on leaving
grand country-houses where she had been the most
brilliant and popular guest, she had had great difficul
ty in finding money sufficient to fee the servants and
to pay the railway fare. She was tired of the struggle,
and longed with all her heart for wealth and its con-
comitant advantages. She longed for the entourage that
had once been hers-and surely here was her chance!
She had often thought that she would marry again;
but though she was admired and generally popular, no
one with rank and money had up to this time offered
her marriage-men looked askance at her two daugh-
ters. Now, however, it seemed as though there were
a turn of the tide.
"Three millions of money! I could be the reigning
queen of London society if I had the command of
that," she mused; and she decided that she would
have the command of it by marrying Peter Cameron.
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65
He was by no means a vulgar parvenu. There was
nothing perhaps in his appearance to be proud of, but
there was nothing of which she need be ashamed, and
to be mistress of that magnificent house one could tol-
erate a few drawbacks. She did not devote much time
to thinking of the young heiress Diana; she thought
principally of herself and her daughters.
Something that she said at parting induced Mr.
Cameron to visit her the next day. There was never a
greater triumph of art and diplomacy, of tact and cun-
ning, than the wooing of Lady Scarsdale. It was her
wooing to all intents and purposes. On some pretext
or other she saw Mr. Cameron daily, and she kept
faithfully to the line that she had laid down for her-
self. She always talked about his daughter, and of
the great advantage it would be if he married some
one who could introduce her into the most exclusive
society, adding what an excellent thing it would be
for Diana if she had someone to take the responsibil-
ity of that great household from her. He listened until
he believed. He did not know himself how far he
was in love with the handsome, gracious woman; but
he assured himself that his interest in her sprung
solely from a desire to benefit his daughter; that the
acquaintance would be a great advantage to Diana.
"It would be a capital thing for Diana," he often
said to himself. If he had examined his own heart
more closely, he would have found that he had fallen
in love with this charming but scheming woman.
The climax was reached one morning when he rode
over to Tresham to invite the whole party to a picnic.
Lady Tresham was engaged, and Lady Scarsdale re-
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1
1
ceived her visitor.
She led him on, as usual, to talk
about Diana; and Peter Cameron's infatuation for the
lady who took such an interest in his darling daughter
visibly increased.
"You must let Miss Cameron stay with us next sea-
son," she said. "We have not been to town this year.
Evadne did not seem well, and I was not equal to it."
In reality Lady Scarsdale had not been able to find
the necessary funds; the bijou house, the stalwart
footman, the hired brougham, were this year beyond
her reach. "Let her spend next summer with us." She
paused suddenly, and added, "I have often thought of
asking you, has Miss Cameron been presented?"
"No," he replied, "she has not."
"How is that?" and Lady Scarsdale seemed much
surprised. "Not presented?" she said. "That is great-
ly to be regretted."
"To tell you the truth, Lady Scarsdale," he answered,
his honest face flushing as he spoke, "I had a great
desire that she should be presented by the Duchess of
Stone. When I first came to the county, between two
and three years ago, every one told me that that would
be the proper course to pursue. I would have taken
a house in town for the season and indeed I would
have spared no expense, if the duchess had not avoided
When Diana makes her debut in society, I wish
her to do so under proper auspices."
us.
"You are right," said Lady Scarsdale; "but you
have placed your daughter in a very strange position.
Here you have a girl mistress of a magnificent estab-
lishment giving balls and entertainments, going to
others, acting indeed with the freedom and liberty
?
1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
67
generally accorded only to married women, and yet she
has never even been presented at court! You have
been ill advised, Mr. Cameron. You have made a
great mistake."
"I know nothing of the laws of etiquette of the up-
per classes," rejoined honest Peter Cameron. "I was
anxious to do everything for the best for my daughter,
and now it seems I have done wrong."
"It is not too late to remedy the mistake," she said,
and then there was a pause.
Her heart beat faster, and her handsome face paled
slightly. The thought of three millions of money,
however, sustained her. After all, she was only doing
what hundreds of other women would have done if
they had had the chance-trying to secure a good hus-
band for herself.
"If he does not speak now, he never will," was Lady
Scarsdale's mental comment.
"What is the remedy?" asked Peter Cameron, at
last.
"A very safe and pleasant one," said Lady Scars-
dale, smiling. "You should find a wife who would ac-
complish such things for you-one accustomed to the
ways of the fashionable world."
"But where could I find such a wife?" asked Peter
Cameron, with strange hesitation.
She looked at him with a smile that dazed him.
"That is a question I cannot answer," she said; "but
I do not think you would have much difficulty."
Another pause, one more embarrassing than the
last, and then Peter Cameron, in hesitating tones,
said:
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"Lady Scarsdale, would you condescend to be my
wife?"
He did not notice the swift paling of his compan-
ion's proud face or the sudden quiver of her lips. Had
she gained three millions of money, after all?
all? She
hardly thought of the man himself in her suppressed
joy at the prospect before her.
"I know," he continued, half proudly, half humbly,
'both my advantages and disadvantages. I say noth-
ing of love-you would hardly believe in that; but this
Į must say, that I admire and esteem you more than
ny other woman living, and I would do all in my
power to make you happy. Yet I hardly dare hope
›r expect that you will consent."
"It would be what the world calls a sensible mar-
iage," she said, thoughtfully. "You have money-I
onfess frankly that I have very little-and I have
ank. You could give your daughter a large fortune;
, could procure her admittance into the most exclusive
ircles in London. You must not be shocked if I say
andidly that a marriage between us would be the
very best thing that could happen for Miss Cameron."
"Then will you accept my proposal?" asked Mr.
Cameron, somewhat anxiously.
Of course it is a great sur-
"I cannot just at once.
prise to me."
He believed her, and for a moment was lost in ad-
niration of her disinterested conduct and advice.
"I must have time to think it over-and so must
you," added her ladyship.
"I am afraid if you take much time to consider it,
I shall lose my cause," he said, with a sigh. "I would
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
09
try to make you very happy, Lady Scarsdale; and in
ministering to your every desire I should reap un-
bounded happiness."
"Do you remember that I have two daughters?" she
asked. "They would be excellent companions for Diana,
it is true."
"It would be the best thing in the world for her,"
said the captivated millionaire. "You must not keep
me long in suspense, Lady Scarsdale."
"Three millions of money!" she repeated to herself
again and again; still she showed no signs of elation.
"I must have time," she urged. “It is a matter that
will require much thought. I need hardly say that I
should have to make some sacrifices."
"Three millions of money," seemed to ring through
her brain.
Peter Cameron told himself, first, how much he ad-
mired her, then, what an advantage the union would
be to Diana, and, lastly, how pleasant it would be to
hear “Mr. and Lady Cameron" announced! Of course,
as she was an earl's daughter, she would keep her title,
and the Duchess of Stone would no longer "draw the
line" at him then.
"I will take a few days to consider it, Mr. Cam-
eron," said her ladyship, with mild dignity. "I could
not make so great a change in my life without due
consideration-you understand that?”
"Yes, I understand perfectly," he replied.
She held out her hand to him with a queenly gest-
ure.
"You will forgive me if I say good-bye, Mr. Cameron.
I am a little agitated. Do not call again just yet; give
me time."
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Peter Cameron took the jeweled white hand held
out to him and kissed it; and as he rode home the sky
and the earth seemed to whirl round him. The making
of his vast fortune had been a source of wonder to
him; that he should marry an earl's daughter was a
still greater matter for wonder. He was too completely
lost in contemplating his future prospects even to
remember the dear dead wife, Diana's mother. Musing
to himself, he felt that this was the best social step
he had ever taken. "Mr. and Lady Cameron!" He
was delighted with the sound of the words. And what
a good thing the alliance would be for Diana! He saw
everything with Lady Scarsdale's eyes, and this wast
her favorite dream. He determined, like a wise man,
to say nothing about the offer he had made until he
knew the answer. That answer he would be sure to re-
ceive in the course of two or three days.
CHAPTER X
"THEA, Evadne, I wish to speak to you," said Lady
Scarsdale, "I have something very important to dis-
cuss with you. Come to my dressing-room.”
Lady Scarsdale's dressing-room was a large and
handsome one with a bay-window, the view from which
over the Edenwood hills was very fine.
Lady Scarsdale sank into the easy-chair and the
girls took possession of the sofa. The conference was
solemnly opened by her ladyship.
"I want to speak to you, my dear children," she
said, “on a most important matter. Some mothers
would act upon their own judgment in similar cir-
cumstances; I prefer to consult you."
Thea looked at her mother in surprise. Evadne
smiled to herself. She had guessed somewhat shrewdly
at her mother's plans all along; Thea had never
dreamed of them.
"I have received an offer of marriage," said Lady
Scarsdale. "If it had been an ordinary offer—that is,
from an ordinary person-I should not have given it a
second thought; but it is not. If I accept this offer, I
shall marry one of the richest men in England.
need not say that I allude to Mr. Cameron;" and Lady
Scarsdale affected to be occupied with the gold brace-
let that she wore on her wrist. She did not care just
at that moment to meet the gaze of either daughter.
I
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There was a brief pause, her ladyship hoping that
her daughters would interpose.
"Mr. Cameron!" said Thea, in strong accents of dis-
approval. "Oh, mamma, he is quite a plebeian!"
"Mr. Cameron!" cried Evadne. "Why, mamma, he
is worth three millions of money!"
Lady Scarsdale looked much relieved as these
more cheerful words fell on her ears.
"He is, indeed, my dear, and owner of a place.
which is really a palace. Now let us discuss the mat-
ter fairly, frankly, and in all its bearings."
"But, mamma," cried Thea, "it cannot be thought of!
There is that disagreeable girl, Diana."
"I shall manage her, Thea," her ladyship answered
coolly; "she need be no obstacle."
"I shall never like her," said Thea, decidedly.
"There will be time enough to discuss that," re-
joined her ladyship impatiently. "Let us first see how
the matter will affect ourselves."
"I would put up with a great many Dianas to live at
such a place as Ferness," declared Evadne, on whom
her mother smiled approvingly.
"Diana need not be considered in the matter," said
Lady Scarsdale; "we must think of ourselves. Our pov-
erty is so well known that I need not now mind allud-
ing to it.
We have everything but money. No, I am
wrong; we have no home. I cannot tell you both
how I long for a home-a home of our own; but, as
you know, of late years I have not been able to keep
one, and indeed, if it had not been for the invitations
of our friends we must have been shipwrecked long
ago I cannot call the London house home. It is
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
73.
stly a place of torture to me, for I can never find
money enough to meet the expenses. I did not tell
you, but last year, when I thought Lord Clarence was
very attentive to you, Evadne, I was compelled to sell
a diamond brooch that had been your father's birthday
gift to me. This year I could not manage matters at
all, and I let the house. Ah, my dear children," she
continued-and there was a ring almost of pathos in
her voice-"you do not know what I have endured in
order to keep you in the society that your birth entitles
you to enjoy. I have suffered humiliation upon hu-
miliation, and only last year I had to beg Madame
Lachose almost on my knees to let us have dresses.
She declared she would not until I had paid some-
thing on my account I had nothing wherewith to pay
her. No one is more insolent than Madame Lachose
when one owes her money.'
"I think the footman you engaged last year was
more insolent still," said Evadne. "I shall never
forget the expression of the man's face when he waited
at table."
"There was cause for the expression," declared Thea.
"We seldom had anything more than cold mutton or
cutlets. As for the claret, mamma, I was ashamed
when it was poured out into a glass; vinegar and water
would have been more palatable."
"It was only a shilling a bottle," murmured Evadne,
plaintively; "and you cannot expect much body or
flavor at that price.
"
"Hush, Evadne!" cried Lady Scarsdale. “I do not
like to hear such unseemly discussions."
Thea laughed a little bitterly.
•
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A
f
"What a sad thing it is to be poor! I did not
care to allude to it at the time, but I did feel the
insolence of those servants. How is it that servants,
above all other people, have so great a contempt for
poverty? Do you remember the cook telling us that,
if she remained in our house, she should forget all she
had ever learned?"
"I know the servants in the kitchen lived much bet-
ter than we did," remarked Evadne. "But it was the
hired brougham that I disliked most. Mamma, do
you remember the struggle for the last evening party-
how many trades-people declined to serve us? Three
or four of the best florists would not supply us with
flowers."
"The worst of it is that both flowers and wine have
not been paid for yet," said Lady Scarsdale, mourn-
fully. "I certainly could never give another party in
London whilst in my present position."
“And this man has three millions of money," put in
Evadne. "What a contrast!"
•
"I have not said more than I was compelled about
our financial embarrassments," continued Lady Scars-
dale. "No one can understand what torture it is to
be fashionable and poor. I have never hitherto been
able to see how the struggle would end. Of course I
had just a hope that you girls would marry well, and
be able to help me in your turn; and
hope which has sustained me.
that is the only
"After that it will be a strange thing if you marry
first, mamma!"
}
"Very strange!" murmured her ladyship. "Now,
what do you think, my dear children? Give me your
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
75
opinion frankly, honestly, and clearly. You see that
we shall have a magnificent home. I have heard that
Mr. Cameron has a fine stud of horses; I know his car-
riages are most luxurious. Nothing could be better than
the house itself-one might receive royalty in it-and
three millions of money is worth some consideration."
"There is the man to be taken into account,” said
Thea.
may
"Certainly. I admit that he is a drawback. So is
the girl. But I think myself that the advantages out-
weigh the disadvantages."
"The disadvantages mean Mr. Cameron and his
daughter," said Evadne.
"Yes," answered her ladyship, with some little re-
luctance.
"I suppose, mamma," continued Evadne, "that we
should go with you; as a matter of course, it would be
our home as well as yours?"
"Most certainly. Mr. Cameron is a man very easily
managed, and Ferness would be as much your home as
it now is Diana's."
"Could we invite our friends-the Capels and
Stuarts?"
"The more aristocratic the visitors the more welcome
they would be," said Lady Scarsdale.
Then Thea spoke:
"Mr. Cameron has three millions of money, mamma
-what will he do with it?"
"Diana will be his heiress," replied her mother-
"nothing, I suppose, can alter that. He would be sure,
however, to provide handsomely for me."
"Would he do anything for us, do you think, mam-
ma?" asked Thea.
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}
"I should think, my dear, that that would depend
entirely on how you both behaved to him," replied
Lady Scarsdale. "That is one of the matters I want
you to take into consideration. You have no dowry.
Never, I think, were girls well born so poor-the grand-
daughters of an earl without one shilling between them.
Of course, if I marry, my little income will be settled
on you jointly; but, as you know, it is very small. It
is not a fortune that would tempt anyone
anyone to
to marry
1
you."
“That is true," laughed Evadne, the sunshine glit-
tering on her golden hair.
“Mr. Cameron is a generous man," continued her
ladyship, "and if you please him, if you both behave
nicely to him, I have every reason to believe he
will give you each a handsome dowry."
"What should you call a handsome dowry, mamma?
Perhaps about twenty thousand pounds each?" que-
ried Evadne. "That would be nothing to him, and
everything to us."
"I should not wonder," allowed Lady Scarsdale.
"It would be a great thing for us," said Evadne
slowly. "It would altogether change the current of our
lives. I need think no more about the matter, mamma;
I say 'Yes' at once.
"
"We shall never like the girl Diana," remarked Thea,
coldly.
"I will manage Diana," declared her ladyship in ac-
cents so determined that something like a thrill of pity
went through what little heart Evadne possessed. She
knew what her mother's management could be like.
"What do you say, Thea?" asked Lady Scarsdale.
}
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
77
"I say 'Yes' to a bad alternative," replied Thea slow-
ly. "I wish you could have the mansion and the money
without the marriage."
"So do I," said Lady Scarsdale; "but that is impos-
sible. After all, it will be almost unalloyed gain-
from penury to affluence at one bound. I must, how-
ever, give you this piece of advice, my dear girls. Hold
your own. Mr. Cameron naturally looks up to me, and
has a great idea of my superiority; he must never be
allowed to abate that.'
"Never," agreed Evadne. "We must keep the fam-
ily well to the front. I can easily annihilate Diana by
a few references to our ancestors."
Suddenly Thea turned to her mother and sister.
"Do you not think," she asked, "that it will be
rather painful for Diana? She has been mistress for
some time, and we talk coolly of taking possession,
as though she did not exist."
"Each one must do the best for himself or herself,"
said Lady Scarsdale. “If Diana acknowledges the in-
evitable, as a sensible girl should and would do, it
will be an excellent arrangement for her. With my
introduction to society she will find the world a very
different one from that to which she has been accus-
tomed. Without me she cannot obtain the entrée to
the highest and most select circles.
"Yet she is a beauty, and certainly a great heiress!"
said Evadne.
19
"She will be quite sure to find her level," observed
Lady Scarsdale, calmly. "And now, my dear children,
our conference is closed."
'You may consider, mamma, that we have given you
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I
permission to marry, and that we bestow upon you our
filial benediction," laughed Evadne.
Lady Scarsdale's face grew crimson. Thea averted a
storm, as she often did, by kissing her mother, saying
at the time: "It will entail some sacrifice on you; but
it seems the best thing to do."
It is not perhaps the easiest thing in the world for
a mother to consult her grown-up daughters about a
second marriage; but Lady Scarsdale passed through
the ordeal with dignity. She now rose from her easy-
chair.
"I think we understand each other," she said. “Prov-
idence has evidently placed this money in our way, and
we shall do well to avail ourselves of it. I shall in-
form Mr. Cameron that I accept his offer.
Again Thea bent her dark, proud head over her
mother's face, and kissed her.
"I hope you will be happy, mamma," she said.
And Evadne cried:
"
"The very first thing I shall ask for, when it is all
settled, will be a velvet dress with real lace. I have
longed for such a dress all my life."
Lady Scarsdale retired to write some letters, and the
two girls were left alone.
"Thea," cried her sister, "it is of no use looking so
miserable over such joyous news. I wonder whether
we shall be mamma's bridesmaids?"
"I wonder you can laugh!" was the rejoinder.
"It would be a greater wonder still if I could not,"
said Evadne "I foresee a lively time at Ferness. It will
be war with Diana. And, do you know, she is a girl
worth fighting; there is a ring of true metal in her.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
79
It will be like a scene from a play-Enter Lady Scars-
dale and her daughters; exit Diana."
"Diana will never exit from Ferness," said Thea. “I
wish, Evadne, you would not be quite so heartless."
"That is a change; you generally call me artful,"
laughed Evadne.
"I believe you are both," said Thea.
The same evening Peter Cameron was told that he
would be made a happy man.
}
}
CHAPTER XI
"DIANA," cried Richard Marche, "all your dogs are
loose! Hughes is in despair because John Brown has
been over the bed of tea-roses, and Captain Langley
has done untold mischief to some fine scarlet gerani-
ums. Why do you love dogs so much, Diana, and why
do you keep so many?"
"Why do you love them yourself, Rich? You remem-
ber the saying of a great and gifted writer-'The more
I see of men, the more I admire dogs.
"Diana," cried Richard. "I will not have quotations
thrown at me, I will not indeed! If you will have
dogs why do you not train them?"
"They are well trained," replied Diana. "There is
not a more obedient dog in England than John Brown.
If he has destroyed the bed of tea-roses, it is because
he has mistaken it for some other flower-bed."
77
"You had better tell Hughes that!" laughed Richard.
"I am not afraid of Hughes," said Diana, who always
stood up for her dogs.
John Brown, so-called from his color, and Captain
Langley, named after his donor, were two noble retriev-
ers. John Brown, whose hair was thick and curly, had
great loving brown eyes, and a bark that could be
heard half over the park. Captain Langley was black
and a trifle more violent in temper than his compan-
ion. Both of them were devoted to Diana with all the
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81
ardor of dog-worship. They raced toward her, they
barked round her, they fought about her, and, though
Diana had many other canine favorites, these two were
the most prominent. At times, if by accident they
made their way into the garden, causing damage and
devastation, Hughes would complain loudly; but the
worst thing he ever did to the faithful animals was to
fasten them up in the kennel, an indignity they bit-
terly resented, and from which Diana quickly freed
them.
On this bright summer morning John Brown, ram-
pant with health and good spirits, had employed him-
self most vigorously in destroying a bed of fine tea-
roses, the very pride of Hughes' heart; and the old
gardener declared that things could not and should
not go on so. He must see Miss Diana himself.
Richard came upon the scene just in time, and sought
his cousin with the news. She was on the terrace, the
sunshine around her, the blue sky above her head with-
out a cloud, the birds singing, the flowers in full
bloom. Yet no flower was there so fair and sweet as
Diana herself. Her white morning dress had no orna-
ment, and fitted her tall, slender figure to perfection;
her fair hair, surmounted by a picturesque, broad-
brimmed hat, shaded her lovely face; the fresh morn-
ing air had given a brightness to her eyes and a bloom-
ing radiance to her face.
Richard watched her for some minutes in mute ad-
miration he was not in love with his cousin, though
he thought her the fairest and sweetest of women. She
stood leaning over the stone-balustrade, toying idly
with the crimson roses that grew round the twisted pil-
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lars, a picture of youth, beauty, health, and happiness.
"When I look at you, Diana, I always wish I were a
poet," said Richard, after he had given the particulars
of John Brown's depredations. "As you stand there
now bathed in sunshine and surrounded by flowers that
vie with your own loveliness, all kinds of poetic ideas
come into my mind but I cannot give expression to
one of them. I can only compare you to a dryad, or
something of that kind."
1
Diana interrupted him with a laugh.
"Never mind, Rich. I assure you that, whatever I
may look, I feel like an ordinary young woman in a
morning dress. I must go and see what damage John
Brown has done."
"Stay a few minutes, Diana, we do not often find
leisure for a little conversation. How beautiful the sea
looks this morning-the waves are so blue and crisp!
Diana," he continued, abruptly changing the subject
and looking with wistful eyes at the lovely face, "has
it struck you that your father has been much from
home lately?"
"He has been at Tresham Park," she answered care-
lessly. "He is very fond of Sir Grantley."
"He goes there every day, does he not?" asked
Richard.
"I do not know. Perhaps he does; he has not told
me. Why do you ask, Rich?" And the lovely eyes
that looked up at him were so clear, so bright, that
Richard had not the heart to shadow them by revealing
all that he had heard and all that he suspected.
"I wonder why he goes so often," he said.
"He has no particular reason; he likes talking to
Sir Grantley."
1
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83
i
She had not the faintest suspicion of the truth. She
knew that Lady Scarsdale and her daughters were still
there, but she never for a moment connected that fact
with her father's visits. No such idea as her father's
marrying again had ever presented itself to her. A star
falling from heaven, or the earth suddenly opening,
would not have surprised her more.
her own; they lived for each other.
He was hers, all
Richard saw how utterly unsuspecting she was. He
turned away, saying to himself—
"I will not be the one to open her eyes. Great
heaven! what will the poor girl say when she knows.
it?" What, indeed! The young heiress, who has never
known a shadow of care, what would she do? "I
can only hope it is not true," he muttered to himself.
"What a difference it will make."
"Rich," said Diana, "I have an idea in my mind
which I should like carried out. Can you guess what
it is?"
“I am afraid not," he replied. "Your ideas are gen-
erally beyond me, Diana.'
"I think it is a sin not to take advantage of this lovely
weather. Can you not see what glorious opportuni-
ties we are letting slip by? Well, Rich," she added,
turning to her cousin, "I want to give a series of pic-
nics at all the lovely spots around us. They are begin-
ning to make hay in the large meadow where the
two great oak trees stand; I should like the first there
-a regular picnic.".
A
"You have but to express the wish, and it shall be
obeyed," said Richard; but in his heart he was won-
dering how long her happiness would last, and how
34
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Diana would bear the shock, if all that rumor said were
true.
..
Her lovely eyes were fixed on his face. She could
not read the thoughts that had shadowed it, and she
cried, with a touch of the half-sweet, half-imperious.
manner that belonged to her—
“You do not like the idea, Rich?"
"Indeed I do!" he replied. Then he added sud-
denly, looking toward the house, "There is Uncle Peter!
How well he looks this morning!"
There was something in Peter Cameron's face which
Richard was quick to read-a sense of half-shamed ex-
ultation.
"He has done it, I believe, after all!" the young
man said to himself. "Oh, my beautiful Diana!"
on Diana's fair face as she
There was no cloud
turned to greet him.
"What a glorious morning, papa!" she said. "And
how praiseworthily early we are! It is not nine
o'clock yet. Rich, tell papa about John Brown."
But Richard was keen enough to see an expression.
of impatience on Mr. Cameron's face; he knew by in-
stinct that he wanted to talk to his daughter, and he
guessed shrewdly what he wished to impart.
The bright, happy face and shining eyes smote him
with keen anguish. "I must go," he decided. "I know
what it will cost her; I could not listen to one word.”
He asked to be excused just at that moment, and
nodding to her, said-
"I will go and look after John Brown."
As he descended the steps of the terrace, he said to
himself that the old happy days at Ferness were nearly
ended.
DE
1
1
;
}
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"You look bright as the morning, Diana," remarked
Mr. Cameron.
As he looked with admiration upon the beautiful
young face, he thought to himself that no position
could be high enough for her, that nothing could be
good enough and that he had done right in opening
the gates of the world of fashion to her.
"I want to talk to you, Diana," he said. "Sit down,
my dear, for I have much to say, and you must listen
patiently."
"I always do to you, papa," she returned. "I may
tire of Rich, I may tire of Sir Royal at times; but I
never tire of you."
"True, Diana."
Peter Cameron sat down by his daughter's side.
He had so much to say to her that he hardly knew
where to begin; but suddenly a strange hesitancy
came over him. It had seemed so easy; for was it not
"the very thing for Diana?" Now, however, when he
looked into Diana's face and tried to tell the story, a
sudden numbness seized him. He felt the veins swell
on his forehead and great drops gather there; his hands
trembled and his lips grew cold. He turned coward
when he most needed his courage.
Yet he had acted
as he had for her sake, and it would be best for her.
She was smiling, it seemed to him, at the red roses
she held in her hands; her white fingers caressed the
crimson petals as she awaited her father's communi-
cation.
"Dian," he said at last, "I have asked Lady Scars
dale to marry me, and she has consented."
The abruptness with which Diana had this news im
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parted to her seemed for the moment almost to over-
whelm her. The flowers fell as she started up with
raised hands and parted lips. At first no sound came.
from them; then she uttered a faint, inarticulate cry.
The color faded from her face leaving it white as the
face of the dead.
"Great heaven, Diana," he cried, "do not give way
like that!"
He flung his arms around her in agony of despair,
and drew her to his breast. Her fair head lay there,
and there was a brief but terrible silence; then she
clasped her tender arms round him.
"Say it is not true, papa! You did not mean it; you
could not mean it! You cannot marry again while you
have me, papa!" cried Diana, in a torrent of frenzied
ugony.
"It is for your good, my dear," he said, with trem-
bling voice.
“Oh, no, a thousand times no! It will make me so
unhappy, I shall wish that I were dead. Oh, papa, say
you do not mean it-say it is but a jest to try my love
for you! Dear heaven, it cannot be true!"
Her arms fell, and a wailing cry rose from her lips.
which seemed to pierce his heart.
“Dian, my darling," he said hurriedly, "all that I
have done has been done for you; believe me, it has
all been done for your sake. I want you to move in
the highest circles; I want you to take your proper
place in the world; I want a thousand things for you
that I can obtain only through Lady Scarsdale.
Dian, my darling, listen to me!"
Oh,
}
For she had flung herself upon her knees, and, lay-
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
87
ing her fair head on the garden seat, was sobbing so
piteously and passionately that Peter Cameron's heart
was torn with conflicting emotions.
"Listen to me," repeated Mr. Cameron, almost in
despair. "It is indeed for your good, Dian-for your
best interest."
"Did Lady Scarsdale tell you so, papa?" she asked,
with a sudden flash of scorn.
"Yes," he replied simply.
"I thought so!" cried Diana. "Ah, papa, can you
not see? She wants to marry you because you are rich,
and she has played upon your affection for me.
"
An awful horror seized him. What if this should
be true? What if he had been deceived by a design-
ing woman? But many circumstances came to his
mind to reassure him.
"How can it be for my good when it will spoil my
life?” asked Diana pathetically. "If I found it so hard
and so disagreeable to entertain her for a few hours.
how shall I tolerate daily intercourse?"
He soothed her with a caressing hand.
"It is only fancy, Dian,' he said. "You will be hap-
py enough, my dear. I have acted for the best; I have
indeed."
"It will wreck my future life and happiness!" she
cried. "How can I ever bear my home when she is
How can I bear it?"
here?
"Ferness will always be your home, my dear Dian,
no matter who lives in it."
"But I can never live with her!" cried the girl.
"Ah, papa, do you not see? She is false and vain and
avaricious. She does not love you; it is your money
she covets-not you."
8
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This last thrust wounded Mr. Cameron's self-love.
"Do you think it impossible for any woman to love
me, Dian? Am I past the age of loving?"
"No, papa; but she does not love you," declared
Diana. "If you were a poor man, she would not
deign to look at you."
"My dear," he said gently, "she will make me a
very good wife."
Diana gave a bitter cry of despair, and once more
she clung to him weeping.
"We have been so happy together, papa-you and
I-so happy! Ah, do not let her part us. She will
never be to you what I have been-never! Do not let
her come between us.
**
"No one can ever come between us, Dian," he said
fondly. "If I could but persuade you to listen to me,
darling, you would see the matter in quite a different
light. Will you listen for five minutes, while I tell you
the advantages we shall gain?"
"I will listen," answered Diana, as she laid her
head on his breast, "if you will promise to listen to
me in my turn."
"I promise," he said. "I am sure, after reflection,
Dian, your reason and sense will convince you that
the step I have taken can only tend to your future
comfort and material welfare. You see, my dear, I
have money-perhaps a larger fortune than some men;
but as you know, it will not open for us the golden
doors of society; and I want them open for you."
"If by that, papa, you mean that you cannot find a
place for me in society without the patronage of Lady
Scarsdale, I would far rather have no place in it; I
would ind-e"
C
3
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89
"You do not understand, my dear. The very fact
that you do not appreciate the benefits we should both
derive from an alliance with Lady Scarsdale, con-
vinces me that you do not understand the ways of the
world. In the first place, she is an earl's daughter and
is connected by marriage with some of the oldest fam-
ilies in England.”
"I do not like her one bit the better for that, papa,"
broke in Diana.
"Probably not, my dear. Still it is a fact that has
its weight with the world."
"A false, horrible world!” cried Diana, to whom so
recently it had seemed all that was bright and beauti-
ful. "I would never measure anything by the world's
opinion."
"We must do so as long as we live in the world,
Dian," said Mr. Cameron. "With my money and Lady
Scarsdale's rank, her high connections, her position in
society, and her influence, we should be second to
none in England."
"What good would that do us, papa, when we
should not be happy? You would grasp at the shad-
ow and lose the substance."
Peter Cameron looked aghast at his daughter. On
this point they would never agree, never understand
each other; she had a half contempt for rank, while
he worshiped it almost servilely.
"We should be none the happier for it," she declared.
"See how happy we are now! What a free, pleasant
life we lead!"
Mr. Cameron shook his head gravely, as one who
had fathomed solemn mysteries.
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"It is that very freedom which is not good for you.
You are too young to have the management and re-
sponsibility of this great place on your shoulders,
Dian."
"Have you any fault to find, papa?" she asked.
"No, my darling-no fault whatever. But Lady
Scarsdale seems to think that it is not quite the thing
for a girl so young as you to go out so much alone, and
receive visitors."
"She would most kindly relieve me of the trouble,"
said Diana, with a bitter laugh.
"Besides, Lady Scarsdale is a great friend of the
duchess; they visit continually, and are in the same set
in town."
"Papa," said Diana, solemnly, "I hate the duchess!
I detest the name of both duke and duchess! Lady
Scarsdale shall never introduce me to them, for I will
never know them."
1
To Peter Cameron's mind there could be no greater
treason, no greater heresy than this.
"My dear Dian," he said somewhat reprovingly, "I
have certainly failed to give you proper ideas of life.”
"It is your ideas, papa, that are wrong. Why should
you humble yourself by trying to win a place in that
society which plainly does not want you? What can
you see in these titled people that makes you admire
them so much and seek them so eagerly? We should
live much more happily without dukes and duchesses,
lords and ladies, than we should with them.
"You might, Dian, but I should not. We all have
an ambition; that is mine."
“Oh, papa, and you have me!" cried Diana. "I love
1
*
*
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
91
you so dearly, and I study you so in every way, you
"1
cannot prefer these strangers to me.
"You do not know what a difference this
difference this marriage
would make to you from a worldly point of view, Dian."
"I do know," she said, mournfully. "I should never
have another happy moment in my life. I could not
live with Lady Scarsdale, whom I have disliked from
the first moment I saw her."
!
"But, my dearest Dian, it will be pleasant for you.
Lady Scarsdale's daughters—”
"Oh, papa, those terrible girls! It grows worse and
worse. Would they come, as well? Home would be
home no longer, and the sanctity of our love would be
no longer respected. You must not oh, indeed, papa,
you must not persist in this dreadful engagement!
The misery and wretchedness of their presence would
be unendurable. You must not, indeed!"
She clung to him, weeping passionate tears, with
such bitter anguish that his resolution was somewhat
shaken
-
"You must not do it, papa! You cannot wreck my
life and yours in this manner. Wretchedness and mis-
ery would be the only fruit of such a union. Oh, my
dear papa, bestow a thought upon my dear dead moth-
er-remember how you loved her, how often have you
said that your heart was buried in her grave. And now
you would put that cold, proud woman, who hates me,
in her place-in my mother's place! You cannot, you
must not do it!"
"Why, Dian," said the perplexed father, "I never
thought you would receive this information in the way
you have; I have fondly hoped that it would have
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given you pleasure. In one thing I am sure you are
mistaken: Lady Scarsdale does not hate you; she takes
the greatest possible interest in you.
bitter scorn.
"I should be grateful to her!" cried Diana with
"Most grateful! Think of my dear dead
mother, papa. How can you put this haughty woman
in her place? Promise me you will not. You must not!
I could not live and bear it; I could not indeed!"
"1
"But, my dearest Dian, what can I do? I have
asked her to be my wife, and she has consented.
"Write to her," answered Diana, simply, "and tell
her that I am not willing."
"That would not be sufficient reason for breaking
off the engagement," he said anxiously.
"It would, papa," she rejoined, hurriedly. 'You did
not think-you had not time to think, or you would
never have entered into it. Tell her that you have
talked it over with me, and it can never be.
Do,
papa, if you value your happiness and mine."
"She will be most dreadfully offended, Dian, and we
shall lose our only chance of making the acquaintance.
of the duke and duchess."
"She will not be offended, papa; and if she is what
does it matter? Papa," she continued, raising her
lovely, pleading face to his, "papa, dearest, what do
you love best in the world?”
"You, Dian," he replied. "There can be no question
about that; you are all in all to me."
"
"Then my happiness would be your first considera-
tion?" she asked.
"Most certainly," he replied.
thing like a pain at his heart
Yet there was some-
as he remembered the
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93
handsome face, the stately presence, the caressing
voice of the woman who had wooed him.
“Well, I ask you, papa, first for my dead mother's
sake, then for my own, to give up this idea. You love
me; you wish to make me happy. If you marry that
woman, I shall never know another minute's happiness.
Will you, for love of me, try to break it off?"
"It seems impossible," he replied.
"It seems to me a thousand times more impossible
for it to go on!" she cried, impetuously. "Believe me,
papa, you would be one of the most miserable of men.”
In his innocent heart Peter Cameron felt that his
daughter misjudged Lady Scarsdale, and he could not
believe that her prophetic utterances would ever come
to pass had he that stately yet gracious lady to keep
him from social pitfalls.
"You will do your best, papa. You must write to
her at once. Oh, papa, darling, what a narrow escape
we have had of losing each other! I cannot bear to
think of it. You must never run a risk like this again!"
She kissed and caressed him until he began to feel
somewhat resigned to the unexpected turn his matri-
monial affairs had taken.
“Dian," he said, suddenly, "what shall I do when
you marry?"
“I? I shall never marry, papa. Why should I when
I have Sir Royal and Rich and you, papa-you, who
are all the world to me? I do not want to marry.
I shall hate the sound of the word 'marriage' as long
as I live!"
"So shall I," said Peter Cameron, with a deep sigh.
“Now, papa, you will write that letter this morning,
will you not? Promise me."
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"I promise you," he replied; but he was sore at heart,
for he felt the task to be a most distasteful one.
What excuse could he make, and what would Lady
Scarsdale think? Of course he loved Diana far better
than anyone else in the world; but Lady Scarsdale.
was a charming woman, and she had shown such
marked kindness to him and his daughter. Still he
had promised Diana, and it must be done, even though
he sacrificed every prospect of making the acquaintance
of the Duke of Stone and all his titled friends. It was
quite an hour after this little scene that Diana, having
somewhat recovered her usual composure, went in
search of the delinquent John Brown. She had no
angry words for him, but flung her arms round his
curly neck.
“We have had a narrow escape, John Brown," she
said; and the dog's intelligent eyes seemed to answer
her. "No other mistress shall come here, John
Brown," said the heiress. "Ferness belongs to me and
to you; we will have no dainty-footed aristocrat here.
This is the fortress of the free.
"What an escape!" she repeated to herself many
times that day; and she shuddered as she thought of
it. She tried to imagine Lady Scarsdale in those
rooms where she had reigned supreme. "I should have
died had she come here as mistress," said Diana to
herself. "Thank heaven it is settled! She will leave
the county, I should imagine, now."
She had been so completely indulged and so thor-
oughly obeyed all her life that she had no idea it
could ever be otherwise. Having perfect faith in her-
self she never dreamed that Lady Scarsdale might
"
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95
laugh at such a letter. Indeed, she imagined, in her
girlish innocence, that the letter had only to be sent
to secure thé complete annulment of the compact se
solemnly entered into by her father and Lady Scars-
dale. She was, therefore, quite happy again when she
knew that her father had written and sent it.
"I shall not let any designing widows come near you
again, papa," she said.
And he answered ruefully that the lesson he had had
would last him his life-time.
CHAPTER XII
LADY SCARSDALE stood before her toilet table, think-
ing that, after all, she was conferring a far greater
favor on Peter Cameron than he conferred on her. She
had been looking in her mirror, and found her face
still handsome and well preserved. There was not one
white hair in the soft, silky mass that fell over her
shoulders, no dimness in the dark
eyes that had
looked on so many varied scenes of life. There had
been a look of care, but this morning it had disap-
peared, and the white brow was smooth as that of a
child.
"I am still a handsome woman," she said to herself,
as gorgeous visions of magnificent dresses floated
before her; and she gave a sigh of unutterable con-
tent. No more bills, no more duns, no more anxiety!
She was going to marry a man with three millions of
money, and the very sound of the words was music to
her ears.
-
As she stood admiring her still handsome features,
and congratulating herself that the struggle of life
was over at last, a knock came to the door, and Mrs.
Flowers, the trusted and faithful waiting maid,
entered.
Lady Scarsdale had almost solved the problem of how
to live without money; but she could never have lived
without Flowers. Inquisitive people wondered where
96
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97
the dresses of her ladyship and her daughters could
possibly come from. They knew nothing of the skill
and genius of their maid. She could transform an old
gown into
a new one, with the help of a few flowers
and a little lace; she could change the appearance
of a dress so as to render it impossible of recognition.
She was a treasure, a small fortune in herself, and truly
faithful to her mistress. Whoever else went unpaid,
Flowers always received her wages; and Lady Scars-
dale owned she was worth them. She could never
have won her social triumphs but for Flowers.
When the maid opened the door, Lady Scarsdale's
first thought was that, as soon as she was married, she
would double Flowers' wages. Then she saw a letter
in the woman's hands.
"For me?" she said.
"Yes, my lady," was the reply.
And Lady Scarsdale, recognizing Mr. Cameron's
hand-writing, broke open the seal. It did credit to
her strength of mind that she neither fainted nor cried
out as she read, believing as she did that the castle of
cards she had built with such care had toppled to the
ground, for the letter ran thus:
“MY DEAR LADY SCARSDALE:-I cannot tell you how
sorry I am to write this letter: but it must be done. I
have been discussing the question of our proposed
marriage with my daughter, and I find that she is so
utterly averse to it that I am most reluctantly com-
pelled to ask you to release me from my promise. As
my chief thought is my daughter's happiness, it
would be absurd for me to take any step that would
tend to make her miserable; and she is frank enough to
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tell me that she would rather die than that this union
should take place. In these circumstances I have no
alternative but to ask your ladyship to forget what has
passed between us. I shall always entertain for you
the highest regard and esteem, and most deeply regret
that the relationship between us can never be 'other
than that of friends."
Lady Scarsdale read it attentively; but there was no
sign of emotion.
“There is no answer, Flowers," she said; and the
maid withdrew.
Then she let her mask fall. A torrent of rage swept
over and distorted her face.
“Is the man mad?" she cried, as she crushed the letter
in her hand. "Does he think that I am going to lose
the control of three millions of money as easily as
'that?"
She read the letter again, slowly and carefully.
"It is not himself, it is his daughter," she said. And
from that moment a bitter, almost vindictive hatred of
Diana entered her heart and never entirely left it—a
bitter, intense hatred, which she promised herself
should some day leave its mark. "It is Diana I have
to thank for this outrage," she said. "I will repay her.
She does not want to relinquish her power
and au-
thority, but as surely as the sun shines in heaven, she
shall lose more than that. If she had been kind, cor-
dial, reasonable; if she had made a friend of me in-.
stead of a foe, I would have been generosity itself,
I would have befriended her in every way. Now let
her look to herself. It is war to the knife.
She took some little time to think over her answer to
Į
1
(
1
1
7
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99
the letter. In any case she felt tolerably safe. If he
adhered to his intention, and the marriage did not
take place, she would sue him for damages, and the
compensation she would get would make her a rich
woman. At length she wrote, and her letter ran as
follows:
}
"MY DEAR MR. CAMERON:-Knowing, and fully ap-
preciating, your great affection for your beautiful
daughter, your letter was not a great surprise to me. I
quite understand the feelings which prompted you to
write it. But of course it would be impossible for you
to allow the whim of a child to interfere with a pledge
so solemnly given; nor can I obey the caprice of a
child by altering arrangements so solemnly entered
into. If the matter rested entirely in my hands, I
might soon dispose of it, but it does not.
All my
friends and relatives are apprised of it, and last even-
ing I wrote, after you had left me, to inform the Duke
and Duchess of Stone. You will see, therefore, that
some better reason than the whim and caprice of a
girl must be given before our arrangements can be al-
tered. Come over to Tresham, and let me see what I
can say to you.
"Yours very affectionately,
-
"HERMIONE SCARSDALE.'
Lady Scarsdale flattered herself she had not written
one word too much or too little. Peter Cameron,
although he understood what the letter said, was at a
Oss now to construe it.
He rode over to Tresham, expecting coldness, even
reproaches; but her ladyship's reception of him was
another triumph of art. Amusement, raillery, coquetry,
>
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and shyness seemed mingled in her manner toward
him.
"Let us take a stroll in the garden," she said. "We
want a friendly talk, not a stately interview.'
She led the way to the beautiful avenue of chestnuts
for which Tresham was famous. They were silent for
a few minutes: then she said quietly:
"So Diana does not like the idea of your marriage,
Mr. Cameron?"
And in his zeal for his daughter, forgetting how
poor a compliment it was to her ladyship, he told her
all that had passed-told her of Diana's prayers and
tears, of her passionate pleading for her dead mother's
sake, of her wild outburst of grief, of her despair.
Lady Scarsdale listened in respectful silence. "Poor
child!" she said, with a deep sigh, "I can sympathize
with her; but all that display of an ill-trained, undis-
ciplined nature shows more and more that she needs
a firm yet gentle hand over her. She should think of
your happiness first."
"My happiness and hers have always been linked
together," he replied.
There was an awkward silence, and even Lady
Scarsdale had difficulty in preserving her grace and
dignity. There was a faint rush of color to her hand-
some face when she next spoke.
"And so," she said caressingly, "you care so little
for me that a few tears and entreaties from your daugh-
ter made you resolve to forget me?"
“I assure you," he cried, eagerly, "I could never
forget you! I shall always retain-'
"My dear Mr. Cameron," she interrupted, "you must
"
1
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IOI
be reasonable; the hysterical cries of a child must not
be allowed to interfere with well-considered plans."
“But Diana must be happy," he said. "I could not
bear that she should be otherwise."
"Diana shall be happy," she replied. "Trust to me
for that. You cannot pay me so poor a compliment as
would be implied by the fact that you have thought
only of Diana, and not of me. You wanted to make
me happy also, did you not?"
"Certainly I did," answered Peter Cameron, relig-
iously believing the words he uttered.
And then he found Lady Scarsdale's white hand
within his.
"I should not like to think," she said, softly, "that
your sole interest in me was for Diana's sake; I should
like to believe that some, at least, was for my own."
"You may be sure it was so," declared the elderly
lover, more at a loss for words than he had thought
possible; and there came to him, with the scent of
hawthorn, the memory of the green lane in which he
had wooed his first wife.
"You can see for yourself how the matter looks,"
resumed Lady Scarsdale.
"You ask me to marry you;
and then, because your daughter, as is perfectly nat-
ural, disapproved, you beg that there shall be no mar-
riage. I appeal to you, does not that look as though
you wanted to marry me entirely for her sake?"
"It looks strange, I must admit," he said; "but I-"
"Let me speak," she interposed, gently. “If I
thought it best for you and for Diana, I would break
off the engagement at once, in spite of all that might
be said, and the unenviable position it would place me
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in; but I do not. Honestly speaking, the best thing
you can do for Diana is to give her into the hands of
a sensible, well trained woman; and the best thing
for yourself is to marry someone who can give you
rank and position. That is disinterested advice." She
turned to him with a smile altogether charming, bright,
and gracious, and looked into his face. "For myself,"
she said, gently, with a blush that became her greatly
-"for myself, what if I tell you that-I-I like you
so well it would be a pain to lose you, and that I like
you for yourself, for your nobility of character, your
generosity, and your simple goodness of heart? What
if I tell you that our separation would distress me?"
"In that case," he said, "I-I must resist Diana's
tears-"
"She will not shed them for long," remarked the
lady, softly; "but I-if you left me--I should be un/
happy for the remainder of my life."
"Do you really mean that, Lady Scarsdale?" he
asked, in great agitation.
“I do,” she answered, softly, her eyes fixed on the
ground.
“Then pray forgive my indecision. If you care for
、 me, love me, feel that I shall be a support to you, a
comfort to you, I will, as I said, resist Diana's tears."
"You have worked hard all your life, you have
achieved great and signal success; it seems to me only
just that you should now reap the reward," said Lady
Scarsdale, “and enjoy a few years' repose in the man-
´ner you most desire. I shall try my utmost to make
you happy."
"I must be happy with you," he responded.
>
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103
But Diana's tears seemed to burn his hands where
they had fallen; Diana's piteous cries sounded in his
ears.
1
"
"And now that we have arranged the difficulty so
far," said Lady Scarsdale, "I should like to suggest
something to you-something that will save Diana's
tears.'
They walked for a long time under the chestnut
trees, for Lady Scarsdale had much to say. She did
not want to lose the prize which she had secured for
the second time with so much skill and tact, and she
saw that stringent measures were absolutely necessary
if she was to carry her scheme to a successful issue.
She therefore persuaded him that the best thing he
could do would be to return home and say nothing to
Diana, to let her imagine that the letter remained un-
answered, and then in a few weeks' time to go up
quietly to London, where they could be unostenta-
tiously married from the little bijou house.
"A quiet wedding will be the most suitable for us
after all," she said. "Then we can go to Paris; and
when we return all will be well. I am sure," she con-
tinued, with energy, "mine will be the best plan, for
it will save Diana's tears."
And he acceded, for he was like wax in Lady Scars
dale's skillful hands.
1
CHAPTER XII
JUNE had passed by with its crown of roses, July
with its sunshine and wealth of flowers, and August
had come with its ripe fruits and golden grain. Fer-
ness looked more beautiful than ever, with the hedges
burdened with wild roses, the lanes filled with wild
flowers, the gardens a blaze of beauty, the woods re-
splendent with their many-hued foliage, the sea shim-
mering brightly beneath the rays of the August sun.
Diana was once again enjoying the pleasures of her
home, for the danger that had menaced it was past;
the wily woman who had sought to draw her father
away from her was gone. Lady Scarsdale had driven
over with her daughters to say good-bye to the girl
whom she intended to supplant; but Diana, to her
own great relief, was absent. She was gone, and the
dark shadow she had recently cast over Ferness Court
had gone with her. Mr. Cameron was kinder than
ever to his daughter. He seemed unable to do enough
to atone for the pain she had suffered. He lavished
rich presents upon her, until she bade him cease, tell-
ing him that she had more ornaments
now of every
kind than she knew what to do with. She felt that
he was trying to make up to her for what she had
suffered, and she redoubled her caresses in turn.
Every kiss from Diana was a reproach to him, every
loving word, in its way, a wound. He had never be-
11
104
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
105
I
fore kept a secret from her, and this one tried him
sorely. Twenty times each day he was on the point
of breaking down and telling her the whole truth; but
some wily words of Lady Scarsdale would return to him
and fortify him against himself. The spell was upon
him, and he could not break it. He admitted to him-
self that the treachery was cruel, and that he ought to
tell Diana what had happened; but he was fast in the
toils of a clever woman, and his bonds were so strong
and so artfully woven that he could not break them
asunder.
Diana was quite unsuspicious. The series of picnics
had been a great success, and every one congratulated
her upon then.
Once, when Lady Colwyn began to speak of the
Scarsdales, Diana turned to her with a pale, scared
face.
"Dear Lady Colwyn," she said earnestly, “pray do
not mention the name, I cannot bear it. I wonder,
now that the danger is over, that I did not die when
my father told me he was going to bring that terrible
woman here. What an escape it was! Do you know,
the very name turns my heart cold. I try to make my-
self so much to papa that he has not one moment's
time in which to miss her."
"He does not miss her," remarked Lady Colwyn.
"It was she who lured him on, not he who ran after
her. Three millions of money are not won every day,
and it is Lady Scarsdale, not Mr. Cameron, who feels
the separation. I am quite satisfied about your father
now. So may you be."
"So I am," declared Diana. But she grew anxious,
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
at times, about him; for, although her father seemed,
and was, devoted to her, he had of late grown strange-
ly quiet. He would look at her for some minutes in
silence, then sigh deeply; he seemed preoccupied, and
would ask abrupt questions; in speaking of the future
he would pause suddenly, as though some new idea
had occurred to him.
"Rich," said Diana, one morning, as they stood to-
gether at the breakfast-room window, "do you not no-
tice any change in my father?"
"Yes," he replied; "he seems always preoccupied,
and is more silent than usual. Perhaps he has some
speculation on hand. He appears to have something on
his mind."
"Do you think so? Why, Rich, that has an awful
sound-'something on his mind!' But I know the
cause of it. He has never been so happy since that
affair-you know what I mean. He seems so sorry that
he caused me pain, and ever since then he has been
exceedingly anxious about my happiness."
$
"It was a
very good thing you knocked it on the
head, Diana. You need never fear again. There can-
not be a second Lady Scarsdale."
"No; that would be impossible," she replied. "I
must be more devoted than ever to him, Rich."
"You are always exceedingly good, Diana," observed
Richard.
But the beautiful young heiress was not content un-
til she had consulted her other counselor, Sir Royal.
"Rich says that papa appears to have something on
his mind, Sir Royal. Do you agree with him?" she
asked.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
107
"No, I do not, Diana. I think your father is freer
from care than nineteen men out of twenty."
"Sir Royal," she asked, slowly, "do you think that
papa has regretted Lady Scarsdale? I hate to mention
her name, but I must this time. Do you think he re-
grets the loss of her at all?"
"No, I do not, Diana," was the cheery reply--"not
for one moment. I think Lady Scarsdale managed the
whole affair herself, and is the only one who now re-
grets that it fell through. She was attracted, without
doubt, by your father's wealth, and I should think he
is relieved that it was all over."
Neither Diana nor her friends were in the least degree
prepared for the denouément; for the false security into
which they had been lulled was increased by the
departure of Lady Scarsdale from the neighborhood.
They had reckoned without the principal actor in
this little domestic drama.
✡
To the day of her death Diana never forgot that
August night when her father, after pacing restlessly
up and down the long drawing-room, asked her to walk.
with him on the terrace. The sun had long set, and the
August moon was shining brightly in an unclouded sky.
A silvery flood of light fell on the sleeping flowers
and graceful statuary as father and daughter passed
through the French window.
"I am going to London to-morrow, Diana," said
Peter Cameron, suddenly: "is there anything you re-
quire?"
"To-morrow, papa!" she cried. "You did not tell
me."
"I decided this morning," he said, evasively.
"What can I bring you, Diana?"
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"Nothing but yourself back again," she answered,
as she clasped her hands around his arm. "I am sorry
you are going away-I shall miss you so much. Why,
papa, you are trembling! Are you ill?"
"No, but the heat is very oppressive to-night; the
drawing-room seemed so stifling that I could not re-
main in it."
"One expects heat in August," laughed Diana; "but
it is not like you to complain of the weather. How
long will you be absent, papa?"
"I am not sure, Diana; I cannot quite tell."
There was something in his tone which excited
Diana's attention.
"Are you going on business, papa?" she asked anx-
iously.
"Yes," he replied, briefly.
"You will not be absent for long?" she said. "I
know you do not like leaving me.
"Indeed I do not," answered Peter Cameron.
"
1
And there was such a ring of truth in his voice that
Diana was quite content. He was silent for some
short time, and she said to him:
"You are tired, papa. Shall we go in?"
Then he threw his arm round her shoulders.
"No, we will not go in yet; I am not tired, and I
wish to talk to you, my Dian, my dead wife's dear
child."
His voice broke down with a. suppressed sob, and
Diana looked up in alarm.
"Papa, you are ill, I am sure!" cried Diana, as she
looked beseechingly into her father's face. "What is
the matter? Do not go to-morrow, or, if you go, take
me with you."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
109
"I am all right, Diana; but I think you are wiser
than I. The heat has been so oppressive to-day that
I feel rather languid. Child, have you any presenti-
ments to-night? Have you any forebodings?"
"None, papa-why? I wish you would take me to
London with you."
"It is not possible, Dian, or I would," he answered
gently, ignoring her query.
"You have been a dear
good child to me; I wish sometimes that I could tell
you how much I love you.”
"There is no need, papa; I know it."
“I would give my life for you, Dian," he said, stop-
ping abruptly in front of her.
“I believe you, papa," she answered gently.
Something in his manner puzzled her. She was
mystified, but comforted herself by saying that he
was not well. She had not the faintest suspicion of
the truth. He would have been better pleased per-
haps if she had.
1
"I think," he went on, "no father has ever loved :
child more dearly. Oh, Dian, I remember how pleased
I used to be when I laid by thousand after thousand,
thinking it was all for you, my darling-all for you!
And, Dian, after I had purchased Ferness, I made
my will. This splendid mansion, with all its broad
lands and its rich revenues, I have bequeathed to you,
my only and beloved child.”
"Why do you speak to me of these things to-night?”
she asked gently.
"Because I wish you to understand how much i
love you. Dian, if ever I made a mistake through
loving you too much or thinking too much of you,
would you forgive me?"
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
1
"
"I would forgive you anything and everything,
papa," she said. "You could never displease me.'
Still he was unwilling to part from her. They
strolled up and down the terrace, he holding her
hands tightly clasped in his, and stooping, at times,
to kiss the beautiful face or caress the fair head.
did not know how adequately to demonstrate his affec-
tion for her. Then he looked round at the stately
walls of the palace he called home.
He
“It is a beautiful place," he said, half to her, half
to himself, "a beautiful spot. I wonder what your
mother, could she but revisit this earth would think of
this home, Diana?"
"My poor mother," said the girl, softly. "Would
she have liked it?"
"She would have liked any place where you and I
were," he replied; and again there came. to him the
scent of hawthorn and the memory of the green lane
where he had wooed the dear, dead wife.
"Papa," said Diana, thoughtfully, "I have been puz-
ling about you to-night; but I think I now know what
is the matter with you."
"Is anything the matter? What have you discovered,
Diana?"
·
"You are, and have been, thinking of my mother,"
she said; “and I love you all the better for it. I love
you most when I know you have been thinking of her.
Am I like her, papa?"
He, who on the morrow was to take another wife
to himself, looked into his daughter's innocent face.
"No, you are more beautiful than my Margaret ever
was. She was sweet, fair and true, but not beautiful
as you are."
2
!
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
III
"Is there no likeness, papa?" she asked, in a tone
of disappointment-"none at all?"
"Only as to the hair, Diana. Your mother had just
the same fair, waving hair as yours, and it grew just
in the same way round her temples, and it had those
tame soft, feathery rings."
"I am glad," said Diana. "And now, papa, as you
feel languid, let us go in, and I will mix you some
negus. That will cheer you, and if you do not feel bet-
ter in the morning, you must not go to London."
+
“I shall be all right, Diana," declared Peter Cam-
eron. But his hand shook violently when he tried to
hold his glass.
On the morrow Diana rose early to see her father
start. She was standing on the marble steps when he
bade her good-bye. He was greatly agitated; but he
strove hard to conceal it.
"You never answered my question yesterday, Dian,
he said. "Is there anything I can bring you from Lon-
don?"
J
1.
"Nothing but yourself, papa. I have everything in
the world that a girl can desire. Ah, yes, I remember
something! John Brown's collar is very shabby; I
should like a new one-silver, with his name engraved
upon it."
"You shall have it. I will send it to you."
"Send it!" she cried; "why not bring it, papa?
"I mean bring it," he said, with some little embar-
rassment. "Is nothing wanted for Captain Langley?"
"No; he had a new collar last year. Ah, there is
James! I wish I were driving to the station with you,
Good-bye, papa!"
>
•
SUNSHINE AND Roses
112
Peter Cameron embraced his daughter with unusual
warmth, and rained down kisses upon her fair face.
Yet in the ardent love that shone from his eyes there
was something of pain and remorse.
"Good-bye, and hasten back to me!" said Diana as
tears came into her eyes.
He walked down the broad steps, turning once or
twice to kiss his hand to her. Then he took his seat
in the carriage, and drove away in the sunshine; and
as Diana saw her father then she never saw him more.
4
CHAPTER XIV
AUGUST the eleventh was a day too hot for comfort.
At mid-day the heat of the sun was almost tropical,
the birds and bees and butterflies were all drowsy with
its ardor, the waves broke languidly on the shore, the
wind was hushed and still.
Diana was alone the greater part of the day. In the
evening Lady Colwyn came, Richard returned home,
and Sir Royal drove over, so that Diana held her court
again. They spent the evening beneath the cedar
tree and unalloyed happiness was theirs.
"John Brown is going to have a new collar," an-
nounced Diana, as they sat chatting beneath the
spreading branches—“a silver one, with his name en-
graved upon it; papa has promised to bring it."
"I never thought to ask," said Richard, "but why
has uncle gone to town?"
"He has gone on business," replied Diana, sedately;
"but he did not tell me what his business was.'
""
"You would not have understood it,
understood it, Dian, if he
had," said Sir Royal.
"I suppose not. Chacun a son metier. I have listened
with deep reverence, but I have never yet been able
to make out what scrip and stocks and shares are."
"You need never wish to know," said Richard. "I
am not troubled with a superfluity of them, but have
113
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
}
seen Mr. Cameron knit his brows over them. When
does he return, Diana?"
"He did not seem sure, she replied; "but I shall
hear to-morrow. He will not stay away longer than he
can help, for papa loves home best."
"He is a wise man," said Sir Royal.
No one spoke of it, but the thoughts of each wan-
dered back to the day when they had discussed Lady
Scarsdale; and the heiress' friends-these three who
loved her so well-silently confessed that Diana had
never been quite the same since then. However, she
was getting over it now, forgetting it, and becoming
her bright, brilliant self again.
Į
1
}
"
The evening passed rapidly and pleasantly, with
Diana's wit, Sir Royal's wisdom, and Richard's ana-
lytical disquisitions. Lady Colwyn had arranged to
spend the night at Ferness, and Sir Royal had prom-
ised to ride over on the following afternoon.
"I have a new book of poems," he said; we will
have another gathering under the cedar, and I will read
to you."
"Papa will be at home to-morrow night," Diana ob-
served.
I
•
Something like a vague fear, for which he could
not account, crept into Sir Royal's heart. He declined
to enter the house, as it was late and he desired to
hasten home. He could not tell why his heart was so
heavy when he thought of Diana.
Later on, this quiet, oppressive day always came
back to Diana's mind as the prelude to a stirring trag-
edy. She remembered afterward how she had kissed
Lady Colwyn on the staircase, and had gone to her
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
115
room with the words of a love-song on her lips-how,
when her maid had left her, she had sat for some time
at the window watching the moon shining on the dis-
tant sea, her mind at ease, her heart at rest.
The next morning Lady Colwyn, who was suffering
from a headache, asked for some tea to be sent to her
room. Diana's favorite breakfast, coffee and fruit, was
prepared for her, and by her plate lay several letters.
The first which she took up with a glad little cry was
from her father. She opened it eagerly, smiling as she
did so.
It was so good to have news of him-to know
that he was coming back. She read it very quickly.
She was not more than three minutes in going over it,
from the first word to the last; but during those few
minutes the whole world changed for her, the light
and brightness died from it, the best part of her noble
nature-her trust and faith--expired. The letter was
intended to be a kind one; but each word was as a
stab to her.
'MY DEAREST DIAN:"-SO Peter Cameron wrote—“I
do not know what you will think of me when you get
this letter. I hardly know how to write it or what to say.
My darling Dian, I am married. I married Lady Scars-
dale this morning. We had a very quiet wedding at St.
George's, Hanover Square-no breakfast, no ceremony;
and we are now just starting-4 p. m.—for Paris, where
we shall remain for a month at least. My darling
child, for your own good I have taken this unexpected
step. It is the best thing, believe me, for you. You
will ask me why I did not tell you, why I have kept
it a secret from you-you may even think that I have
deceived you; but, in truth, I have acted with the
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
purest intentions. I was convinced that my marriage
was the only possible step for your well-being; and
finding you were so bitterly opposed to it, I decided
that it would be better for it to take place without your
knowledge, and so save you infinite pain. Your own
good sense will tell you that what has been done can-
not be undone, and that your most dutiful course will
be to recognize it in the light in which I put it to
you. My dearest Dian, it is for you I have taken this
step; bear that in mind. No one can ever take your
mother's place. She was my first love, my beloved
wife, and your mother. But the lady who is now my
wife will be an excellent guide for you, will alter our
social position, and will procure for us an entrée to
those circles from which want of rank now excludes
us. In justice to you, Dian, I may tell you that my
marriage will make no difference whatever in your
position; you will always be heiress of Ferness and of
my fortune.
I shall, of course, provide handsomely
for my wife, but this will be done in a manner that
will not at all interfere with your prospects. One word
in conclusion, my darling Dian: I have done what I
conceived to be the best for you, even if I have been
mistaken in the method of doing it. In return you will
forgive me and be kind and amiable to my wife. You
must like her, for she is a most charming woman.
I
send John Brown's collar, and will write to you from
Paris. Lady Cameron joins me in dearest love to
you."
Good-bye, faith; good-bye, honor; good-bye to all
that was most bright and beautiful in life; good-bye
to the father who would never be hers again-never
again!
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
117
During the reading of this epistle a deathly pallor
had settled on her face, while the very light seemed to
fade from her eyes.
She stood for a moment in silent
despairing agony. The blood seemed to freeze in her
veins and grow cold round her heart. Then, in a voice
that was all unlike her own, she cried out:
"If it be true, I shall die!"
But was it true? Her father had always been the
soul of honor and of truth, as incapable of treachery
or deceit as he was of theft; and to believe that he hadä
lived under the same roof with her, seemingly devoted
to her, yet hiding this secret from her, was incredible.
"He talked to me of my own mother the night be
fore he went to marry this woman whom he knows I
hate!" cried poor Diana. "I will go to Sir Royal."
In her bewilderment and distress, it was to him her
thoughts flew-not to kindly Lady Colwyn, not to the
brilliant, genial cousin, but to the handsome man who
loved her better than his own life, and who had al-
ways been her friend.
"Saddle Black Beauty, and tell James to get ready
to accompany me," she said to the servant who an-
swered the bell, the quick peal which had startled the
household.
In a few minutes she had donned her riding-habit
ind hat, and was ready for the journey.
I am going to Westwater Park" said Diana, as the
servant led round the horses.
Never, once during that ride did the white, set face
relax, as she urged on her horse as though it were a
matter of life and death.
Sir Royal was seated in his study when he heard
118
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
4
1
ae sound of horses' hoofs coming up the avenue. The
xt moment Diana entered the room, with a look of
blank despair upon her face. He started from his
chair.
"Diana," he cried, "what has brought you here?
"This," she replied, holding out to him the letter
that she had been crushing in her hand-“this, Sir
Royal. Read it; for, if it be true, it is my death-
warrant."
She gave the letter into his hands, but he did not
seem to understand.
"Am I to read it? It is from your father. But first
tell me what is the matter with you, Diana."
Her white lips opened but to repeat the one word-
"Read!"
Sir Royal said no more, but smoothed the letter and
read it carefully. Then he, in his turn, appeared to
be baffled and bewildered.
"My poor Diana," he said sadly, looking at the anx-
ious face before him, "how can I comfort you?"
"Do you believe it?" she asked, with flashing eyes.
"Do you believe that my father, who has hitherto been
one of the most honest of men, has done that? Do
you believe that he has behaved so treacherously? He
lavished kisses upon me the night before he went
away, and talked to me about my dead mother. You
know him, Sir Royal, to be the embodiment of all
that is honest and straightforward; do you think it is
credible that he has done this?
has done this? I do not. I have
brought the letter here for you to read, because it has
driven me mad. I am not grieved or angry; I am
mad! I want you to tell me that it is a jest-nothing
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
11g'
43
out a foolish jest. Oh, Royal, speak to me quickly!
It is a cruel hoax, is it not, of someone who does
not know how I love papa? Speak quickly to me."
Her white, agonized face was raised to his. He could
have wept tears of blood for her; but he had no word
that could comfort her. He could only take her hands
in his, and say:
1
"My poor Diana!"
"You believe it is true then?" she cried despairingly.
}
"I am afraid it is, my dear," he answered slowly.
"I cannot believe it," said Diana; "my mind will
not grasp it. Had it been any other man on earth than
ny father, I might have believed it. Oh, Royal, it
shakes all my faith! It seems as though the very
religion in which I have been trained has been ruth-
lessly shattered! I feel I have lost everything in this
world if I have lost my father. If he had but
pared me! If I had only guessed! But, you see, the
blow has fallen upon me so unexpectedly."
pre-
f
She stretched out her hands to Sir Royal, who for-
got everything but her poignant distress. At that mo-
ment she was not the beautiful young heiress, the
sweet, imperious Diana; she was the gay, dancing,
happy child who had come home to Ferness to be mis-
tress there, the lovely, fair-haired child who had taken
his heart by storm at once and forever. She was so
young then-only just fifteen-that she had been at
first a pet and a plaything. He had teased her, bought
her presents, run races with her, called her by every
endearing name; and, as she grew in years, in grace
and in loveliness, so his love had grown with her
growth. He worshiped her, but it was always with-
out any hope of return.
K
#
1
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
B
It was the child Diana he drew into his arms now,
the lovely, laughing, bright-eyed child who had come
into his life so unexpectedly.
"If I only knew how to comfort you, Diana!" he
said, smoothing the rippling waves of hair, and kiss-
ing the heavy tear-drops from the long lashes.
"Do not weep, my child. What can I do to comfort
you?" he cried, as he bent over the fair head.
But it was a relief to her to sob out her passion of
tears and grief on that honest breast.
father!" sobbed the girl.
"My own father!"
loved him so! Oh, Royal, it has broken
"But Diana, my darling, hundreds of
same thing-marry again."
"But not men like my father!" she cried, with cease-
less tears. "He is so different, so unlike other men;
he was the soul of honor and truth.
truth. Oh, Royal, it
seems to me almost worse than if he were dead!"
"Nay, it is not so bad as that, Dian," Sir Royal re-
monstrated gently.
me. To think
1
"He will never be the same again to
that he could kiss me, that he could bid me good-
bye, knowing that he was going to marry' the woman
I detest! Oh, Royal, the bare thought rends my heart!
I would rather he had married any woman in the
wide world than her. Oh, Royal, comfort me!"
But he could only smooth the fair hair, and dry
the tears that fell like rain. He knew that there was
no comfort for her-that her young life lay in ruins
around her.
"I wish to heaven I could!" he said. "Diana, I
would give my life to make you happy, and yet I can
do nothing."
1
"And I have
my heart!"
men do the
*
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
121
There is always something of consolation in a great
love; and Sir Royal had stemmed the torrent of her
grief by the fervor of his love. Had Diana been his
own child he could not have soothed and caressed her
more gently and more kindly. He considered her the
child Diana, whose tears he was kissing away, and
whose half-frantic despair he was trying to abate.
After a time he let the rain of tears fall unchecked.
He saw that her grief was so violent, so intense,
that the overcharged heart must pour forth its bitter-
ness before she could hope for any relief. He allowed
her to weep without interruption, only caressing the
fair head and keeping it still on his breast.
The child Diana in her first trouble! How long was
it since she had sung to him of sunshine and roses,
and almost wondered why life was so fair? Let her
weep on. There would be heavier trials than this for
her, unless her life differed greatly from the lives of
others. Thank heaven that her first great, almost in-
tolerable grief had driven her to him-that her first,
most bitter tears had been shed on his breast! The
child Diana weeping because the idol of her life was
broken! How many more idols would be shattered for
her?
As his arms infolded her, his heart ached, and a
mighty love for her took possession of him. Not a
lover's love; it was even higher and holier than that.
It was the love of father, brother, and friend. It filled
his heart, and he longed with unutte: ble longing to
carry her away from all her troubles, to transport her
to some happy land where he could shield her from
every care.
}
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UNSHINE AND ROSES
As she lay sobbing there, helpless as a child, he
silently gave his whole life to her. He vowed that
whatever service she needed should be rendered, that
he would sacrifice his life cheerfully for her, that he
would live but to watch over her. Without word or
sign he made this resolve.
Then he saw that the beautiful face was recovering
its color, that the violence of the girl's grief was
somewhat abated.
•
“Diana,” he said, "will you listen to me? You are
better now; let me get you some wine." He raised the
bowed head from his breast, and looked at the tear-
stained face. "You must not shed another tear,
Diana," he went on, "not one. I have let you weep
as long as I dare; now you must
me."
cease and listen to
She stood erect then.
"I am ashamed of myself, Royal," she said; "but
those tears lay like liquid fire behind my eyeballs. I
have never wept so much in my whole life-certainly
I have never had so much cause."
eyes
His grave, kind face was bent over her; his dark
were full of love and pity. But there was no passion
in them there could be no passion, nothing but infi-
nite love, where the child Diana was concerned. He
procured some wine for her, and made her drink it;
then brought an easy-chair for her, forced her to rest.
"Now, Dian, it is my turn to speak, dear, and yours
to listen. You know the old familiar saying: 'What
can't be cured must be endured.' Well, there is plenty
of sound philosophy in it, and applying it to our pres-
ent case, we have to admit the painful fact of the mar
riage and to consider what is best to be done."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
123
"There can be no 'best' in the matter," she said.
'Do you think," she added anxiously, "that my
father will be happier for it?"
Sir Royal was silent for a few minutes and then he
answered:
"No-and yes. He will not be so happy in his home-
life—not one-half; but his ambition will be gratified.
He will get into society from which he has hitherto
been excluded, and he will be happier for that. And,
Dian, although I believe him to be completely miståken
in the matter, I am sure he thinks he has done the best
thing for you."
She smiled even amidst her tears.
"I shall soon grow tired of that phrase, 'It is the
best thing for Diana,'" she said wearily. "In no way
can it be a good thing for me. It has completely
spoiled my life. I was the happiest girl in the world,
and now I shall never be happy again."
"In the years to come-" he began.
"No," she interrupted, vehemently, "never in the
years to come! Nothing can ever give back my father
or my faith in him."
"I should like to say one thing, Dian. I am sure
that your father has not been guilty of treachery to you.
He kept this secret from you at Lady Scarsdale's sug-
gestion. She made him promise to do so under the
pretext of saving you pain," said Sir Royal, feeling
sure that his words would be borne out by the actual
facts could they only ascertain them.
Diana looked a little relieved, for the thought of
treachery had been hard to bear.
"Do you think so, Royal?" she questioned; and he
noticed that her voice was brighter and clearer.
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1
"You remember," he said, "that Rich and others have
remarked that your father has not been quite like himself
lately. Rely upon it, this has been preying on his
mind."
A gleam of hope stole into the lovely eyes. After
all, the seeming treachery had been perhaps the hard-
est to bear.
"I wonder," said Dian, "that, loving me as he did,
as he does, my father did not see how miserable this
marriage would make me. If I could not endure spend-
ing three hours with Lady Scarsdale, how shall I live
with her? I cannot do it, Royal-- I really cannot!
shall go away from Ferness.
I
"You must always be reasonable, dear, he returned.
"Your going away would make things worse, not
better. No one can run away from his or her destiny,
Dian."
"Think," she said, appealingly, "how horrible it
will be. Here I have always been undisputed mistress,
and everybody has been happy under my rule; you
know that, Royal-you know that no one has ever com-.
plained. And now-I can hardly realize it myself--
there will be another mistress for Ferness.
Can you
fancy, Royal, another dispensing hospitality beneath
the roof of Ferness Court?"
"Hardly," he answered.
"I do not think I can bear it," she remarked.
"Where can I go! What shall I do? I cannot re-
alize that Lady Scarsdale will be always in the very
heart of my home, that she will give orders, and be
always with papa; that he will consult her about
everything. Royal, where will be my place then?"
J
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
125
"Things will arrange themselves," he replied. "It
will be hard at first for you, Dian; but you have plenty
of courage."
"Courage will hardly meet the difficulty," she re-
joined. "I was very proud of my position in the
world, Royal; I enjoyed being mistress of Ferness;
how shall I endure this woman in my place?"
"No one can ever take your place, Dian," he told
her.
"Do you not see, Royal, that it will be like having
two queens in one kingdom? There will not be room
for us both. How can I all at once relinquish my
authority and submit to the rule of a woman whom I
detest? Oh, Royal, I dread the thought of it! Fer-
ness will never be a home to me again. I wish I could
go and live elsewhere. I wish I could come here to
Westwater and live with you!"
The words were simply spoken, yet they thrilled the
man's heart as none others had ever done. For one
moment he was tempted to say what his heart prompted.
He had vowed to himself that he would be father,
brother, and friend-that, being more than double her
age, and she having seen as yet so little of the world,
he would not intrude a lover's love upon her. But he
was sorely tempted in that moment to say to her: "Be
my wife, Diana, and live with me here, where no
trouble or care can shadow you."
In her trouble she would have doubtless said "Yes;"
but he scorned to take advantage of her distress.
"I wish you could, Dian," he answered, sorrowfully.
He spoke as simply as she had spoken, only heaven
knew the effort he made to answer calmly, and to train-
"
I
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
126
Į
C
ple down the passionate fire of love that flamed in his
heart.
"I think," she said musingly, "that, as papa does,
after all, love me very much, if he sees that I am un-
happy, he will let me go away. He will not like to
see me miserable."
"Do you not think, Dian, that if you were to do your
best and try, you might perhaps find some little hap-
piness?"
3
"Under the same roof with Lady Scarsdale!" she
cried, her eyes ablaze with unmistakable anger.
"Never, Royal! I should feel as though I were an ex-
iled queen, and that she had usurped my kingdom."
Then, seeing that she looked pale and exhausted, he
persuaded her to lie down and rest.
"I will leave you for a time," he said, "you are tired
- out, Dian. When you have rested and feel more re-
freshed and composed, we will have a longer talk."
He waited until the tired eyes were closed, and, as
he watched her, the words of a sweet singer came into
his mind-
"I love but thee, I love but thee, with a love that shall not die,
Till the sun grows cold, and the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold.”
C
-
1
CHAPTER XV
|
An hour later Diana, looking calm and collected,
stood on the lawn at Westwater. Sir Royal had in-
sisted that she should remain with him for luncheon,
promising that afterward he would ride back with her
to Ferness. A faint color had stolen back to Diana's
face, but there was a look of pain in the lovely eyes
which would long remain there. Sir Royal had done
his best to alleviate her first great trouble. He had
shown her the philosophical way of meeting the diffi-
culty, the best method of proceeding, and she had list-
ened with more patience than he had expected. His
advice to her was good; none could have been better.
It was to make the best of her father's marriage.
Neither tears, sighs, nor reproaches could alter the
facts of the case.
+
"Ah, Royal, you called me proud once!" Diana said.
"How shall I bring my pride into subjection to her?"
He remembered the lecture he had formerly given.
her, and his heart melted at the thought of it.
"I little dreamed then, Diana, how soon you would
have to take my little lecture to heart. It will be a
question between your obedience to your father, your
regard for his wishes, your respect for the wife he has
chosen, and your pride. Which will win, Diana?"
*
"I do not know," she replied gravely. "I shall try,
Royal, to conquer myself. You have been so kind,
$
127
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1
and have spoken so wisely to me, that I should be un-
grateful indeed if I did not try to follow your advice.
It will be, as you say, a struggle between me and my
pride."
"You see, after all, Dian," Sir Royal went on, "your
father has a right to please himself. He did so in his
first marriage; he has an equal right to please himself
in his second. He has done you no wrong that you
can resent."
"He has," she said, petulantly; "I have a right to
complain. If my father had told me his intentions, it
would have been different. As it is, I must say that I
do not think he has been just to me. He insulted me
as mistress of Ferness. He has been everything in the
world to me, and has always led me to understand that
we should live together. If he had even once said to
me: 'I may marry again, Diana,' I should in some
measure have been prepared for the change, but he never
did."
"But, my dear," remarked Sir Royal, "you will
marry yourself some day."
"I do not think so," she replied, with flashing eyes.
"I should never have left papa to marry anyone."
"You cannot be sure of that, Dian," he said, gently.
"I am sure of it, Royal," she cried-"quite sure.
You do not suppose the man lives for whom I care half
as much as I do for papa."
Sir Royal smiled, thinking to himself how little she
knew of life and its ever-changing scenes.
"I am glad to see you better, Dian," he said, pres-
ently. "A ride will do you good-change your thoughts*
and cheer you."
1
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1
"My face may wear a smile, but my heart will be
forever clothed in sadness," she replied.
"Not forever, Dian," said Sir Royal, in his cheeriest
"When we do our best-when we do what is
tones.
our duty-peace always comes."
She raised her lovely, sad face to his.
"Royal," she said, gently, "tell me exactly what my
duty is, and I will do it."
"It will be hard, Dian.
"1
t
"Never mind; I will do it. I will not be proud and
rebellious if I can help it. Tell me just what you
think my duty is."
"First, then, it is your duty to write to your father
a nice, genial letter, without reproach. Wish him hap-
piness, say no unkind word, and send some pleasant
message to Lady Cameron.”
"To Lady Cameron!" repeated Diana, scornfully.
"The sound of the name is to me perfectly horrible."
He smiled at her vehemence, so characteristic of
the passionate, impulsive child Diana.
"You re-
"Will you write the letter?" he asked.
member my lecture, Diana? This is the first time that
yourself and your pride have come into conflict; we
shall see which will win."
"I will write the letter," she said, with a grateful,
loving look at him. "You are like a guardian-angel
to me, Royal."
"Rather a grim one, my dear," he answered good.
naturedly. "I am sure you will find it easy if you do
battle with that grievous sense of intolerable wrong,
and think of your father's happiness. You have to
take your first lesson in discipline, and discipline
shapes life."
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}
+
1
"I fear mine will shape badly, then, for I do not take
kindly to discipline at all," said Diana. "You want
me to be gentle and kind to papa; perhaps that will
not be so difficult when I see him again. You want
me to live in peace with my step-mother. You want
me to treat her with respect and affection-the woman
who has usurped my mother's place. I will do my
best. If I succeed, it will be because I love you so
well and wish to please you."
"No, not at all," he replied. "You must have a no-
bler, higher motive, or you will not succeed. You
must do it because it is your duty."
"And duty," said Diana, with flashing eyes, "is to
be the watchword of my life?"
|
I
"Yes. It is of most lives, Diana, and one grows to
obey its bchests without chafing. To do what is right
is to do one's duty, and this is really all that is asked
of you now."
"I will earnestly try to do my duty. But, oh, Royal,
how everything has changed! I did not really know
what trouble meant until now. I have often been per-
plexed when I have heard people say that life was sad.
and full of care. I can understand it better now. Do
you know that the sunshine has lost its brightness to
me?"
"Yes, I understand that," said Sir Royal.
He was grieved to see how pale and sad she looked
when they reached Ferness. She clung to his hand
then, saying:
}
"Will you tell Lady Colwyn and Rich? I cannot.
"Yes; you may leave that to me, Dian," he answered.
And she felt how fortunate she was to have such a rock
of refuge.
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131
"Go to your room, Diana, and rest," he said. "I
will spend the remainder of the day at Ferness, and
dine there, with your permission. Go and rest, dear.
By the time you appear amongst us again everyone of
the household shall know of the marriage, so that you
shall be spared the pain of communicating the news."
She went up to him frankly and lovingly, as though
he had been her own brother, and, raising her sweet,
pale face to his, kissed him.
"Royal," she said, earnestly, "I do not know what I
should have done without you. I could not have
borne the first bitter sting of my pain alone; my mind
is easier now that I have unburdened my heart to one
so loyal and true as you. As long as I live I can
never thank you enough."
"You have thanked me now," he replied.
And Diana went to her room, feeling that in Sir
Royal she had the truest friend in the world.
When Lady Colwyn heard the news, she burst into
tears.
"That horrible woman!" she cried.
it. She angled for him from the first.
What a trial for her! A man of Mr. Cameron's age
ought to have known better."
"It will go hard with Diana," Richard said; and his
heart ached for the beautiful, petted young girl who had
known no will but her own.
The servants heard the intelligence with surprise,
and were not slow to express disapprobation. One
and all loved Diana, and dreaded the home-coming of
another mistress.
It was a sad little dinner-party, although they all
"I always feared
Poor Diana!
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made an effort to be cheerful. They tried, too, to
avoid the marriage as a subject of conversation; but,
despite their endeavors, it would crop up.
"I have made this house so completely my home,"
remarked Sir Royal, "that I do not know how I shall
manage ceremonious visits."
"Diana," said Lady Colwyn, "for the future, my dear,
you must come to the Park to see me, instead of my
coming here to visit you. I am sure that Lady Cam-
eron will not place me on her visiting list, and, be-
sides, I should not feel happy in her society or that of
her friends. You will have only the elite of the coun-
try, under the new regime."
No one knew the pang with which the words went
to Diana's heart. "The new regime!" She realized
more bitterly than ever what changes must take place.
"I shall expect my conge," put in Richard.
"I am
sure that no fashionable ladies will ever care for my
society. I will have no queen but Diana."
"I am afraid there is an end to all our happiness,"
said Diana.
"I know what step-mothers are," observed Lady
Colwyn, slowly. "I have heard and seen a great deal of
them."
Ch
"We must not frighten Diana," said Sir Royal. "Af-
ter all, things may turn out brighter than we anticipate."
"Will both Lady Cameron's girls live here?" asked
Lady Colwyn, suddenly.
But Diana could not tell, for she knew nothing of
the arrangements. She was not even certain how long
her father would be absent; and they all saw the flush
of mortification on her beautiful face when she found
-
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133
that she could not answer any of their questions; and
the wound to her pride was intensified by the thought
that her father, upon whom she had lavished her un-
divided love, had not taken her into his confidence.
When Lady Colwyn kissed her and bade her good-
night, she said:
"You will remember, Diana, that you have been like
a daughter to me, and that, no matter what happens
here, you have always a home with me. It will not
equal Ferness in beauty and magnificence, but its at-
mosphere will be one of love."
As Diana thanked her, she felt that no girl had
truer friends.
Sir Royal and Richard walked to Westwater to-
gether. Richard's heart burned with Diana's wrongs,
and he gave full vent to his indignation. It was well
for the newly married pair that they did not overhear
the conversation; they would not have been flattered by
it. Richard's opinion of Mr. Cameron was clearly
and forcibly expressed; Sir Royal had more to say on
the subject of his wife.
"They will never live together, Lady Cameron and
Diana," said Richard: "they are so opposed in every
way.
"We must hope for the best while expecting the
worst," returned Sir Royal, who was inexpressibly
grieved for the misery which this new alliance would
bring to Diana.
It was not long before the news spread over the
whole country; Peter Cameron, the man worth three
millions of money, the master of Ferness, had married
the beautiful and fashionable Lady Scarsdale. The
{
£34
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
J
marriage did not cause much surprise—indeed, every-
body declared that it was a very sensible alliance. The
bride had rank, the bridegroom had money; the two
combined would be a great power. Worldly wise peo-
ple smiled as they read the news in the society jour-
nals, and decided that in future it would be desirable
to cultivate Lady Cameron's acquaintance.
In the country the marriage was almost wholly ap-
proved. No one but her three true friends thought of
Diana's interest in it, and knew how for the worst it
would affect her. Indeed most people said, "What an
excellent thing for Miss Cameron! She will be in the
best set in London." One or two congratulated her,
and observed what a bright prospect the wedding
opened to her- then wondered why her face flushed
and her eyes flashed fire.
"I could bear anything," she said one day to Sir
Royal between smiles and tears, "if people would not
speak as though papa's marriage were an excellent
thing for me. Wherever I go it is the same chorus—
'What a good thing it is for Diana!' No one seems to
think that I could have any possible objection to it.
The next person who tells me that it is an excellent
thing for me will get an answer that will rather aston-
ish him."
K
Among others who expressed great satisfaction at
what they called the "arrangement" were the Duke and
Duchess of Stone. The duchess was heard to declare
that she was delighted, and hoped, when they came.
to Ferness, to see a great deal of Mr. and Lady Cam-
eron. And, when Diana heard that, she knew, that
the great object of her father's life was attained.
CHAPTER XVI
SIX weeks in Paris were long enough for the newly
married couple. Lady Cameron, like a sensible bee,
had gathered honey while the sun shone. She had
bought a superb collection of lace, ornaments, and
dresses. Nothing pleased Peter Cameron better than
when the stately lady he had married came to him
and asked, with a few honeyed words, for a check.
|
+
"I hope you have purchased something handsome
this time, my lady," he would say.
He always called her "my lady." He did not con-
sider himself on sufficiently familiar terms with her
to call her "Hermione," and "Lady Cameron," although
it delighted him, was too formal, so he compromised
the matter by addressing her as "my lady."
He would have emptied half the shops in Paris for
her had she so desired. He lavished the most splen-
did gifts upon her, and, when she would accept no
more, he insisted that she should purchase whatever
she wished for her daughters. Lady Cameron knew
that neither Thea nor Evadne would care for anything
that was not expensive, so she hesitated and said:
"You are so generous, Mr. Cameron, that to accept
presents from you for my daughters seems like impos-
ing on you."
Her ladyship never addressed her husband as
"Peter."
135
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}
"It is a terrible name, she said, with a shrug of
her aristocratic shoulders. She really could not manage
"Peter;" when she pronounced it with her dainty lips,
it had such a peculiar sound that even he himself
laughed at it.
"My daughters," she said, suavely, "have every-
thing but jewelry, and that, of course, I could not
think of choosing."
He laughed good-humoredly.
"Anything that pleases them and you, my lady, will
delight me," he said. "Let me see-Thea is dark and
Evadne fair. Come with me to the Palais Royal; your
daughters shall soon have some jewelry. Mine has
enough for a queen.
"Ah," said her ladyship softly, "that is quite
another thing! If my dear mother had not left me her
jewels I should have had none.'
"1
11
"We will soon remedy all defects in that direction,"
declared Mr. Cameron; and he ordered the coachman
to drive to the Palais Royal.
Had Lady Cameron seen the sum he paid the jew-
eler, she might have thought he was more lavish than
wise. She wondered a little at the number of cases;
but, when she reached home, she found that he had
purchased two complete suites of jewels for each
daughter. For Thea, the elder and dark-haired, he
had bought rubies and amethysts-for Evadne, pearls
and opals.
"You are too generous," said her ladyship, as she
looked at the superb presents. "Now I, in return, must
choose something for Diana."
He was radiant with delight.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
137
"You shall, my dear, if you will allow me to be your
banker," he said.
Lady Cameron hardly liked the expression "my
dear;" but, as her husband had just lavished hundreds
of pounds upon her, it was difficult to show disappro-
bation.
The result of this conversation was another visit to
the jeweler's; and this time it was Lady Cameron who
chose the present.
“I dare not ask the price of it," she said, as she
laid a magnificent diamond necklace before her hus-
band; "but, if we take Diana a present, let it be
this."
"She has diamonds," answered Mr Cameron.
"She cannot have anything so beautiful as this, for I
am sure there is nothing like it out of Paris," declared
her ladyship
So the necklace was purchased and Lady Cameron's
mind was at rest. If he had bought handsome presents
for her daughters, she had done the same for his
daughter, and she thought little of and cared less for
the fact that he had paid for all.
The six weeks in Paris had certainly been most de-
lightful; but, notwithstanding that, Lady Cameron
wanted to be at home. She desired to preside in state
at Ferness, to throw open that most magnificent of
houses to her own friends, to entertain there those
who had hitherto befriended her. She longed to dis-
pense hospitality in a queenly fashion.
But she was a sensible woman. She knew that
there would be drawbacks, and that she could not ex-
pect to achieve all her triumphs at once. She had
Spe
է
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secured the home by marrying the master; but there
was still the daughter to subdue or conciliate. Diana
was heiress of Ferness, and it was in her power to
make that most sumptuous of mansions a very disa-
greeable residence. True, her ladyship hated her step-
daughter with a profound hatred; but though she had
no intention of compromising, she thought it prudent.
to be circumspect as to her future actions. So Lady
Cameron, when they were discussing the question of
their return to England, said to her husband:
"I have a proposal to make about our return, Mr.
Cameron, if you have time to listen to it."
"I have always time for you, my lady," he answered,
pleased at her interest.
She was looking her best just then, her ripe, matronly
beauty set off by a morning-dress of pale rose silk and
cashmere, the most coquettish of point lace caps on
her hair, while her white fingers glittered with rings.
"She is a wife for any man to be proud of," thought
Mr. Cameron as he looked at her.
"I have been thinking," said her ladyship, “that it
will be rather trying for Diana when I first go to
Ferness. Of course, my rule will differ from hers,
as I have been accustomed to such very different sur-
⚫roundings."
"Diana has managed very nicely up to now, I am
sure," returned Peter Cameron.
#
Her ladyship felt her way delicately.
"She has, indeed. Pray do not think that I under-
rate or do not appreciate her efforts; I am of opinion
that she has managed admirably. Still my rule will.
differ from hers. In some departments I shall require
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
139
more servants, in others fewer. Many things must be
quite changed. In fact, I thought, with your approv-
al, that I would model the household at Ferness
after the fashion of that at Stonedale. The dear
duchess often consulted me upon domestic matters."
"If you think it is necessary, I suppose it must be
done," he answered, with some reluctance; for just at
that moment he thought of the glow on Diana's face
when she had come to tell him of some
ment in
new achieve-
household matters-such a flush of pride
and happiness as he would never see there again.
But it was all for the best for her he told himself,
and yet Peter Cameron had serious misgivings when
he reflected upon the altered state of affairs.
Lady Cameron looked keenly at her husband; she
was quick enough to read his thoughts in his face.
"I think," she said, with great dignity, "that it is
only due to myself to have a clear understanding be-
fore our return. I had better ask you the question at
once, and so decide it. Do you intend me or Diana
to be absolute mistress of Ferness?"
You, most decidedly and unreservedly," he re
plied.
"I did you the justice," she said, with a dignified
gesture, "to believe that it could not be otherwise;
still it is much better to have a proper understanding.
I am to be undisputed, uncontrolled mistress of Fer-
ness?"
"Most decidedly," he answered, promptly; "there
can be no question with regard to that."
"It is settled then," said Lady Cameron; "we need
never reopen the subject. Now I want you to
*
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listen to a little plan of mine which will lessen the
shock of the change to Diana. If we go at once to
Ferness, I must of necessity displace Diana, and that
would not be pleasant either for me or for her; but
if we go to London first, and ask her to come there,
it would be different. She would come there more
as my guest, and would find me already installed as
mistress of the house, which would make a material
difference. Do you not think so?"
"I do," he replied; "and I think it a very kind and
happy thought of yours. I shall act upon it."
"Thank you," she cried. "We can remain in Lon-
don for a week or two. By that time Diana will have
fallen into her new position, and I shall have estab-
lished mine. The house is small, but it is in the most
fashionable quarter; and, though there is scarcely a
soul in town during the last week in September, we
shall, I have no doubt, make the time pass pleasantly."
The result of this arrangement was that Peter Cam-
eron wrote to his daughter, asking her to join himself
and Lady Cameron, in London on the twenty-fourth
of September.
Diana eagerly sought Sir Royal, in order to tell him
the news and to have his opinion upon it.
"They are not coming yet," she cried; "and oh, how
glad I am to add they are not coming here!-Papa
has written. Read the letter. He wishes me to go to
London and spend some weeks there with them."
"It will break the fall," said Sir Royal, after he had
perused the letter. "You would not feel the change so
much there as you would here.
"I do not like the thought of it," confessed Diana,
"I
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141
"I have heard Thea say how small and cramped the
house is. I wonder how papa will like it after Fer-
ness?"
"A man in love likes anything," said Sir Royal.
Then he knew by the cloud which overspread
Diana's lovely face that he had made a mistake.
"Do you think papa is so much in love?" she asked.
"We must hope so," said Sir Royal. "I am sure you
would be sorry if he were not. What does the old song
say?-
"Naught but love could gild the pill."
"I should imagine in this instance that papa is the
gilded pill," remarked Diana, mockingly. "Then you
advise me to go, Royal?"
"Yes; it will be wisest and best. But how I shall
miss you, Diana!"
$
"I shall write to you," she said, "and tell you all
that passes. I shall write often and I shall not be away
long. I hate the very thought of it; but I must go, I
suppose. Oh, Royal, I do not feel at all like Diana
the heiress now! The sunshine and the flowers have
no longer any charm for me; I feel like a wretched
and desolate child whose interest in life has been
obliterated."
"You can never be desolate while I live," he told
her. "You know that, do you not, Diana?"
"I ought to know it by this time," she said, grate-
fully. "No girl ever had such a true friend as you
are to me."
"And always shall be, Diana. You are the sunshine
of my life."
AN
{
142
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
But he did not tell her how dark was the shadow
around her.
Richard was indignant at the summons and coun-
seled open rebellion.
1
"They think it will be easier to break your spirit.
there, Diana," he said; "but if I were you, they should
1
not crush it. I would refuse the invitation curtly, but
politely."
Lady Colwyn sighingly agreed that it was, in the
circumstances, best that Diana should visit her father
and her step-mother in London.
+
"You will take Susanne, your maid with you, of
course," said Lady Colwyn.
It never occurred to Diana that there was no super-
fluity of accommodation in the bijou house. Lady
Cameron had arranged that her husband and herself
should reach home a few days before Diana came.
Thea and Evadne were already there; therefore when
Diana arrived, the whole family were assembled to
meet her.
CHAPTER XVII
•
LADY CAMERON's bijou house was in one of the most
fashionable streets in Mayfair. The situation was un-
exceptionable, and when her first husband died she
had been thought very fortunate in securing the house,
notwithstanding that it was small and close. The
requirements of fashion and of society had been stud- ·
ied to the exclusion of everything else. The dining
room was of moderate size, plainly furnished, with a
few far from first-class pictures; the drawing-room was
a more pretentious apartment, being furnished with
taste and elegance, and opening into a conservatory
of diminutive proportions. There was a morning
room, and a library, scantily supplied with books and
equally scant of light. The sleeping-rooms were
small, plainly furnished, and by no means comfortable.
Diana felt somewhat dismayed when the carriage
drove up to the door and she saw the size of the house.
"Carlton Gardens, Mayfair," had promised something.
better than this; the name smacked of salubrity and
spaciousness. Yet here there was neither the one nor
the other. She was even more dismayed when she saw
the small square entrance hall with its tiled floor and
stands of flowers. As the door closed there came to
her a sense of suffocation, as though the walls were
closing in around her.
"Mr. Cameron is in the library and would like to
*
❤
143
144
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
see you there," said the servant, advancing to her; and
Diana followed.
She thought, as she crossed the narrow passage,
"Ah, well might her ladyship wish to change the bijou
house with its cramped rooms and suffocating atmos-
phere for the stately palace at Ferness! The next mo-
ment, so suddenly as to startle her, the door was
opened, and she stood in her father's presence.
"My darling Dian," he cried, "I am so glad to see
you again!"
Her face had grown pale, and in her eyes there was
a faint gleam of reproach. Then she remembered her
promise to Sir Royal.
"How are you, Dian?" eagerly asked her father, as
he drew her to him and kissed her. "Why, child, you
are thin and pale, and you have lost the sparkle of
your lovely blue eyes! And where, pray, are the
smiles and the dimples?"
Suddenly he remembered that in all probability she
had suffered much through him, and was silent.
"They are hidden, papa," she said; "they will soon
reappear without doubt. I am tired with my journey."
What change had come over the girl? The very
ring and music had gone from her voice, and her face
bore traces of care and sorrow. Had he made a ter-
rible mistake, and was this marriage of his not the
best thing, after all, for Diana? A doubt came to
him as he looked at her.
"You are not looking well, Diana," he said, gently'
drawing her to him again. "Have you been lonely,
my dear?"
A quiver of pain passed over Diana's face, and burn-
+
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
145
ing tears rose to her eyes; but she restrained them.
In her mind she had rehearsed this scene many,
many times, and in her fancy she had always been
dignified. She longed with her whole heart to throw
her arms round her father's neck, to sob out her pas-
sion of grief and reproach on his breast, to cry out to
him that he had deceived her, that he had spoiled her
life, that she was miserable and desolate, that she
hated the very thought of meeting her step-mother;
but she controlled her emotion, and stood before him
calm, pale, and cold, looking like the shadow of the
beautiful, bright girl he had left but a few weeks be-
fore.
He gazed at her for some few minutes in perfect
silence. Her eyes met his coldly; in them there was
no light of joy. Peter Cameron's face flushed hotly.
"Diana," he cried, "if I thought my marriage was
the cause of this, I would shoot myself."
"The cause of what, papa?" she asked, in passion-
less tones.
"Of so complete a change that I-"
Before he had time to finish the sentence the door
opened and Lady Cameron entered, her rich silk dress
rustling, her face bright with smiles, her white jeweled
hands outstretched. Her quick instinct told her she
had interrupted what would have been a scene; but
she was grace and suavity itself-a contrast to the
pale, sorrowful girl before her.
"My dear Diana, welcome," she said-and the words
would have seemed kindlier had they not had such an
artificial ring-"welcome!" she repeated. "I did not
know that you had arrived, or I would have been
with you before. How are you?"
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"I am quite well, but tired," answered Diana.
She longed to be alone; the checked tears were
burning into her heart, and she felt that here she had
no one in whom she could confide, or to whom she
could look for comfort.
"I can believe that," said Lady Cameron. "You shall
go to your room. How do you think your father is
looking?"
Diana glanced at him; but her eyes did not dwell
with eager fondness on him as they would once have
done.
•
"He looks well," she answered, briefly; "he is sun-
burned."
Lady Cameron smiled. "How have you left all
at Ferness?" she asked.
The words were very simple; but there was some-
thing in the tone that seemed to imply that Ferness
was hers now.
Diana was quick to resent it.
"I left all well and bright," she answered—"very
different from this."
The two looked at each other and there could be
no doubt as to the feeling existing between them. Sir
Royal's lectures and admonitions were forgotten by
Diana, and though Lady Cameron made an effort to
conceal her chagrin, undying hate could be read in
her eyes.
"Yes, this place must look small and dingy after
Ferness," agreed her ladyship.
"It does, indeed," declared Diana.
"Would you like any refreshment?
Cameron-"wine, soup or tea?"
asked Lady
1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
147*
"I should like some tea," returned Diana, promptly;
"but not here; let it be sent to my room.
"I will order it at once," said Lady Cameron.
She felt that everything was going fairly well, that
Diana had fallen naturally into her place as guest
and as a person of secondary importance, while she
had taken her standing as mistress of the house, and
intended to keep it.
""
"My maid shall see you to your room," said Lady
Cameron.
Her husband felt that it would have been much
kinder had she offered to do so herself, while Diana
cared but little, provided only she might get away
Her sense of desolation, of bitter disappointment, of
wounded love, was almost more than she could bear.
She and her father already seemed a thousand miles
apart.
Flowers quickly appeared, looking very good-tem-
pered and prosperous-her wages had been doubled,
and her boxes filled with dresses. Diana followed her
to the room which for the remainder of her stay in
London was to be the only one sacred to her.
"It is not a very comfortable-looking apartment,
miss," said Flowers, "but it is the only one available.
The young ladies have the front room, and the room
down-stairs is kept for visitors."
The woman looked and felt just a little ashamed that
her master's own daughter, the heiress of Ferness,
should have the worst sleeping-room in the house.
Diana was haughtily indifferent.
"It matters little," she said. "Will you send my
maid to me?"
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
>
Flowers looked up in surprise.
your maid, miss?" she asked.
that I was to attend upon you."
"You will find Susanne here; be good enough to
send her to me," she replied.
Diana would not discuss any subject with Lady
Cameron's maid. She wanted to be alone, for she
felt it impossible to restrain her tears much longer.
Then came five minutes' reprieve a reprieve from
dissimulation-and during that interval the over-
charged heart burst forth in a violent agony of grief.
The heiress threw aside her hat and cloak, and knelt
down by the little bed.
"This is the first time I have done real battle with
myself," she thought, "and I have won the victory. I
have conquered myself; but it has cost me dear."
All the hidden pain, the shattered love, all the misery
that reigned supreme in her heart, found vent in that
torrent of bitter tears. The idol of her life was bro-
ken; her father would never be the same to her again.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," said Diana, expecting to see the pretty,
rosy face of her maid.
But it was Lady Cameron who entered. There was
an unmistakable frown on her face, the smile she gen-
crally wore had vanished. Diana sprung to her feet,
annoyed and irritated because she had been found
weeping.
Lady Cameron looked for a moment at the tear-stained
face.
"I am sorry to see you in such trouble," she said
coldly. "Excuse me, but I hope you have not come
"Have you brought
"I understood my lady
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
149
here to make any scenes. We are all very happy and
comfortable, and I do not wish for any exhibitions of
weeping or willfulness."
To this Diana vouchsafed no reply, but stood calmly
waiting.
"May I ask what you require?" she said, at length.
"Yes," replied Lady Cameron; and the frown deep-
ened on her face. "I wish to know if it is true that
you have brought your maid with you?"
"Most certainly," was the brief reply.
It
is most inconvenient.
commodation for her.
we are quite crowded
'You should have written to ask my permission.
I have really no sleeping ac-
She must go back to Ferness;
now."
"If she goes, I too shall return to Ferness, said
Diana. "I have never been accustomed to manage
without a maid.'
E
"I think you might do so now, when you know that
it inconveniences me," said Lady Cameron, deter-
mined to emphasize to the fullest her position of mis-
tress.
"I am sorry to disturb you," replied Diana. "If I had
known there was not sufficient accommodation, I should
not have come; but I decidedly decline to part with
my maid."
"My daughters can do very well without one," said
Lady Cameron.
11
"Most probably," answered Diana; "but that does
not concern me.
"What they can do you can surely do," sneered
Lady Cameron.
"I do not intend to try," replied Diana.
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Her ladyship, finding her words vain, withdrew in a
not very amiable mood.
Then came Susanne. She looked at the little stuffy
room in dismay.
"Oh, miss," she cried, "is this for you?
not so large as a cupboard at home!
find room for all your dresses?"
"You need not unpack many of them, Susanne," said
Miss Cameron.
Why, it is
Where shall I
And the maid, puzzled and anxious, began her work,
taking out only such costumes as she believed would
be necessary for present requirements.
For more than an hour Diana sat in the room with
naught but her sad thoughts to keep her company.
The cup of tea was brought to her, but it was cold and
unpalatable--even in this small matter Diana felt that
she was neglected. Then a servant maid came with a
message to say that, when Miss Cameron was rested,
Mr. Cameron would be glad to see her.
"Now for my armor of strength," said Diana to her-
self; "now for my second battle with myself."
She summoned to her aid all the good resolutions
she had made, she called to mind all that Sir Royal
had said to her on the subject of pride, and then she
went down to her father.
"My darling," he said-his face and voice were as
kind as ever—“I thought you were never coming, and
I am longing to hear all about Ferness. Come and
talk to me."
She drew a little footstool to his feet and sat down.
She laid her head upon his knee, and his hands.
smoothed the fair ripples of hair as they had been wont
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
151
to do. He asked the most minute questions about Fer-
ness, and then he told her of many incidents of his
stay in Paris, and it seemed as if they were once more
united heart to heart; yet Diana felt that between them
lay a gulf that could never be bridged over. She could
not help thinking that she was talking more to Lady
Cameron's husband than to her own father. She found
herself watching her words as she had never done be-
fore with him.
Suddenly he looked down at her.
"Diana," he said, hurriedly, "was my marriage a
shock to you?"
"Papa," she answered, slowly, "it has broken my
heart and utterly ruined my life."
"What a tableau!" cried her ladyship's voice at the
door. "Mr. Cameron," she continued, advancing into
the room, "I want to speak to you for a few minutes
about the new carriages ordered from Payne's."
Diana rose and quitted. the room.
CHAPTER XVIII
BEFORE dressing for dinner Diana wrote a long letter
to Sir Royal, telling him all that had passed-of her
struggle with her pride and her victory over herself.
Then she began her toilet. The small rooms, the close
atmosphere, the continual noise-for every sound could
be heard throughout the house-the want of accommo-
dation, the knowledge that she was with people who
disliked her, afforded her ample food for contempla-
tion. No one knew how she shrank from meeting
"those Scarsdale girls," as Lady Colwyn styled them.
She would have given anything to avoid them.
It was
more intolerable still to remember that it was not for a
day only, but perhaps for many years they were to be
together.
"Courage," said Diana to herself, "courage! We
must be close together here; but at Ferness there will
be plenty of room, and I need not see much of them.”
The meeting was commonplace enough, but charac-
teristic of the three girls. Diana went down to the
drawing-room, where the sisters awaited her. Happily
for the family peace, there were several guests present
who had been invited to dinner-indeed Lady Cameron
feared to risk a family party. When Diana entered
the room, looking stately and lovely as a young queen,
the elder sister advanced and met her.
152
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
• 153
"You have reached us safely," said Thea. "I hope
you are not tired after your journey?"
She did not feel particularly pleased to see Diana,
and she did not say so. Thea seldom took the trouble
to say anything that she did not feel; and it was
this habit of never sacrificing truth on the altar of hy-
pocrisy which caused so many little ruptures between
Thea and her mother and sister.
}
Diana made some indifferent reply; and then Evad-
ne, a vision of dainty loveliness in her dress of
white and blue, came forward and flung both arms round
Diana's neck.
“I was
"I am so glad you have come!" she said.
longing to see you. I knew we should remain friends.'
It was a Judas kiss that she pressed on Diana's proud
face. "I am so glad, so delighted," she said, “that
everything has turned out so pleasantly! How happy
we shall all be together at dear Ferness!"
"I do not see why Ferness should be dear to you!"
Diana returned haughtily.
"From anticipation," laughed Evadne. "I antici-
pate so much happiness and enjoyment there that I
love it already." Then, with a graceful gesture, Evadne
took one of the hands of her sister and one of the heir-
ess's in her own and held them. "What a strange
thing it is," she said "we three shall be sisters!"
"I do not see that at all," said Diana.
"Nor do I," added Thea.
"It will be so," laughed Evadne. "I wonder how
we shall like each other? I wonder how we shall
agree-whether we shall be jealous of each other and
quarrel and say spiteful things?"
S
154.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"I do not think we shall agree at all," confessed Thea;
"and I strongly object to any nonsense, such as calling
each other sisters. I am quite sure that Miss Cameron
cannot like us. If the position were reversed, we
should not like her. We shall get on much better
without any false pretenses."
Diana rather liked this plain speaking, but Evadne
resented it.
$
"How can you be so disagreeable, Thea?" she asked.
Diana turned away abruptly, for she had not been
used to such vulgar exhibitions, and they jarred on
her better nature.
..
It was strangely unlike home; the small dining-
room, the incessant chattering of the girls, the heat, the
novelty, altogether embarrassed her. She looked at
her father, seated at the head of this table so different
from his own and she wondered how anything could
reconcile him to the change. At Ferness his thoughts
and interests had been concentrated on her alone; now
she was but one of many. At Ferness he had talked
to her during the whole of dinner; now he rarely had
time to address her. At Ferness it was she who sat at
the foot of the table, led the conversation, and gave
orders; here she sat at the side, and was treated as an
ordinary member of the family.
"This will be my place for the future," thought
Diana. "It is easier to fill it here than it will be at
Ferness.
All the evening she had the same sensation of lone-
liness and of being among strangers.
"I shall never be at my ease with those two girls,'
she said to herself. "I do not know which I dislike the
00
Ex
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
155
more—the abruptness of the one, or the insincerity of
the other."
In a few days Diana grew more accustomed to her
new life, but only to dislike it more heartily.
One afternoon, when the two girls were absent, the
heiress was with her father in the only room he could
tolerate in the house. Diana had been, according to
her old custom, writing some letters for him, when sud-
denly he opened his writing-desk and took out a par-
cel.
کھو
-İN
“Diana," he said, “I am always forgetting to give
you this."
"What is it, papa?" she asked.
"A present that I brought you from Paris. I hope
you will like it. Open it, Diana, and see.
11
He watched the white taper fingers as they unfast-
ened the cord, he watched the lovely face brighten as
her eyes fell on the superb necklace.
"You bought this for me? Oh, papa, how good of
you, how kind! How beautiful it is! I have nothing
amongst all my jewels so lovely as this."
"You really like it, Dian?" he asked.
"Like it? Why, papa, it is the most beautiful neck-
lace I have ever seen, truly the most beautiful!"
"Lady Cameron expressed herself in the same fash-
ion," remarked her father.
"Did she?" asked Diana, with cold indifference.
But he was so elated with her delight that he did
not detect her change of tone.
"She admired it exceedingly," he said. "Indeed, to
tell the history of the matter, it is her ladyship's pres-
ent to you.
I bought some few things for Thea and
156
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
*
Evadne; she in return bought this for you." He did
not add that he had been allowed the privilege of pay-
ing for it.
"It is," he amended, "my wife's present
to you."
Diana dropped the diamonds as though they had
suddenly grown red hot, and they fell upon the velvet
c'ase. She could not control the expression of her face,
and it told pretty plainly that she would rather wear
a necklace of thorns than one of jewels given to her by
Lady Cameron. She pushed away the case without
another word, and went on with her reading. Her face
flushed and her heart beat wildly in a tumult of passion.
Wear jewels that her step-mother had bought? No,
never! The impulse was strong upon her to take the
case from the table and fling it into the street. Once
she half rose to do so; but her better nature prevailed.
There was an awkward silence, and Peter Cameron
looked deeply grieved. He could not mistake the ex-
pression of Diana's face. At last he rose to quit the
room, and, as he did so, he pointed to the case.
"Diana," he said, quietly, "will you not take that
away?"
There was a minute's terrible struggle in her heart;
the hot blood rushed to her face; her whole frame
trembled with angry passion. She longed to say:
"No; I will never touch them again now that I know
from whom they come!" She longed to say it; the
words seemed to burn her lips. In another moment she
would have uttered them-would have flung away the
jewels and alienated her father's affection—when sud-
denly Sir Royal's face seemed to rise before her, and
there sounded in her ears his noble truths about life
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
157
and life's discipline. The angry flush faded, the
clinched hand fell by her side, the light of passion died.
from her eyes. Never did human being make greater
effort to attain self-control than did Diana at that
moment.
Then she went to her father and kissed him.
"Yes, papa," she said; "I will take it away;" and,
raising the jewel-case from the table, she carried it off
with her.
It was
a great effort at self-mastery. When she
reached her own room her face was pale and her lips
quivered; yet there was a sense of peace and satisfac-
tion with it.
"My third victory!" said Diana. "I do not think
even Royal would call me proud now."
She put away the necklace, and completed her self-
sacrifice by thanking Lady Cameron for it. But she
never wore it.
Although Diana was anxious to combat her pride,
and thus give no cause of offense to her step-mother
or pain to her father, there was one resolution she
strictly adhered to-she would not be included in any
arrangements made for Thea and Evadne. If Lady
Cameron asked her to drive out with them, she an-
swered that four in a carriage were too many. If Lady
Cameron observed at luncheon or at dinner that she
had made an engagement for "the girls," Diana always
politely declined it.
"I am obliged to be with them," she thought; "but I
am not compelled to be of them."
In everything she drew a line between herself and
them. She was polite and well-bred in all her deal-
158
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
1
ings with them; but they could see plainly that she
merely tolerated and did not really like them.
Diana was very much annoyed by the almost servile
affection that Evadne professed for her father. She
would hover about him as a bee hovers over a flower.
She would dart behind him, put her hands over his
eyes while she kissed him, and then ask him to guess
who it was. She pursued him with all manner of lit-
tle attentions; she waited upon him continually. If he
expressed a wish, she flew to obey it. She read to
him, she sang to him, and it was all done so natu-
rally and so gracefully that no one could find fault.
She said to him one day, before the whole family:
"I do not like calling you Mr. Cameron. I wish you
would let me say 'papa.'
""
4
His eyes met Diana's, and she saw how embarrassed
he looked. She waited anxiously for the answer.
If he gave this girl whom she so thoroughly dis-
trusted and disliked permission to call him "papa," there
would be an end of all her happiness.
"I am quite sure, "continued the dulcet voice, "that
no father could be kinder to his own child than you
are to me. Why not let me call you 'papa,' as Diana
does?"
Innocent as she looked, sweet as was her voice,
Evadne knew that every word she uttered was like a
dagger in the proud heart of Diana.
"You must ask permission of your mamma," said
Mr. Cameron, shyly. "We must consider her wishes."
"I have no objection," put in her ladyship, blandly.
Anything that drew her daughter nearer to the man
blessed with three millions of money pleased her.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
159
"Now let me
Then it shall be so," said Evadne.
hear how it sounds. Papa, I hope you will be very
kind to your new daughter, and love her very much.
"My new daughter is a very charming, loving girl,"
şaid the millionaire, delightedly; while Diana, with a
pal, scared face, rose quickly and quitted the room.
The sisters discussed the little scene when they
were alone.
19
"I don't care the value of two pins whether I call
him papa or not," said Evadne; "but I was determined
to have my revenge on Queen Diana. Did you see
how white she looked, and what a passion she was
in?"
"How can you be so deceitful, Evadne?" cried her
sister.
"How can you be so foolish, Thea? I am pursuing a
line I have intended to follow all along. If he will
give me, or leave me, say, only ten or twenty thousand
pounds, I shall be content; and it is worth a great
deal of flattery.”
"I would not sell my conscience as you do-your
honor and truth go with it--for all the money in the
world," said Thea.
"But I would; and that makes all the difference be-
tween us," retorted Evadne. “And you will see in the
long run who will be the better off. Whatever else I
do, you may be sure of one thing-I shall revenge our
wrongs on Diana."
/
2
CHAPTER XIX
LADY CAMERON began to think that the time of pro-
bation was almost over, and that it would be prudent
now to return to the country. They had spent ten
days in the bijou house, and they were by no means
comfortable, for, as Lady Cameron confided to her
daughters, Mr. Cameron seemed too large for the
place, and Diana made the rooms look exceedingly or-
dinary. It was time now to go back in triumph to
Ferness. She had been considerate enough to Diana;
now the war, if war it must be, would begin in earnest.
She resolved to speak to her husband at once about
it; but on the same day that she made the resolution
a note was brought to her which changed their plans.
There had been a slight unpleasantness that morn-
ing, and the smoldering fire had burst almost into
flame. The four ladies were alone after breakfast, and
the conversation turned upon Stonedale. Lady Cam-
eron had that morning received a a letter from the
duchess, saying that the family were going to Stone-
dale, and hoped shortly to see her there. Her lady-
ship was so delighted that she could not refrain from
showing the letter to her daughters.
"The dear duchess!", she exclaimed for the twentieth
time. "How charming it will be to see her at Fer-
ness. What an addition the Stonedale party will
be!"
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SUNSHINE AND Roses
161
And then Evadne, who never lost a chance. saw
her way to vent her spite once more on Diana.
"Do you think, mamma," she asked, "that the duch-
ess will like Ferness? It is very different in style from
Stonedale."
Lady Cameron smiled, quite understanding her
daughter's motive; while the once mistress of Ferness
sat with a pale impassive countenance, apparently un-
concerned.
"I have no doubt, my dear," replied her ladyship,
"that with a few alterations Ferness may be made into
a very presentable place; but it certainly requires alter-
ations." Lady Cameron turned to Diana, who had never
once raised her eyes during the conversation. "It will
be a great advantage to you Diana to visit Stone-
dale."
And through Diana's brain rang the phrase she
hated, the words she detested-"It is an excellent
thing for Diana." She could have fancied that both
girls were saying the words now.
"You are mistaken," she said proudly. "I have not
and never had the least desire to visit Stonedale;" and
she felt sure that Evadne whispered laughingly of
"sour grapes."
"Indeed, my dear!" said Lady Cameron, with up-
raised brows which spoke more strongly than words.
"Perhaps," she continued, "I should be more accurate
if I said that it would be a great advantage to you to
know the duchess."
"I have never wished, and never shall wish, to know
the duchess," returned Diana.
And again the words "sour grapes" were distinctly
audible.
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SUNSHINE AND RUSES
}
Liana turned on her foe, whose laughing eyes were
full of malice.
"I would rather," she said "twenty thousand times
rather—have sour grapes of my own than pluck the
ripe ones belonging to others; and I would rather
never go into society at all than be admitted to the
very highest through the patronage of inferior people."
"I think, my dears, we will close the discussion,"
said Lady Cameron. "It is not a very becoming one.'
After a few minutes, Diana left the room, feeling
that, though she had failed to win a victory over her-
self, she had at least given her companions a few home
truths to think over.
Lady Cameron turned angrily to Evadne.
"Why are you so rude, so insulting to Diana?"
"It is so amusing, mamma!
J
11
she is angry."
"It is very bad policy," said Lady Cameron, "and
very bad taste.”
Į
I like to see her when
From that hour the hatred against them deepened
in Diana's heart. Nothing seemed to be left sacred to
her. Her father, who had been the idol of her life,
was charmed by these girls, one of whom would call
him "papa." Her home was spoken of as some
second-rate place that required great alterations before
it was fit to be visited by a duchess.
With these bitter thoughts gnawing at her heart, it
was not surprising that her dislike of her step-mother
and her daughters grew more intense and unbearable.
It was sufficient for Lady Cameron to say that she liked
anything; Diana hated it at once. It was the same
with persons; those whom Lady Cameron liked became
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
163
to Diana implacable foes. As Thea observed, "It was
natural, but very disagreeable."
"Yet again," sighed Diana once, as she entered
her room, "I have not won the victory. I have given
way to my pride and temper." And from that time her
victories were fewer and further between.
She told Sir Royal honestly of her discomfiture.
"My dislike and impatience quite overcome my good
resolutions," she wrote: "I am sure I should be better
if I were nearer you. I am ashamed of myself when I
fail, but hate masters me.
The ladies of the household did not meet again un-
til luncheon, and then no allusion was made to the
quarrel. In the middle of the meal a note was brought
to Lady Cameron. She read it with a smile, then
passed it on to her husband.
"I am so pleased, Mr. Cameron," she said. "Sir
Stanhope's heir, the young baronet, is in town, and
wishes to call upon me."
The sisters looked up delighted when they heard
that the head of the family was about to visit them.
"I shall be glad to see him," remarked Thea.
"So shall I," said Lady Cameron. "I know no per-
son for whom I have more regard."
And Diana thought to herself, with a smile:
"How I shall hate him! The person whom Lady
Cameron likes best must be detestable to me."
"I shall be very pleased to see Sir Lisle Scarsdale,"
said Mr. Cameron.
"He is a very attractive young man," remarked his
wife. "He came to visit us once when he was young,
and I thought him the handsomest boy I had ever
seen."
"}
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
1,
"What relation is he to you, my lady?" asked Mr.
Cameron.
'He is hardly "a kinsman of mine," she answered.
"All the Scarsdale property is strictly entailed; and
when my husband died, Sir Lisle, as next of kin, took
possession of it. The estate is called Ling. Sir
Lisle has been very kind to me," added Lady Cameron.
"I do not know what I should have done without him."
The fact was, Sir Lisle had paid her ladyship's debts
over and over again. He helped her in many ways,
and he would have made her a regular allowance had
his income permitted.
Ling, the home of the Scarsdales, stood in the
county of Sussex. It was an old manor-house, sur-
rounded by fine old trees, and made more beautiful by
a picturesque stream that ran though the grounds to
the sea.
Sir Stanhope and his wife had lived very
happily until the sudden end came. After that even
Lady Scarsdale would have had a good income but
for the failure of the bank in which her money was in-
vested. Sir Lisle knew but little of her; he had seen
her only once, when he was a boy; but when the final
crash came, and Lady Scarsdale was left with little else
beside her two daughters and her title, he behaved gen-
erously to her. He had been absent from home for
five years, during which Ling had been let to a Scotch
nobleman; but now, as he was passing through Lon-
don, he heard that Lady Cameron was in town, and
wished to see her. "I am more pleased than words
can tell," said her ladyship. "If he is as handsome
now as he was when he was a boy, he must be an
ideal man."
Gl
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
165
“How I shall hate him!" thought Diana. "My step-
mother's special favorite, a man bearing her daughter's
name, her ideal of manly beauty-I hate him already!"
"I hope," said Lady Cameron, looking at her two
daughters impressively, "that you will be especially
attentive to Sir Lisle. I owe him a deep debt of grat-
itude."
"Would you like us to pay it for you, mamma?"
asked Evadne.
"I wish you to treat him with affectionate civility,'
said Lady Cameron. "I wish you, Evadne, to lay aside
some of your frivolity."
"Not all, mamma?" she put in, with a laugh, which
her stately mother resented with a frown.
"The greater part of it, I hope," she replied coldly.
“And you, Thea, try to be amiable. We belong to
Sir Lisle's family; let us do credit to it."
"When is he coming?" said Mr. Cameron.
"
"The day after to-morrow, I should imagine from
his letter. Nothing could have given me greater pleas-
ure than this. I do not often go into raptures, but I
consider Sir Lisle Scarsdale one of the noblest of men."
"How I shall hate him!" thought Diana again.
But she repeated the name to herself many times-
"Lisle Scarsdale." She felt sure that it was impos-
sible for any Scarsdale to be endurable. None of
those she knew were, and the chances were that a male
scion of the family would be worse than the others.
She wondered why her father showed such delight at
the coming of a man who was a perfect stranger to
him.
"Lord Clanronald is in town," said Lady Cameron
S JĖ
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
suddenly. "I saw him this morning, and he promised
to dine with us this evening. Evadne, you must wear
that new white silk and your pearls."
Diana looked at the girl, whose face had flushed and
paled, with a vague wonder as to who Lord Clanronald
was. How little she dreamed that that very day was
to see the beginning of a great tragedy!
"White silk and pearls," laughed Evadne, when the
three girls were alone. "What a delicate suggestion of
a bridal toilet! "
"Mamma always knows best," said Thea, who op-
posed her sister on every occasion, without rhyme or
reason, quite sure of the fact that she was always in
the wrong. "The chances are, Evadne," she continued,
"that the white silk and pearls will be wasted. It is
some months since we saw Lord Clanronald, and he
may be engaged or married.”
"If he were married, we should have heard of it;
and as for engagements, there are far more broken
than kept."
S
Diana looked at the beautiful young girl. Her eyes,
danced with delight, as they always did when she was
engaged in a battle royal with her sister, and her glit-
tering hair, which had fallen in the heat of argument,
hung like a veil over her shoulders. "Evadne," she
said solemnly, "I don't often intrude with a question;
but I should like to know whether you mean what you
say, that you do not consider a broken engagement
either a discredit or a disgrace?"
"I did not say so exactly," she replied, laughingly.-
"my words were not so forcible or so elegant; but that
is what I mean."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
167
In after days the memory of those words came back
with significant force to both girls.
Diana resolved that, if possible, she would not see
her step-mother's paragon.
She would go out on the
morrow, and stay from home all day, no matter what
Lady Cameron might think or say. She detested the
whole family enough already; she did not care to know
another member of it. So in her own mind she re-
solved to avoid meeting this Sir Lisle and to go out in
the morning, leaving a note for Lady Cameron, saying
she had an engagement and would not be home until
evening. She knew that it was not altogether the
correct thing to do; but she had followed her own will
all her life, and found doing so very sweet. No more
Scarsdales for her, she soliloquized, and if the head
of the house, as they chose to call him, were coming,
she would show that she had not the least desire to
meet him; and so engrossed was Diana in thinking
how best to avoid Sir Lisle Scarsdale that she forgot
all about Lord Clanronald.
•
CHAPTER XX
WHEN the family assembled in the drawing-room
that evening, Diana saw that preparations had been
made for a visitor.
Thea looked much as usual, in a dress of pale amber
covered with black lace, with the exception that she
wore Mr. Cameron's magnificent present of rubies; she
was a distinguished-looking girl, with a fine face, but no
one would call her beautiful.
Evadne wore the white silk and pearls at which
her sister had sneered; her face had a faint flush, her
eyes shone brightly. She had never looked so dainty
or so charming before.
But Diana beside them was like a stately young
queen and she surpassed them in appearance as a rose
surpasses a field flower. It was partly their knowledge
of this that made them dislike her.
One or two others had been invited to meet Lord
Clanronald. It was not often, Lady Cameron said,
that one found guests even for a small dinner party in
London in September.
Lord Clanronald was announced, and Diana looked
up with some little curiosity. She saw a tall, rather
handsome man with a fair face and fair hair-hand-
some she thought at the first glance, but not at the
second. His face was weak, and the lines round the
mouth bespoke harshness and cruelty.
168
*
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
169
Diana's first feeling as her eyes rested upon him was
one of repulsion. She observed some little warmth in
his manner as he shook hands with Evadne. She heard
him allude to the length of time since they had met;
and Evadne blushed, while her eyes brightened with
delight. To Thea his greeting was polite-nothing
more. And then, after a short pause, Mr. Cameron
introduced him to his daughter.
Diana saw a flash of admiration in his eyes, then
she turned away, saying to herself that the friends of
her step-mother and her daughters could never be
friends of hers. She had not the least wish to ex-
change one word with him. He talked to Evadne and
took her in to dinner-indeed his attentions to her were
very marked; and Lady Cameron looked on with un-
feigned pleasure.
"I have often wondered," Diana heard him say to
her, "how and when I should meet you again. I have
never forgotten the pleasant days we spent together.
I was very much annoyed when I found myself com-
pelled to come to town; now I cannot sufficiently thank
fate or fortune.
""
After dinner, Lord Clanronald took his station by
Evadne's side; and, though he chatted gayly to her,
Diana more than once found his eyes fixed on her face
with an intensity of admiration that startled her. If
Evadne had been more amiable, more truthful, less
artificial and selfish, Diana would have felt some sym-
pathy in her evident happiness; as it was, she had
none.
Lord Clanronald seemed fairly intelligent. He could
not by any stretch of imagination be called clever; but
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
he was well posted on all the social topics of the day,
and managed, with his small talk and flattery, to pass.
muster among the ladies.
Evadne had worn all the evening a beautiful spray of
gardenia, and, when Lord Clanronald went to take
leave of her Diana saw that he wore the same flower
in his coat. It was the fashion, she knew, for lovers.
to exchange flowers, and she was touched by, and in-
terested in the discovery she had made; she looked at
Evadne and felt more kindly disposed toward her than
she had felt before. The girl looked very fair in this
the moment of her triumph.
When Evadne was standing just within the minia-
ture conservatory, after Lord Clanronald had gone,
Diana approached her, and laid her slim hand on the
girl's shoulder.
"You look very happy, Evadne," she said.
A dark thunder-cloud suddenly overspreading a sunny
landscape would not cause a greater change than that
which came over Evadne's face. She looked up with
a little insolent laugh.
"I am always happy," she said; "what do you
mean?"
Small or mean natures can never bear prosperity.
Some girls in Evadne's place would have been gentle
and more amiable for having had a glimpse of supreme
happiness. Not so Evadne; her little triumph had
simply made her insolent.
"I mean nothing," replied Diana, "except what I
said, that you look happy."
"It is a most unusual thing for you to
suppose you have been watching me.
remark. I
Perhaps you
•
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
171
thought Lord Clanronald would admire you? I knew
he would not; but I can quite understand how very
disagreeable it must be to you to see me preferred both
to Thea and yourself."
Diana turned pale and drew back with gentle dignity.
"How you misunderstand me!" she said. "I am
sorry that I have intruded upon you;" and she turned
away instantly, more wounded than she cared to own.
That same evening she overheard Evadne describing
the incident to her sister, adding:
"I'm sure she is jealous. She plays the spy. What
right had she to tell me that I looked happy because
Lord Clanronald had been talking to me?”
Hot anger rose in Diana's heart. She knew how
pure her own motive had been, and she was indignant
that she should be so cruelly misunderstood. Her own
nature was so far above such petty meanness that she
could not even understand the meanness of Evadne's;
but from that time the passive dislike she had felt for
Evadne, with her false words and perfidious caresses,
was changed into positive and active hate.
"I wonder," she said to herself, "if ever a girl was
so surrounded by people whom it is impossible to
love?"
A
Her noble nature was deteriorating under the con-
stant influence of anger and indignation. More than
ever now she resolved to go out on the morrow, so as
to avoid Sir Lisle Scarsdale. If they thought her jeal-
ous and curious with regard to Lord Clanronald, they
would think and say worse things respecting Sir Lisle.
How thankful she would be, she thought, to find herself
once more at Ferness, almost forgetting, in her great
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
longing, that she would take her troubles back with
her.
When breakfast was over on the morning following,
Diana rose quickly from the table.
"I am going out, Lady Cameron," she said, “and
shall not be back before evening."
Lady Cameron raised her head and detected the quiet
determination, the firm will and absolute defiance in
the girl's face, and she knew that opposition would be
useless. Yet she did not want her to go; she wished
her to be at home when Sir Lisle called.
"Where are you going, Diana?" she asked.
'I shall be away for some hours," she replied, de-
termined that Lady Cameron should not know how or
where she intended to spend her time.
"Are you going alone?" asked her ladyship, quietly.
"I am well aware, my dear, that you despise all con-
ventionalities, and that you pride yourself on being
what you, I believe, consider original; but it is not
usual in good society for a young lady to go out for
several hours without a chaperon.
"I will explain all to papa," said Diana proudly, "but
to no one else."
""
"You must do as you will, my dear. Remember, I
have entered my protest. I would not allow either of my
daughters to act in such a manner," added her lady-
ship, in louder tones.
Evadne laughed aloud as Diana turned and swept
out of the room.
I
"I shall have trouble with her yet," murmured Lady
Cameron. "What a spirit! I must break it, or there
will be no peace at Ferness.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
173
Her ladyship felt slightly uneasy, though she would
not have cared to confess it. Her curiosity was
aroused as to what Diana was going to do; but her
own good sense told her that there must be some limit
to her authority; that, after all, Diana was grown up
and mistress of herself, beside being heiress of Fer-
ness.
Diana, who had been accustomed to go in and out as
she would, who had walked and driven alone all about
the lovely country at Ferness, felt freer than she had
for some time past. She had dressed herself very
plainly this morning; a black cloak hid the graceful
figure, a black veil hid the beautiful face. She paused
when she stood outside Carlton Gardens. Whither
should she go? Where could she best hide herself for
the greater part of the day? She could not remain out
of doors; she could not go to places she knew-the
Row or the Park; she could not walk in the streets all
day. And then it occurred to her that the National
Gallery would be of all places the best.
Diana took a cab and went thither; it was the very
place in which she could hide without annoyance dur-
ing the whole day, if she chose. She found many of
the rooms quite empty. In some, country visitors were
freely criticising the noble pictures that covered the
walls; here and there a student was busily engaged in
copying; a few connoisseurs were absorbed in criti-
cally contemplating the works of England's greatest
artists. No one save herself seemed to be there with-
out an object. Diana walked round some of the prin-
cipal rooms and tried to take an interest in the beau-
ties of art around her; but, though her eyes rested on
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
the pictures, her mind was far away. At last, feeling
tired, she sat down on one of the seats opposite a large
and striking picture. At first she did not notice the
subject; but gradually it grew upon her and she found
herself engrossed by it.
It was one of Guido's masterpieces-a Magdalen,
with such love and sorrow in her face as only a mas-
ter-hand could depict—a grand figure kneeling on the
ground, with a veil of golden hair shrouding the white
shoulders, and a background of dark rocks from which
the beautiful, passionate face shone out-a face that,
once seen, would never be forgotten. Infinite sorrow
lived in the upraised eyes; sin, passion, love, peni-
tence, were expressed in the lovely, sad face. In the
passionate abandonment of her sorrow, the woman who
was so frail and so fair had flung herself upon her
knees, crushing the tender flowers beneath her. -
Diana was absorbed in the picture. Its marvelous
beauty and the lesson it told were like a revelation to
her. She looked at it so long and so intently that it
seemed at last as though the sad, sweet eyes were gaz-
ing back into her own.
!
1
CHAPTER XXI
QUITE suddenly, it seemed to Diana-there had been
no one near, and she had heard no sound of footsteps
-suddenly, and yet looking like part of the picture,
she saw another face. If the features of the Magda-
len were peerless, the face at which she now looked was
quite as striking-beautiful with power and passion,
rich in coloring, noble in feature-a face to love and
trust until the end of life.
She had time to note every
detail of it-the hair black as night, with an inclina-
tion to lie in clusters; the broad, full brow, rounded
at the temples, with dark, straight lines that almost
met; the firm, shapely mouth with a slight, dark mus-
tache that did not quite obscure it. There was a shade
of melancholy over the face, and the dark eyes, that
were both proud and thoughtful, had a golden gleam
in their depths.
No woman could look at such a face unmoved or
without admiration. The stranger was a distinguished.
looking man with fine, soldierly carriage and princely
bearing; Diana thought that she had never seen his
equal.
As a rule, she cared
preferred faces full of
But this one fascinated
draw her gaze from it.
little for handsome men; she
power, intellect, and strength.
her, and she could not with-
How she would like to see it
under the influence of great emotion, softened into ten-
1
1
175
176
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
derness, flashing with anger, she thought. Then,
waking from her day dream, she rebuked herself for
the folly of dreaming over a face that she would never
see again. But some instinct told her that she would
never forget it, that the memory of it would live with
her when other things were dead.
The stranger stood so silent, so motionless, by the
side of the picture that he almost seemed part of it.
How long he stood absorbed in the Guido and his own
thoughts she hardly knew. He would probably have
walked away without seeing her had not her bracelet,
which she had unclasped, fallen upon the floor. It
tolled toward him. With a start the stranger turned
round, and was then for the first time conscious of
Diana's presence. He picked up the bracelet at once,
and with a low bow handed it to her.
Diana had thrown back her veil, and the loveliness
of her face startled him. His eyes met hers, and a
slight blush rose to her brow as she found herself
gazing into the depths of the eyes which had so fasci-
nated her. She recovered herself quickly, and took
the bracelet. "Thank you," she said simply.
And the stranger was as much charmed by the musi-
cal voice as by the beautiful face, and was disinclined
to move away without further feasting his eyes upon
the loveliness before him.
•
"You have been admiring the Guido," he said, ut-
terly regardless of "the proprieties." "I saw that pict-
ure in this gallery five years ago. The face has
haunted me ever since, and I came hither this morn-
ing to look at it once more.
"It is very beautiful," she remarked. "I do not
11
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
177
think there are
any faces in the world so fair."
He thought to himself that her own was quite equal
to that depicted on the canvas in front of them.
"It tells a story," he said, "of love and pain. They
always go together."
Her eyes sought his with a questioning glance.
"Do they? It seems to me that love and pain ought
never to go hand in hand."
"It is one of the great mysteries of life," he replied,
"a mystery I hope you will never solve."
The stranger felt that he must move on, for he knew
that it was a breach both of etiquette and of good taste
to continue the conversation; but he longed to see the
beautiful eyes once more. If she would but raise the
fringed eyelids and look at him. His conscience re-
proached him; but he turned to her again.
"Pray pardon me," he said, "but there is a fine
Guido in the next room. Have you seen it?”
"No," she answered; "I have been no further than
this."
"I mentioned it because it would be a great pity if
you missed it," he said. "Good morning."
"Good morning," returned Diana.
And then he went away, leaving the memory of his
face indelibly impressed upon her.
As the hours went on, she began to wonder whether
she would ever forget the handsome and striking face
of the stranger, whether it would fade from the pict-
ures, the walls, whether she would close her own eyes
without looking into his dark ones with their golden
gleam.
"I have never thought about loving any man," said
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
Diana to herself; "but if ever I do it will be some-
one with a face like that."
When she felt that all danger of meeting Sir Lisle
was past, Diana returned home. On arriving there she
found that Lady Cameron was in her dressing-room,
and that the girls had already gone to the drawing-
room, where they were entertaining visitors; so she
went at once to her room and hastened her toilet.
There was but one topic of conversation that even-
ing, and it was Sir Lisle-the head of the Scarsdale
family, as Lady Cameron persistently called him. All
were united in singing his praises. Even the girls
were enthusiastic about him. Evadne did not utter
one sneer, Thea not one sarcasm. Mr. Cameron pro-
fessed himself delighted. Sir Lisle was quite unlike
other men-so Lady Cameron said.
"A cavalier and a chevalier," declared her ladyship.
"He has not even a nineteenth-century face.
He re-
minds me of the Knights of St. John."
"I should imagine he is a man that all other men are
the better for coming in contact with," remarked Mr.
Cameron.
"A paragon!" thought Diana. "Thank heaven I
missed him!"
She wondered at length that their visitors were not
weary of the very name of Sir Lisle, and felt that to her-
self it would be a great relief when the evening ended.
The visitors at last took their departure; Mr. Cam-
eron said "Good night;" Lady Cameron went to her
dressing-room; Diana lingered by the drawing-room
fire--for the evening was chilly-and still the sisters
continued to talk about Sir Lisle.
*
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179
"How mamma loves him!" said Thea. "I do not
think she cares for anyone living so much as she does
for him."
"I do not wonder at anyone liking him and being
proud of him," remarked Evadne-and she spoke more
earnestly than usual; "no one could help it."
Then she turned to Diana, who had not laid down
the book that she had taken up or uttered a word. “You
do not seem to take much interest in our relative, Miss
Cameron?" she said.
"No," replied Diana, coldly, "I do not."
She had not forgotten what took place when she
showed a slight interest in Lord Clanronald.
"You will be sorry for it," said Evadne.
often that one meets a man like Sir Lisle.
ing to dine to-morrow."
"It is not
He is com-
"I will go out again if I can," thought Diana. "I
will meet no relative of theirs if I can possibly avoid
it."
"Mamma spoke to him about spending a month or
two at Ferness," Evadne went on. "He said that he
thought Ling would be very dull. I hope he will come
to Ferness."
Ah, the dear old home, the home that she had loved
so well, and into which neither friend nor foe had
come without her permission, would now be invaded
by people whom she could not endure. It would
never be home again to her. All her favorite spots
would be invaded by strangers; the stately rooms
would be filled with those she hated, and she-Diana,
the heiress-would be but a miserable cipher in an
unfriendly circle. She suddenly realized as she had
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never realized before that she was no longer mistress
of Ferness, even though at some future time it must
be hers. As she sat listening to the sisters, she won-
dered whether she had surrendered her power, her po-
sition, too easily-whether, had she offered more re-
sistance, it would have been of any avail. Could she
have disputed Lady Cameron's authority? Certainly
not, she admitted to herself. While he lived, her
father was undisputed master; and his wife must, of
course, be mistress. No matter how her heart burned,
no matter how her whole soul rose in rebellion against
so aggravating a state of things, she must submit.
One short year ago
no one would have been invited
to Ferness without her sanction or against her wish;
now no one consulted her. She was ready to detest
Sir Lisle because he was loved by these women whom
she hated. Yet he was asked to her dearly loved
home and she was powerless to prevent it. She was
roused from her miserable thoughts by the sound of a
half-sneering laugh that proceeded from Evadne. On
looking up, she found the girl's glittering blue eyes.
fixed on her face.
"You look wretched enough, Diana," she said, curi-
ously. "What are you thinking about?"
"My thoughts would not interest you," she an
swered.
"I feel sure that I can read them," said Evadne.
'You are thinking that, if you were still mistress of
Ferness, Sir Lisle would not have been asked there."
"I am mistress of Ferness now, and always shall
be," replied Diana.
Evadne laughed aloud.
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181
"I should like mamma to hear that!" she said. "How-
ever, I am sure, Diana, that you have been thinking
about Sir Lisle and Ferness. I saw your face change
when we said that he was coming. Tell me the truth.
Would you not like to rise in all your power and ma-
jestically forbid him to come?"
"It is a matter of supreme indifference to me," an-
swered Diana. "I will bid you good-night.
"1
As she quitted the room a burst of sneering laughter
came from Evadne, who followed it up with a parting
shot.
"Pity the poor heiress," she cried, "whose throne is
usurped!"
But Diana walked on, not caring to hear more or to
reply to the taunting words.
“Evadne," said Thea, "you are foolish to provoke
her. After all, she has a great deal in her power."
"How can she possibly hurt or affect us? I have won
Mr. Cameron's affection, and mamma will be absolute
mistress as long as she lives, that is quite sure. Diana
cannot do anything to hurt us in any way."
"I would not go purposely out of my way to offend
her," said Thea; "I see no sense in it.”
"I cannot help it," was the answer; "she looks so
'superior,' and has, I can see, such an intolerable con-
tempt for us. It will do her good to have her absurd
pride taken down."
Diana went to rest, but not to sleep. For the first
time in her life she had seen a face which impressed
her and haunted her, and she felt that she would al-
most give anything she had for the happiness of seeing
the dark, handsome stranger again.
CHAPTER XXII
"DIANA," said Mr. Cameron, "an old friend of mine.
is coming to dine with us this evening. I helped
him some years ago, and he has been my friend ever
since. I want you to look your best for him."
"I will try, papa," she answered.
But there was neither spirit nor energy in her tone.
Last year how proud, how delighted she would have
been to show herself at her best for her father's sake!
After she had left him, Mr. Cameron stood for some
minutes thinking about her. "She does not look so
bright as she did," he said to himself; "but how kind
they all are to her! My lady treats her just as though
she were a daughter of her own. True, she has not her
own way quite as much; but she has other advantages
that make up for it. After all, I feel convinced that
my marriage was the best thing for Diana"-a senti-
ment to which his daughter would certainly not have
subscribed. The fact that her father's old friend was
coming to dine prevented Diana from carrying out her
intention of being absent. She disliked the thought of
meeting the much-belauded relative, Sir Lisle. Wor-
shiped as he was by her ladyship and her two daugh-
ters, he must perforce be distasteful to her; but for once
she decided that she would rival her father's wife and
put herself in the first place. Then it struck Diana
183
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183
that it was unworthy of her-that it was a pitiful mode
of showing her dislike and creating ill feeling.
"How I have changed," she said to herself. "If
Royal were here, he would say that I had deterio-
rated." And indeed she had. In character there was
no resemblance between the sweet, imperious Diana
of the olden days and the Diana who now stood aloof,
angered and defiant. This marriage, which was to
her so horrible and so hateful, yet which people
would persist in saying was "the best thing for Diana"
-this marriage had roused all that was worst in her
nature, and had brought every fault, every inclination
to evil, into prominence, had brought anger, jealousy
and pride into action.
It was regret for the position she had lost, the desire.
to surpass the three whom she disliked so heartily, that
caused her on this day to make so superb a toilet,
one that enhanced her fair young loveliness as moss
enhances the beauty of a rose. She was slightly flushed,
and her eyes had in them a light that did not bode
well for others.
She was pleased with herself as she stood before the
mirror contemplating the white, rounded arms, so per-
fect in shape and color, on which the rich rubies
gleamed like flame. She looked at the graceful neck
and shoulders, and a smile came over her face. Youth,
beauty, and grace-she need not fear her enemies. Yet
Diana could not help despising herself for being vain.
"Still, if it is to be war to the knife," she argued
with herself, "I may as well use all the weapons in
"
my armory.
She stood some time undecided with respect to
184
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1
the flowers left for her choice. They were small sweet
lilies, delicate red roses, and a group of scarlet and
white carnations. She chose the latter; and to this
day the breath of a carnation brings back to her the
scene that followed.
As she drew near to the drawing-room, she heard
the sound of voices.
"They have come," she thought. "Now for my
father's friend; now for Sir Lisle! I will be gracious-
ness itself to the one, all that is most disagreeable to
the other."
Lady Cameron's drawing-room was the one pre-
sentable apartment in the house. The furniture was
tasteful and striking, and the miniature conservatory
at the end enhanced the general effect, which was
pleasing. Diana took in at a glance the graceful
ferns, the scarlet blossoms, and the various little
groups. A tall stately figure stood at the door of the
conservatory, Thea on one side, Evadne on the other;
and both girls were talking eagerly. Lady Cameron,
with a bevy of ladies, was examining a photograph of
the reigning professional beauty and criticising it un-
sparingly. Mr. Cameron, who was talking to his old
friend Colonel Hughes, came forward with a smile on
his face when he perceived his daughter, and Diana
saw that she reigned supreme in her father's heart.
He introduced her to Colonel Hughes, and they
talked gayly for a few minutes. Suddenly a mist
came over her eyes; the brilliant flowers, the graceful
ferns, the smiling faces, the room itself, for a mo.
ment seemed to whirl around her, for the tall, erect
figure had turned, and she saw again the face that had
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
185
haunted her, and the dark eyes in which she had seen
a gleam as of gold were looking into hers. She stood
bewildered. It seemed that an hour passed in that
one moment and that the dark eyes still held her cap-
tive.
Then there was a stir, and the various little groups
broke up.
There seemed to her a confusion of rich
dresses, of jewels and smiling faces. Presently Diana
became conscious that Lady Cameron was by her side,
radiant in amber and black, diamonds sparkling in
her hair and round her throat. Her face softened as
Diana had never seen it soften before, and she was
looking kindly at her. She took Diana's hand in
hers.
"This is a pleasure," she said, "that I have reserved
for myself."
The dark, proud face came nearer; and it seemed to
Diana that the very crisis of her life was reached when
Lady Cameron added:
"Miss Cameron, let me introduce to you my relative,
Sir Lisle Scarsdale."
The stranger bowed. For a moment Diana almost
lost her self-possession. Her face grew pale as she
murmured some words of acknowledgment; but she
never knew what Lady Cameron said.
"I am very pleased that you should know each other,
Diana, you will amuse Sir Lisle while I go to Colonel
Hughes; I have hardly had time to speak to him."
She floated away with her sweeping draperies of
amber and black, leaving Sir Lisle and Diana together.
She looked at him then with something like entreaty
in her lovely eyes.
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>
"I should prefer your not mentioning that we have
met before," she said; then, seeing something like
wonder in his eyes, she added hurriedly: "There is
no secret in it; I am not ashamed of it;" and Diana's
face grew crimson as she remembered that she had
gone out expressly to avoid him.
"You may rely upon my perfect silence," he said.
"Thank you," replied Diana, turning her head proud-
ly away from him, for she was not accustomed to ask
favors.
ad
"I cannot," said Sir Lisle, "express to you my sur-
prise, and permit me to add, my gratification at see-
ing you again."
She raised her face, which was radiant with delight.
What a pleasure it was to her, her eyes told plainly,
as did the lovely, tremulous smile that played round
her lips.
"I am pleased also," she said gently.
But the smile on her lips passed quickly. She low-
ered her eyelids and drew back with a hauteur that
surprised him. She once more remembered that he was
the man whom she had gone out to avoid; the man to
whom she had resolved to be ungracious, the man
whom she had resolved to hate because he was a rela-
tive and favorite of Lady Cameron.
A curious sen-
sation came over her; she liked, yet disliked, this Sir
Lisle, head of the Scarsdale family.
"Did you see much more of the pictures?" he asked.
"I remained for some hours after you left," she re-
plied. "Do not speak of it, if you please."
"I will obey you," he said gently.
He wondered much what the mystery was what
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
187
could have taken the beautiful, brilliant young heiress
to the National Gallery for a whole day, and alone.
At that moment Evadne crossed the room and joined
them. There was something in the smile on her face,
half insolent, half defiant, which put Diana on her
guard; there was a world of malicious amusement in
her eyes.
"Mamma will be quite happy now," she said. "All
day she has been longing to introduce you to Diana;
now her wish is accomplished."
"To my infinite delight," declared Sir Lisle, with
a low bow.
Diana drew back with frigid hauteur, for she knew
that some insult to herself was always hidden behind
Evadne's compliments and smiles.
"I have an idea," said Evadne, looking at them with
her head a little on one side, "that you two will be
great friends. You have many tastes in common."
"You could pay me no greater compliment," said Sir
Lisle.
Diana's face grew colder, and marked displeasure
was plainly to be read on her countenance.
"Miss Cameron's affection for the house of Scarsdale
will be a matter of history," laughed Evadne. "It is
only right that she should know the head of the illus-
trious race."
It was on Diana's lips to reply that she had seen
quite enough of the house of Scarsdale, but she felt
that it would be undignified to bandy words.
Sir Lisle's eyes seemed to drink in the sweet beauty
of her face.
"I have been made perfectly happy, Miss Cameron,"
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
he said, suddenly. "Would it interest you to know
how?"
"Yes," she answered, briefly. She could hardly be
civil to him while Evadne stood near with that smile
on her face-a smile that seemed to say, "See how
'superior' our relatives are, after all!"
"Lady Cameron has invited me to Ferness," he said,
"and I am rejoicing at the prospect.'
Diana's face darkened at the announcement. Evad-
ne laughed a little laugh that was more eloquent than
words.
The scene of the previous night rose before the
minds of both girls, and Diana's heart beat fast, whilst
a torrent of hot words rose to her lips. She was
tempted to cry out to him: "Ferness is mine. I have
been its mistress; it has been my privilege until now
to ask and reject. Ferness is mine, not hers." But her
better self came to the rescue, and she forced back the
words that were already on her lips.
Diana's face was cold and set as she answered;
"You will be sure to like Ferness. Everyone does."
"Mamma intends making several improvements
there," said Evadne. "She wants to model the house-
hold after the fashion of Stonedale.
In a moment the warm blood rushed into Diana's
face, and her eyes flashed fire Suddenly she found that
Sir Lisle was watching her with intent, earnest gaze.
She would not even appear to have heard Evadne's
irritating remark, but turned away, saying gently:
"You must judge of Ferness, Sir Lisle, when you
see it."
Then she left Evadne and Sir Lisle together, under
"
•
}
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
189
1
pretense of choosing a flower, and went to the little
conservatory. She wanted to be alone for a few min-
utes to realize that which even yet she could hardly
believe.
That this knightly gentleman should be Sir Lisle
was the most curious of all the strange turns of fate.
Only a few hours since she had thought of him as a
hero, she had dreamed of the dark, beautiful face with
its shade of melancholy; and now he proved to be the
head of the detested house of Scarsdale, the beloved
relative of the woman she hated.
CHAPTER XXIII
DIANA looked back many times on that evening with
wonder and regret. It seemed to her like a mist
through which she could see nothing clearly. Colonel
Hughes was delighted with her, and she could see that
with him she held the first place. She was more to
him than her father's wife-indeed that courtly and
diplomatic lady was quite beyond the comprehension
of the good old soldier; and the circumstance seemed
to afford Diana a gleam of satisfaction and delight.
Gayety reigned in the bijou house in Mayfair on that
evening. They had music, cards and conversation.
Lord Clanronald came in, and looked with jealous eyes
on Sir Lisle, who was conversing with Diana near the
conservatory.
"Miss Cameron," Sir Lisle was saying, "I have a
strange feeling upon me that I shall wake up presently
and find that I have been dreaming. I can hardly re-
alize my own happiness in seeing you again."
She stood before him in the sweeping folds of her
gray velvet, tall, fair and stately-her face fairer than
the lovely one Sir Lisle had been entranced with in
the National Gallery.
"Will you, I wonder," he continued, "be angry with
me if I tell you something, Miss Cameron?"
She did not raise her eyes from the sweet carnations
that she carried.
wage
190
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
191
"No, I shall not be angry, Sir Lisle," she said. "I
am never angry without a cause, and I am sure you
would not willingly give me any."
"I am sure I would not," he answered, wishing that
she would raise her eyes and look at him. "I am de-
lighted to have the chance of telling you," he added,
"first, how from the moment I left you I have been
longing to see you again, and how grieved I was that
your name was unknown to me that
your face has
never left me, that I could not forgive myself for not
having, tried to see more of you. And now-I find
that you are Diana Cameron!"
"Yes," she said, slowly, "I am Diana Cameron.
"And it is possible that I may see you every day,
that we may become friends?"
Her heart beat in response as she raised her eyes to
him and answered:
*
"I shall be glad to be friends."
Then to his amazement, the soft flush faded from
her face, and an angry light came to her eyes. She
drew back with a stately gesture that was full of con-
tempt, for the thought had obtruded itself upon her
that he was the head of the house of Scarsdale and
the beloved relative of her father's wife. He could not
understand the sudden change; perhaps she was dis-
pleased by the frankness of his speech.
"I am afraid," he said, with an air of apology, "that
I have displeased you."
"I am not displeased," she replied, coldly.
How could she help hating a Scarsdale! The cloud
that hung so darkly over her bright young life was
owing to the Scarsdales. She wished from the depths
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of her heart that she had never seen him; and then
again she felt that his presence brought her more joy
than anything else on earth. To her great relief, Colo-
nel Hughes came up, and under pretense of showing
him some flowers Diana led the old soldier away.
Sir Lisle looked after them with longing eyes. Why
had she not turned to him and said pleasantly: "Come
with us, Sir Lisle?" She must have known how he
wished to be with her. Why had she turned from him
with the gesture of a queen? He could not understand
her. He was not an impulsive or impetuous man, and
this was only the second time that he had seen Miss
Cameron; but he was beginning to fall most passion-
ately in love with her. She had seemed to like him
rather than not at their first interview; there had been
no cloud on her lovely young face. Now there was
something that betokened a deep hidden grief. It was
intangible, but he could feel it.
I
"Sir Lisle is a fine young fellow," said the old colo-
nel to Diana. "I met him last year when I was trav-
eling in Spain. We were great friends for the few
weeks we were together. I am indeed very pleased to
meet him again."
“He has a fine face," exclaimed Diana.
Then suddenly, as a flower droops and dies under
the breath of a biting north wind, she changed, and
the happy glow faded from her face. What could she
say of him, a Scarsdale, and a man whom Lady Cam-
eron loved! "I will forget all about him! I would for-
get his name if I could," she said to herself.
Her father here joined the colonel. Diana saw Lord
Clanronald looking at her, but she was not in a mood
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
193
to listen to his vapid remarks; so she went to the win·
dow and drew aside the lace hangings. The moon was
shining in a dark blue sky, and her thoughts went back
to Ferness and pleasant walks in the moonlight on the
terrace and in the grounds. She could see Sir Lisle's
face even there, and it harmonized with the place.
"Miss Cameron, I am unhappy," said Sir Lisle, who
had rejoined Diana unobserved. "I fear," he added,
"that most unwittingly I have offended you. I feel like
a traveler when the sun sets and leaves him in the cold.
My sun sets when you turn your face from me."
How she wished she could turn her face from all
the Scarsdales forever and resume the happy life she
had led previous to this odious marriage.
"The first time I met you," he continued, “you were
to me-forgive my presumption-a vision, a revelation.
of grace and beauty. Gazing at you started all the
romance and poetry of my nature into sudden life.
But to-night-I cannot understand it-you are kind, yet
cruel; you are sunshine, yet ice; you are sweet, yet
bitter. It must be my fault; it cannot be yours. I
have displeased you; do tell me in what way."
She could not look at the handsome face on which
the shadow of pain lay, and say: "For yourself I like
you, but because you are a Scarsdale I dislike you."
There was a short, bitter struggle in her heart, a strug-
gle in which the opposing forces were nearly equal.
If only he belonged to those she loved instead of to
those she hated!
<
She thought of all Sir Royal had said to her about
self-control, and she looked at Sir Lisle with a sunny
smile that enhanced her beauty, if that were possible.
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"You must forgive me," she said; "I am afraid I
have been ill-tempered."
"No," he replied, "it is not that. Whatever it be,
it is not that. You might be angry with just cause, but
I cannot imagine your being ill-tempered. I am only
anxious to know that I have not displeased you."
"You have not indeed, "said Diana, with a gracious
smile.
"Then I am happy," answered Sir Lisle. "When
do you return to Ferness?"
A more unfortunate subject he could not have
chosen; but Diana was determined to win a victory
over herself, and therefore endeavored to be more than
usually amiable.
“I do not know," she replied; "it will all depend on
Lady Cameron. We shall go when she wishes it."
He looked at her thoughtfully, and then said slowly:
"Lady Cameron is of course virtually mistress of
Ferness; but you are the chatelain. Do you ratify
her invitation, or will you cancel it?"
"It has nothing whatever to do with me," she told
him. "Lady Cameron will, of course, invite her own
friends and relatives."
"I want you to have something to do with it, Miss
Cameron," he said gently. "If Lady Cameron invites
me as her relative, will you, as chatelain, invite me as
your friend?”
There was a moment's silence, during which he felt
his heart beat wildly with suspense. If she did not
invite him, he would not go. Then, with a pleasant
smile, she said·
"I shall be delighted to see you as my friend, Sir
Lisle
A4
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
195
}
"This is not fair, Miss Cameron," broke in the thick
voice of Lord Clanronald, as he walked up to her.
"Sir Lisle is a monopolist. You have hardly given me
a word or a smile this evening."
"I did not know that you desired either one or the
other," replied Diana carelessly.
"Indeed I did. It is not the most pleasant thing in
the world to be obliged to sit and talk to one lady
when you are longing all the time to speak to another."
To this vulgar speech Diana vouchsafed no reply.
"You do not seem very sorry for me, Miss Cameron,"
Lord Clanronald pursued.
"I see no cause to be so," she replied haughtily,
as she turned away.
Lord Clanronald was, or was supposed to be, Evadne's
lover, and he ought to have been content with sitting by
her and talking to her, thought Diana. That he
should follow her like her shadow, persecute her with
questions and compliments, seek to know her opin-
ions, was to her intolerable. She had no great liking
for him-in fact, she viewed him with contemptuous
indifference. His long line of ancestry, his large fort-
une, his great estates, had no attractions for her, for
the last thing she cared for in any man was birth or
money.
Long after the guests had retired and sleep had fall-
en over the inmates of the bijou house, Diana sat
pondering upon the perversity of fortune in making
her hero of the National Gallery the relative of the
hated Lady Cameron. Yet she felt that she must like
him. No woman could look into that handsome,
knightly face without doing so; before she`knew who
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
he was she had made a hero of him, and now she
could not suddenly dethrone him.
In spite of
herself she was compelled to like him; and indeed he
was in every way worthy of liking. But he was a
Scarsdale, and the dearest friend of her greatest en-
emy. She wondered whether Sir Lisle comprehended
the misery that her father's marriage had brought her,
or how she suffered at seeing her rule set aside, her
home taken, as it were, out of her hands. If he did
not guess it, she decided that she would never tell him.
And then she fell to wondering what it would have.
been like had he gone to Ferness when she was its sole
mistress; how they would have wandered through the
stately rooms, how they would have listened to the
rush of the river as it hastened to mingle its waters
with the ever restless ocean, how they would have
enjoyed the rose garden and strolled on the stone ter-
race! There would be no pleasure in the place now,
Evadne and Thea would be always with them and the
odious Lord Clanronald was going too.
"I would almost rather never see home again than
see it in such circumstances as these," thought Diana,
and she fell asleep dreaming of Sir Lisle's face.
CHAPTER XXIV
SIR LISLE SCARSDALE'S experience of feminine hu
man nature led him to agree with the poet that women
are "coy and hard to please." He had mixed but little
with the fair sex; he left England when he was quite
young, for fate had not been over kind to him. He
succeeded to the title and the fine old estate of Ling,
but the income which fell to him with it was hardly
sufficient for its maintenance and for all that he wished
to accomplish. He went abroad to study the manners
and customs of different nations, to educate himself
-for he knew that there is no education so compre-
hensive as that which travel gives-and during that
time he let Ling. He had now returned with his
mind stored with noble plans and ideas, and he meant
to live on his estate, to work hard for his dependants.
and tenants, and, in fact, to fulfill the duties of a mod-
el English squire. He was a generous man, and
nothing pleased him better on his return to England
than to find his fashionable and impecunious relative
married to one of the the wealthiest men of the day.
Sir Lisle had not frittered away the best part of his
affections and his life in silly flirtations. He had
hoped some day to meet with his ideal, to love and
to marry her; but had hardly formed the ideal in his
mind, and he had never met her. As the poet sings
of his "queen," so Sir Lisle believed that somewhere
197
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{
in the wide world his "queen" was waiting for him; but
as yet he had thought little of love or marriage. He
had seen the fair, imperial faces of the Roman ladies,
the dark, proud beauty of the Spaniards; the languid
loveliness of the Neapolitans, the fair serenity of the
Germans; but no woman's face up to this time had
won its way to his heart.
When his eyes fell on the exquisite loveliness of
Diana, something woke in his heart which never slept.
again. Romance was far from his thoughts when he en-
tered the National Gallery that morning; he was sim-
ply intent on seeing the beautiful Magdalen again;
and by it he saw a face far surpassing in loveliness
the one that looked down upon him from the canvas.
He had met his "queen."
After he had left the building, he blamed himself
for not having made an effort to learn who she was,
and he spent a miserable night regretting that in all
human probability he should never see the lovely face
again; and, lo, within twenty-four hours he had met
her!
A
She was his ideal of beauty in woman, he said to
himself. Moreover, she was Diana Cameron, the only
daughter of the great millionaire, the heiress of Fer-
ness: and, if he was not mistaken, if he had not mis-
taken the story told by her eyes, she was favorably
disposed toward him. So he thought at the National
Gallery; but he was sorely puzzled during the evening
spent at the bijou house. He could not account for
the sudden changes in her manner-abrupt changes
from extreme graciousness to coldness. He had no
key to the mystery When he heard that Lady Scars-
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
199
dale had married Mr. Cameron, he had not thought
how that marriage would affect Mr. Cameron's daugh-
ter, and, had he been asked, the probability is that he
would have said, as many others did, "It is an excel-
lent thing for Diana." He had intended to remain in
London for a few days only; but he lingered, fasci-
nated, charmed, unwilling to leave her, yet unable to
win one grace or favor from her because he was a
Scarsdale.
Lady Cameron had hoped to go to Ferness soon;
but one or two of her little plans were succeeding so
well that it seemed to her hardly wise, just at present,
to make any change; Lord Clanronald was a constant
visitor, while Sir Lisle seemed to haunt the house. In
the circumstances it would not be prudent to break up
the little establishment yet.
So Lady Cameron organized parties to Richmond,
although it was not the season; her ladyship liked to
throw the young people together. They had little
dances and "little suppers;" they made engagements
for every day. Sir Lisle and the beautiful heiress were
never an evening apart, and the spell fell upon Diana
as it had fallen on the goddess of old. Quite slowly but
surely she learned to love Sir Lisle without knowing
it. His presence filled her with supreme delight, and
she went on to her fate blindly, never dreaming that
she could love a Scarsdale.
In the girl's heart there was always a struggle be-
tween her true liking of him as a prince among men
and her hatred of him as a Scarsdale. There were
times when the bitter hatred of the Scarsdales van-
quished her better nature, and then she either avoided
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
1
Sir Lisle or treated him with cold contempt; and there
were times again when she would smile on him in her
brilliant beauty and be all that was most sweet and
gracious. He loved her the more passionately for this
constant variability. He never knew what his next re-
ception would be, and he could not account for her
changeableness of manner towards him.
How long he remembered one evening! It was not
possible to give a ball at the bijou house, so Lady.
Cameron overcame the difficulty by having an evening
party, with a little dancing for the young people af-
terward. She contented herself at present by dreaming
of the balls she intended to give at Ferness; they
were to be miracles of luxury and magnificence. On
this evening the "little dance" had been a great suc-
cess and Diana had captivated all by her beauty.
She wore a dress of palest blue covered with ripples
of white lace; in her hair was a diamond star, round
her throat a diamond necklace; the lace on her dress
was caught up by sprays of white lilies, and a lily
shrouded in green leaves was fastened in the bodice
of her dress. As the stately moon surpasses the
twinkling star, so Diana eclipsed those about her,
and Sir Lisle followed her with worshiping eyes.
She was talking to Lady Cameron, much against her
will, when he came up to them. After exchanging a
few laughing words with her ladyship, he turned to
Diana.
"I am afraid, Miss Cameron, that I am a poor dancer,"
he said. "I have not given much time to that very
necessary accomplishment; but, if you will honor me
with one trial—”
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201
"You dance as well as most people," observed Lady
Cameron interrupting him.
His eyes were fixed on Diana's lovely face, and he
did not appear to notice Lady Cameron's remark.
The beautiful face of his idol wore its most imperious
expression now; the brows were straight, the curves and
lines of the mouth proud and cold. She resented
Lady Cameron's interference.
"Dance with Sir Lisle, Diana," said Lady Cameron
in her blandest manner. "All that he says of himself
is nonsense.
If she had not spoken, Diana would have danced
with him. She was not undesirous of dancing with
Sir Lisle; but now that her step-mother interfered, she
resolved to refuse him.
""
"Thank you," she replied, with a stately courtesy for
which Lady Cameron could have shaken her, "I-"
da
-
"You are not engaged, Diana!" cried her ladyship.
"I beg to decline, Sir Lisle, without giving any rea-
son," said the heiress.
He bowed and left her, with a look of pain and
surprise upon his face.
Lady Cameron turned to her angrily.
"It seems to me," she said, "that you do not know
even the first rule of good breeding."
"Then," retorted Diana, "I am not likely to know
the last;" and she turned and left her step-mother in-
wardly chafing at the indignity to which her respected
relative had to submit.
He had gone
She saw Sir Lisle directly afterward.
into the conservatory, and the dark, handsome face
was sadly perturbed.
f
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x
*
It was not
"I have pained him," thought Diana. "I would have
danced with him had she not interfered.
his fault, and I have been unjust to him.
wish that he were not a Scarsdale!"
Oh, how I
Although her eyes sought him more than once, he did
not approach her. The rebuff had been too cruel, and
he spoke no word to her until he came to bid her
good night. Then he looked at her with eyes full of
pain.
"You have been cruel to me," he said; "you have
wounded me more than I can tell.”
Her heart went out to him with a passionate im-
pulse of love and pity.
"I am cruel!" she said, with the utmost frankness.
"Forgive me, Sir Lisle!"
"I would forgive you anything and everything," he
said, with a quiver of pain on his lips. "Do be less
cruel to me, Diana. May I call you Diana? You are
always Diana in my thoughts."
"You may call me Diana if you wish," she replied
simply.
"I had been thinking all day of the happiness of
dancing with you to-night," he said. "Diana, I have
seen you in all moods and in all phases; but I have
never seen you look so charming as now."
She forgot in that moment that he was a Scarsdale
and the friend of her foe; she only knew that the dark,
pleading face held the world for her, that the dark
eyes looking at her had in them a gleam of love
almost divine.
"I am afraid you flatter, Sir Lisle," she remarked
with a smile.
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203
*
Diana, you must atone to me," said Sir Lisle.
"You have been cruel to me without cause. You have
made me the unhappiest and the most miserable of
men; you must atone for the cruelty."
"I will," she answered.
་
"Then I ask you to give me the pretty white lily you
have been wearing all the evening."
As Diana detached the lily from her dress, and gave
it to him, she saw Evadne watching her with laughing,
malicious eyes. An angry light flashed in her own;
she did not wait to think. Snatching the flower from
Sir Lisle's hand, she tore it into pieces and flung it
upon the ground. The young man was far too sur-
prised to express his annoyance. She turned to him
with the defiant gesture of an injured queen.
"Never do that again," she cried, imperiously;
"never ask me for a flower or for anything else; I
forbid it!"
"I will obey you," he replied, and with a low bow
he left. He was stunned by her conduct, and for some
minutes hardly realized what had taken place.
Every soft and gentle feeling died in her heart; in
that moment a torrent of fury raged in her breast, and
she heartily hated him because he was a Scarsdale. He
should not call her Diana; he should not ask her for
her flowers; she would neither look at him nor speak
to him in future. But, when the moon shone in at the
window and the stars lit up the blue sky, she was
ashamed of herself, and she fell upon her knees, crying
out that she wished Sir Royal were there to impress
upon her the need of self-control and self-discipline,
for she was so proud--so proud—and was it not writ-
i
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ten-"Blessed are the humble?" So sobbing, Diana
fell asleep.
CHAPTER XXV
"WHAT have they done to you, Diana?" asked Sir
Royal, gazing with bewildered eyes on the lovely
young face which seemed so changed to him.
For the family had returned to Ferness. They had
grown tired of London, and Lady Cameron was espe-
cially anxious to play the part of hostess in her new
home. She considered that she had behaved with great
generosity, nobility, and delicacy in staying in Lon-
don so long while Diana accustomed herself to the
change in her position. Mr. Cameron was equally
anxious to get home. In London, millionaire though
he was, he felt he was "no one;" at Ferness he was
lord of the soil. The Scarsdale girls longed to be
there. They wanted to reap all the advantages that
were to be obtained from their mother's marriage.
It was during the first week in October that the fam-
ily returned to Ferness. The month was a beautiful
one. The warmth of summer still lingered over the
land; the autumn flowers were in bloom; the trees
were gorgeous in their mellow foliage.
Long and varied had been the discussion between
Diana's friends, Sir Royal, Lady Colwyn, and Richard,
about her return. They knew how painful that return
must be to her-how bitter it would be to see her au-
thority exercised by another, to find herself second
where hitherto she had been first; and they had
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agreed to do all they could to make the change as
agreeable as the circumstances permitted. Richard
did not feel sure of his own ground, and declared
himself quite unfit for the fashionable society that
would henceforward be found at Ferness. It was very
possible, he thought, that it might not be his home for
long; but, while he stayed, Diana should have a friend
and supporter in him. Lady Colwyn had declared that,
even if she were not invited to visit Ferness, she would
devote herself to Diana. And Sir Royal-well, Sir
Royal rode over to Ferness on the morning following
the family's arrival, almost mad with impatience to see
Diana, and to know what the home-coming had been
like.
Diana's second thought had been of him who had
ever shown such interest in all her joys and troubles;
her first thought was for Sir Lisle. Her old friend was
sure to come, for Sir Royal had always been the first
to welcome her.
She rose early, as was her custom at Ferness, and
took breakfast long before the others were awake. Ah,
the dear old home, with its stately rooms and broad
corridors, its lofty windows, its sweet, fresh, perfumed
air, so different from the vitiated atmosphere of the house
in Mayfair! She hastened to the conservatory, to gaze
upon the fountains and the flowers. She went to the
terrace where everything was bright and beautiful.
In her delight she could have kissed the marble stat-
ues; she could have fancied that even they smiled
upon her and welcomed her home. On repairing to her
favorite spot-the rose garden -she found that it had
been well cared for in her absence, and a few late
་
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flower. It was there Sir Royal
roses were still in flower.
found her.
"I knew you would be here, Diana," he said; "1
came direct to you."
Sir Royal gazed steadfastly upon the fair form before
him, for it was no longer that of the child he had pet-
ted, teased, and consoled. Diana, tall and fair, in a
morning dress of pale blue cashmere with a rich cas-
cade of lace, a knot of autumn roses at her throat, was
like a vision to him. He looked at her steadily, al-
though his heart beat with a rush of passionate love.
He did not attempt to kiss the beautiful face; but he
held the dainty hands closely in his. It was then that
he asked the question:
"What have they done to you, Diana? You have
changed from a child to a woman.
"I am not changed, Royal," she said; "I am just the
same.
11
"Ah, my dear," he rejoined, gently; "there is some-
thing in your face that was not there when you left
home! You were a child then; you are a woman now."
"I shall never change to you, Royal," she said
sweetly.
"Let me see your eyes, Diana. Why should you
seek to hide them from me?
I have shared every
secret of yours since you came home here to Ferness,
a laughing, happy child."
She raised her lovely eyes obediently enough to his,
and he looked at her earnestly. Then his face grew
pale, and he dropped her hands with a sigh-a long,
hopeless sigh.
"It is the love-light that shines in your eyes, Diana,"
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he said; "and love was the one thing wanted to bring
your fair beauty to perfection, even as the warmth of
the sun brings a rose into full bloom. That is the
change in you, Diana. It could not fail to come sooner
or later; it has come now."
He leaned against one of the statues, his face white
as the marble near him, fighting-heaven only knew
how fiercely-with the bitter pain tearing at his heart.
He had always known he must lose her-indeed she
had never been his-but now that the blow had fallen,
it almost crushed him.
"You have learned to care about someone, have you
not?" asked Sir Royal, after a brief pause.
"I hardly know, Royal," she answered, as a faint
blush stole over her face.
“You are not quite sure?" cried Sir Royal; and his
eyes were lighted up with love and hope.
"No, not quite-at least, I think not," replied Diana.
"You are not engaged-not promised in marriage?"
he interrogated earnestly.
"I am
Diana laughed, blushed, and shrunk back a little.
"Oh, no, Royal-certainly not!" she said.
quite sure I do not look like that."
Then came the great struggle of his life, the one great
battle with himself, in which he was defeated and over-
thrown. He loved her with an intensity that consumed
his heart. True, he was more than twice her age, and
he considered that he had nothing worthy of her ac-
ceptance. He had an ancient title and a fair estate;
but she deserved ten thousand times more than he
had to offer. His very love for her had up to this time
kept him silent, for she had seemed to him such a
A
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
2ng
sweet, innocent child that he would have deemed it
a desecration to speak to her of love or marriage. He
had settled in his own mind long since that he was
unworthy of her, and that he must bury his love and
his sorrow in silence, and think of her only as a child.
But now-now that he fancied she was awakening to
the knowledge of love and there was the possibilty of a
rival for her hand appearing, he must speak or die.
"You have learned to care for someone, Diana; and
yet you are not sure, you do not know. Oh, Diana,
if this be true, let me urge my love for you! I have
worshiped you, my darling, ever since you came here,
a laughing, lovely child, bringing sunshine and music
in your train. Every glance of your beautiful eyes,
every sound of your voice, is inexpressibly dear to me.
My life has long centered in my love for you; I have
no care or interest but you."
"You have always been good to me," she acknowl-
edged.
And he saw, with a bitter pang, that she had not as
yet the faintest idea of his meaning. He looked into
the sweet, unconscious face, determined to know his
fate before the interview closed.
1
"Diana," he said, "if you have learned to care for
someone, the thought of love and marriage must
have occurred to you. How shall I say what is in my
heart? How can I frame the words? Oh, Diana, my
idol, if you can love and marry anyone, why should
not I be the favored one?"
A mist came before his eyes, his heart beat violent-
ly. He had spoken the words that had burned in his
heart so long; the die was cast.
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Alas, she drew back from him with a startled face
and shadowed eyes!
"You?" she cried. "Oh, Royal, I do love you, but
not in that way!"
"I know, my dear," he said, with a look of desperate
longing "I know I have always been the dearest, tru-
est of friends to you-an elder brother indeed. But
have you never thought of me in the light of a lover?"
"Oh, no," she replied "never!"
And she was so earnest that the hope, faint as it was,
died in his heart when he heard the words uttered.
"So that, if some months ago I had asked you to
marry me, you would have said 'No'?”
"Some months ago?" she repeated. "I do not know;
I cannot tell. I did not know the difference then."
"And you know it now, Diana?"
"Yes, I know it now," she answered dreamily.
She was thinking to herself how different it would
have been had Sir Lisle stood there in his place.
Then Sir Royal knew that he had heard his doom,
and that Diana's heart had gone from her for
her for ever-
more. He stood unmoved while his
then he said, gently:
last hope died;
"I will not ask you any questions, Diana.
I re-
spect your secret; perhaps I shall know it in good
time. But, if I can never be your husband, Diana, or
your lover, may I always be your friend?"
"Always," she replied. "You are the best friend
I have ever had or shall ever have, I am sure, Royal."
"Heaven bless you for your kindly thought of me!"
he said. “I shall bury all my hopes-not that I have
ever really entertained any serious hope--I shall bury
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211
my love, and never bring its ghost to startle you; but
the tie of friendship will always live between us,
Diana?"
"Yes, always," she replied. "Why, Royal, you have
ever been part of my life to me! From the time I first
knew you, how you have scolded, lectured, and petted
me! You have spoiled me more than papa has ever
done."
"Yet I have told you some disagreeable truths,
Dian."
"Yes, at times," she allowed. "But, with all their
unpalatable truth, I like your lectures, Royal, for I
know they are intended for my good."
Then Sir Royal took her hands in his and looked
into the lovely young face with its rich flush of youth
and beauty. That his own in that moment wore a pal-
lor like death, while his eyes were dark with pain,
mattered little to him.
"Give me a pledge this morning, Dian," he said,
pleadingly. "I may never be your husband or your
lover; but pledge me your word that, since I am your
friend, you will trust wholly in me; that, above all, if
you are in trouble, you will seek me, and that you will
never keep a secret from me. Do you promise me
that?"
And Diana, looking at him with loving eyes, an-
swered:
"I promise, Royal."
And she kept her word. In the dark after-time,
when her heart was rent with the sorrow which her
unbending pride had wrought, she went to him, and he
remembered this hour.
CHAPTER XXVI
It happened that some few mornings after this con
versation Sir Royal came over to Ferness for luncheon.
Contrary to his expectations, Lady Cameron was very
gracious to him. Lord Clanronald appeared to be very
sincere in the attentions he paid to Evadne; no one
seemed particularly attracted by Thea, and her lady-
ship thought the master of Westwater would make a
good husband for her. So she welcomed him, and in-
vited him continually, and smiled at his fondness for
Diana.
This morning he was walking up and down the ter-
race with Diana. She was telling him, but not in a
spirit of complaint, how different everything was. Yet
there was a touch of humor in what she described-
how puzzled the servants were when they came for or-
ders, how they looked from Lady Cameron to her, and
if by chance there was a collision between them, how
her father immediately went out of the way.
"John Brown is the most stanch of all my adherents,"
said Diana, laughing. "Nothing will bribe him. Her
ladyship tries him with chicken and sponge cake; he
does nothing but growl at her. Captain Langley is not
half so truthful; he goes out with Thea."
"I always trust the instinct of a dog," remarked Sir
Royal. "If Captain Langley likes Thea, depend upon
it she is the best."
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213
"She has an open, honest countenance," said Diana.
Then, looking at Sir Royal's face, she was struck with
ts pallor. "Are you ill, Royal?" she asked, anxiously.
He raised his hand to his head, and she saw that
the grave, kindly eyes were darkened with pain.
"No, I am not ill; but my head pains me; it has
sroubled me very much lately. I never told you of an
injury I once received, because I wanted to forget all
about it; but I will do so now, Dian.
I had a great
ambition some years ago to be a leading politician; but
in consequence of this injury I had to give up every
idea and hope of leading a public life, and be content
to live quietly, thankful that matters were no worse.
One night I had been dining with some friends at
Hampstead, and, returning to London late on foot, I
heard cries of distress.
It was a lonely spot, and I
hurried across the road in time to see a stalwart man in
the act of maltreating a young and pretty woman, who
clung to him with passionate cries. I did as any other
man would do-rushed to the rescue. The ruffian was
much stronger than I, and mad with drink; but I man-
aged to drag the woman from him. Then he struck me
on the head and I fell, stunned with the blow. Hap-
pily the poor woman was saved, for the police on the
beat heard the struggle and hastened to us. The
woman was protected, the man was taken to the police
station, and I was conveyed to the nearest hospital.
There I lay for many weeks unconscious. "
"My poor Royal, my brave Royal!" cried Diana,
flushing with emotion as she bent her head and kissed
his hands. "I never dreamed that you had suffered so."
"No; no one here knows it. I have always been
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afraid to mention it," he said; "you will see why. I
lay for some weeks at the point of death, and when I
in some measure recovered my strength, I was in great
danger of losing my reason That was why I kept
silent, Diana. The fear, however, is always gnawing
at my heart.
Sometimes for months together I feel
no pain; then again I am hardly master of myself, so
great is my anguish. All the doctors I consulted gave
me the same advice-to give up all idea of a public
life, to live on my estate, and avoid all excitement;
and I knew what that meant."
"Oh, Royal," she cried, "you have this dark cloud
darkening your life, and have never named it to me
before!"
"I wanted to forget it," he said.
"Why have you told me now?" asked Diana, anx-
iously.
་
GOS
"Because I have been alarmed lately. The other
day, after a severe headache, I lost my memory for
some hours, and could not even recollect my own name,
or where I was. Then, too, I have such strange sen-
sations. They last only a few minutes; but they are
horrible while they remain. The past and the future,
right and wrong, are so inextricably mixed that I can-
not distinguish them.
"Why do you not consult a physician?" said Diana.
"I have consulted many; but it is useless. You will
not tell anyone, Dian?—for I have a dread of anyone
knowing."
"I will not mention it to any living soul," she an-
swered; "but oh, Royal, how I wish that you lived
with us always, that I might take care of you! Show
me where you were hurt," she added.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
215
And Sir Royal, parting the cluster of dark hair just
above the temple, showed her a deep scar. Diana
raised her face and kissed it.
"That scar is more honorable than one gained in
battle," she said. "A soldier often fights from a false
notion of honor and justice; but you fought to save
a woman's life. You were not thanked, you went un-
rewarded. Were I queen, there should be a Victoria
Cross for such heroism.”
"I am
more than rewarded now," he replied. "To
hear such words, to win a kiss from you, I should hold
my life cheap. Dian, were I to give my life for you,
a kiss in my dying moments from the one I love would
reward me."
There were tears in his eyes as he spoke.
Richard's careless, merry voice roused them from
their somewhat gloomy conversation. He had come
in search of Sir Royal.
"Cousin Diana," he said, "you did not tell us of the
grand arrivals expected to-morrow."
"I know of none," she replied.
Richard looked up in surprise, then suddenly seemed
to recollect himself.
"I had forgotten," he said, with some little confu-
sion. "Miss Scarsdale has been telling me that Sir
Lisle Scarsdale and Lord Clanronald are expected."
Diana's face flushed, then grew cold and pale. Sir
Royal knew by the tremor that passed over the beau-
tiful figure that one of the two names mentioned was
the name of the man she loved.
"To-morrow!" repeated Diana.
Either she was very vexed or very pleased-Richard
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could not decide which; but Sir Royal knew. Love's
instinct decides very quickly.
"Shall I be considered indiscreet," Richard contin-
ued, "if I tell you that, on the day after the arrival of
our guests, there is to be a dinner-party at which an
event long looked for by some but dreaded by others,
will take place?"
"What is it, Rich?" asked Diana,
"The Duke and Duchess of Stone, who arrived at
Stonedale yesterday, have promised to dine here on the
auspicious occasion."
"The duke and duchess at last!" cried Sir Royal.
"I need hardly add," said Rich, "that Mr. Cameron
is in the highest spirits, and is said to be most grate-
ful to 'mamma,' who has brought about the desire of
his heart.
Sir Royal saw how Diana's lovely face had paled.
"I knew they were coming," said Diana, "but I was
not informed as to the day. It matters little, how-
ever. And, as my dear father married more to secure
the acquaintance of the duke and duchess than any-
thing else, I am glad that he has succeeded."
She spoke proudly. She was not willing that even
these friends who loved her so dearly should fathom
the depth and bitterness of the pain she felt.
Then Sir Royal, after receiving from Lady Cameron
a pressing invitation to meet the duke and duchess,
rode away, and Diana was left to her own thoughts.
She was much happier at Ferness than she had been
in London. True, the freedom of the old life was gone,
for wherever she went one or another of the new-comers
was to be found. They all liked the terrace and the
i
}
1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
217
conservatory, so that Diana seldom had either of her
favorite haunts to herself. But the house was large
and she could always escape from the society of Lady
Cameron and her daughters if she so wished. Besides,
she had her own suite of rooms, into which no one
sought admission. She was more dearly worshiped
than ever by the whole household, who resented, so far
as they dared, their master's second marriage as a wrong
done to her. But perhaps she suffered more keenly at
Ferness than she had suffered in London. At Ferness
hitherto she had held absolute sway, and now she had
not the least share in the management; she was
politely but decidedly set aside. She had not been
told of the new arrivals, nor had she been consulted.
about the dinner-party; and she was angry at heart.
She could not endure the thought of the duke and
duchess coming when she remembered how distinctly
they had declined to know her father, how frigidly
they had avoided her. Now that her father had mar-
ried one of their set, they were ready to take him by
the hand and patronize him. All Diana's pride was
aroused at the thought of this humiliation. She knew
how elated and triumphant Lady Cameron and her
daughters would be that they would talk about the
"dear duchess" until her heart would almost rise in
open rebellion. No duke or duchess should patronize
her. She could not absent herself from the dinner-
such a proceeding would make her father exceedingly
angry-but she could trust herself to show her Grace
of Stone that the patronage so long withheld would
not now be accepted.
Then Diana began to think of more pleasant things.
P
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He was coming-the man who had filled her world
with light and brightness, who had changed the aspect
of her whole life! She hated all the Scarsdales; but
then he was something more than a Scarsdale. He
had come to her with the face of a knight of the olden
time, and had touched her heart without knowing it.
How should she receive him-with coldness and
hauteur, because he was a Scarsdale, or with warmth
and kindness because he differed from the rest of the
world?
The girl's heart beat with conflicting emotions as
she paced the terrace. How she longed for courage to
hate him or humility to love him!
"Was there ever one so weak, so miserable, so
wretched?" she cried to herself. "I love, yet I hate; I
do not know my own heart! If he had been-knightly
and noble as he is a poor private soldier, I should
have been proud of his love; but a Scarsdale, head of
the house, her ladyship's beloved relative, a friend,
probably, of the duke-I cannot like him! If he had
been anyone else on earth except the man he is, I
could not help loving him!"
So Diana walked in the sunshine amid the flowers,
with her heart perplexed and torn between love and dis-
like. Nor had she quite made up her mind how to re-
ceive Sir Lisle when the morrow came and brought
him.
素
​CHAPTER XXVII
THE day broke, the arrival of which Diana had
longed for, yet dreaded. Her father was engrossed
with one topic, and that was the coming of the duke
and duchess. They were coming; and his great ambi-
tion was to put forth all the resources of his establish-
ment. His wife endeavored to convince him that an
undue exhibition of magnificence would be in bad taste,
and sought to induce him to allow everything to take
its usual course; and thus, in the midst of rebuffs, he
forgot all about Diana. Lady Cameron never intended
that her step-daughter should be consulted as to the
arrangements, nor did she furnish her with any partic-
ulars concerning the coming dinner-party. In the
great perplexity of her heart and mind, Diana was al-
most glad not to know; in that case she was not com-
pelled to be present. She longed to see Sir Lisle, yet
dreaded the hour. Her heart beat fast, her hands trem-
bled, her face flushed when she thought of his coming,
of how he would greet her, and what she should say.
She yearned to see once more the dark, knightly face
so noble and so true; and yet she was filled with scorn
and abhorrence when she remembered that he was a
Scarsdale and beloved by her foes.
Diana still retained the use of her pony-carriage,
which, considering all the reforms that had been intro-
duced into the household, was remarkable, Lady Cam-
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eron's great aim being to reduce expenses where they
brought no satisfactory results, and to be more lavish
in matters of outward appearance. Diana resolved to
drive over to Lady Colwyn's and spend the greater
part of the day with her, returning in the evening to
dinner and to meet the expected guests.
She kissed her father, and bade him good-morning
as she prepared to depart. He, who once had thought
only of her, now asked no question as to whither she
was going, said nothing about missing her society, and
only remarked that he hoped she had a beautiful dress
for the morrow.
"Poor papa," sighed Diana, as she drove away, her
ponies' bright harness shining in the sun-"poor papa!
What a sad defect in an otherwise noble character!
What can he see in the duke and duchess more than
in the rest of the world? He has sacrificed his happi-
ness and mine to know them."
She went away angry, bitter, sad at heart. She
hated this worship of rank and position. It was both
foreign and repugnant to her nature, and she could
neither understand nor make allowance for it in others,
Kindly Lady Colwyn saw that the girl was depressed
and unhappy. Tears came to her eyes as she thought
of the time when Diana sung of the sunshine and the
roses and wondered why everyone did not find life as
fair as she herself then did.
There was little said about the home-troubles. Di-
ana was too proud to complain, and Lady Colwyn was
too well-bred to make inquiries. The girl spent a few
happy hours with her old friend; and in the afternoon
she drove back home.
f
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221
•
The expected company had arrived. She saw that
at once, and made her escape to her own rooms, where
pretty Susanne awaited her. Lady Cameron had sent
several times to know where Miss Cameron was, and
had at last dispatched a message begging Miss Cam-
eron to wear one of her prettiest dresses and her dia-
mond necklace, the one brought from Paris.
The old rebellious feeling rose with intensified, vigor
at this last display of maternal authority on the part
of her ladyship. What business was it of Lady Cam-
eron's how she dressed? She would allow no such
dictation; she would dress according to her own taste.
As for the hated diamond necklace, she had never
worn it, and she never would. She wondered what
could be Lady Cameron's motive for taking an interest
in her dress and appearance. That Lady Cameron had
desired her to make an elaborate toilet seemed to Diana
a forcible reason why she should make a perfectly plain
one; and, though beautiful costumes lay near her in pro-
fusion-some from Madame Elise, some from Worth
-she did not even look at them.
"Put away my jewels, Susanne," she said; "I shall
not wear any this evening."
The maid looked surprised, for Lady Cameron's in-
junctions about Miss Cameron's dress had been very
strict.
Yet, if her young mistress was really so indifferent
about her dress, why was she so difficult to please? No
dress satisfied her, until at last she saw one that was
the perfection of elegant simplicity-a white silk shot.
with palest gold. Although simple, it was superb.
"I will wear that," said Diana; and she wondered
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why her heart beat so quickly, why her face flushed,
why her hands trembled as she touched the beautiful
laces.
"No jewels with this dress, Susanne," she said, while
in her heart she was asking herself over again, How
would Sir Lisle greet her? What would he say?
"No jewels," she repeated. "The dress is simple; but
it is rich enough in itself. There is so much light
about it that it needs no more-nothing but lace and
flowers."
"White heath and maiden hair fern?" suggested
Susanne.
“Pale geraniums," said Diana; "and I will wear the
same in my hair.”
She was as fair a picture of youth, grace, and love-
liness as eyes could wish to rest upon. Her desire to
disobey Lady Cameron had led her to the most perfect
result.
In her own heart Diana would have preferred to meet
Sir Lisle alone. She had as a rule thorough self-com-
mand; but it was an ordeal to meet him in the pres-
ence of others. As she went down the grand staircase
a glittering vision of white and gold, a thought came
to her how different it would have been if she had
had a mother living, a loving mother, who would have
taken her by the hand and led her into the drawing-
room, would have shielded her, would have understood
her shyness and hesitation!
"Royal will be there!" she said to herself; and she
found comfort in the thought.
Royal was there. The love which had in it no ele-
ment of self told him that she would need a friend;
"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
223.
and he knew that of the two visitors one was the man
whom Diana loved. He was the first to greet her,
and in the shelter of his friendship Diana felt safe.
One by one they came to her. Lord Clanronald left
Evadne's side, and passionate adoration could be
read in his eyes as he warmly greeted the young heir-
ess.
"He loves her," thought Sir Royal, as he heard the
compliments of the young lord lavished so profusely
on her.
Then came he of the knightly face, grave, tender,
and handsome; and in the shifting lights and shadows
of the autumn evening Sir Royal discovered the secret.
Diana's face grew pale, as with a great and almost
dread delight, whilst her lovely eyes fell, and she
stood for a moment silent and motionless.
Looking at
He drew aside,
nobility of his
"She loves him!" thought Sir Royal.
Sir Lisle, he could not wonder at it.
and left them together; and in the
heart he said to himself, "He is worthy of her."
It was Sir Lisle who lingered by her side and Sir
Lisle who took her in to dinner, and it was he who
charmed her with his pleasant conversation Sir
Royal saw, too, that although Lord Clanronald spent
most of his time with Evadne, it was Diana whom his
eyes followed, and Sir Royal guessed shrewdly that it
was Diana whom he really loved.
The heiress was more of her old self on this evening
than she had been since her father's marriage. De
spite her perplexities, she was in high spirits, and
there was a touch of the old sweet imperiousness about
her which delighted Sir Royal and charmed Sir Lisle.
*
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The dinner-hour passed pleasantly enough. Thea
was looking her best, and, to Diana's surprise, she
talked most amiably to Richard, at which no one
seemed more surprised than Richard himself.
The moonlight shone in silvery radiance through the
windows as the gay party returned to the drawing-
room. Sir Lisle, anxious to be by the side of her he
loved, sought Diana.
"I should like to see your terrace by moonlight,"
he said. "Mr. Cameron has been telling me how
proud he is of it. Should you think me very pre-
sumptuous if I asked you to show it to me.
I see
these windows open on to it."
"I shall be delighted to show it to you," answered
Diana; “it is my favorite spot. We often enjoy its
beauties by moonlight."
"You will need a cloak," said Sir Lisle, with an
admiring glance at the fair white arms.
Susanne brought one of dark rich sable, and never
had Diana's stately loveliness been seen to greater ad-
vantage than when it was thrown over her shoulders.
D
All the young people preferred the terrace to the
brilliantly illuminated drawing-room. Thea hinted
to Richard that she would like a chat with him; and
he was as much pleased as amazed at the intimation.
"There must be more in me than I imagine," said
honest Richard to himself, "if a fine lady like this
condescends to be gracious to me"-and he remained,
during the rest of the evening, in a state of pleasant
bewilderment.
Sir Lisle and Diana went to the end of the terrace,
whence they could obtain a view of the moon shining,
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
225
on the distant waters. They watched in silence, lost
in the beauty of the scene.
"How beautiful this place is!" he said at last. "I
have often heard of Ferness, but I had no idea it was so
picturesque. How you must love it, Miss Cameron!"
"I do," she answered quietly.
"You were sole mistress here before your father
married again, were you not?"
"Yes," was the brief reply.
Then she found his dark eyes fixed on her with pas-
sionate love and anxious concern.
"Has it made much difference to you, this mar-
riage, Diana? I have asked you a question which you
may deem an impertinent one," said Sir Lisle, as his
eyes looked inquiringly into hers. "When I heard of
my relative's marriage," he continued, "I was delighted
for her sake; I looked at it only in her interest. At
first I did not know that there was a daughter and
heiress, and even when I heard it I scarcely gave a
thought to the fact."
“Everyone said," interrupted Diana bitterly, "that
it was an excellent thing for me.
"So I thought," he added; "but now I am begin-
ning to doubt it. Tell me, Diana, has this marriage
been for your happiness or not?”
"I must think before I answer your question," replied
Diana.
"
"Do not think, Diana," whispered Sir Lisle;" answer
me with your usual frankness. You are not given to
long pauses before you answer a question. Has this
marriage," he persisted, "been for your happiness or
otherwise?"
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"I cannot tell you," she replied vaguely; "you are
one of them."
"One of them!" he repeated. "One of whom?"
"One of the Scarsdales," answered Diana promptly.
"I understand," Sir Lisle laughed. "I could not
think at first what you meant. Of course I am a Scars-
dale; but that is no fault of mine. And why should
that take away your confidence in me?"
"I do not say that it does," said Diana, conscious of
the intense delight it gave her to be talking to him
there in the moonlight.
"Do you consider all the Scarsdales your mortal
foes?" he asked.
"Don't ask me such questions," said Diana. "Talk
to me of something less unpleasant.
"You must not think me curious," he went on—“I
am simply interested. I never thought about the mat-
ter until I came to-day; then it occurred to me that it
must have been hard, after reigning here as queen and
mistress, to see another take your place.”
Gracefully she drew the rich sables more closely
around her.
"It was hard," she answered quietly; but he saw
that she shuddered as with cold.
"Tell me the hardest part of it, Diana," he said.
"The hardest?" she questioned. "It was not the
loss of rule and power; it was not the loss of position
or of liberty; it was not the feeling that home was no
longer home, but an abode for strangers. It was that
I was no longer first with my father."
"I thought so," said Sir Lisle, emphatically.
“And now," added Diana, “I refuse to say another
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
227
word upon the matter. I did not come out into this
Change the sub-
lovely moonlight to talk of myself.
ject, Sir Lisle."
"I will. Let me tell you that in this moonlight you
look to me like the goddess Diana."
She laughed a sweet, tuneful laugh that stirred the
blood in his veins.
"Did the goddess ever wear a cloak of sables?" she
asked.
"No, but she had the same grand contour of head
and neck, the same clear, faultless outline of figure.
Diana, your beauty is matchless."
"Sir Lisle, I have listened to your flattery before,"
she answered, with a smile.
“I look at your face sometimes," said Sir Lisle, "and
wonder what your life's story will be-whether your
radiance will be dimmed with tears, and your bright-
ness marred by sorrow. You could not, with such a
face as yours, pass through life without some strange
experiences, Diana."
"The sooner they come the better," she rejoined
carelessly.
It seemed to her that, after the irruption of the Scars-
dales into her life, it mattered little what happened,
for nothing could restore the joyous life of the past.
The sound of voices and music now reached them,
warning them that it was time to go indoors.
"We must go in," said Diana, hurriedly.
She was turning away, her heart beating with de-
light at the love in his voice, when he laid his hand
on her arm.
"Stay one moment, Diana," he said. "I want to ask
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a favor. You were mercilessly cruel to me when in
town. The flower you gave me at my request you after
ward took from me and destroyed. If I were to ask you
why you did so, you would not tell me?"
'Indeed I would not," declared Diana, quickly.
"It was very cruel. It may have seemed a little
thing, but it was cruel; and it made me very unhappy.
You must make some reparation, Diana."
"How?" she asked.
'You have been wearing some pale geraniums this
evening," he said; "open your cloak and give me
one."
She detached one of the delicate flowers from her
dress, and held it out to him.
He did what he had never dared to hope he might
do; he kissed with all the passion of his heart the fair
hand which had given him the flower.
"Sir Lisle!" cried Diana, her fair face flushing as
she spoke.
When she looked up and saw his handsome face, the
love in his dark, earnest eyes, she could say no more.
His name died on her lips, and in that moment it
seemed to Diana that the very depths of her heart
were laid bare to her, and that she saw there the great
truth of her life, that she loved him with a supreme
love.
“I am afraid you will take cold, Diana," said a
voice near her, which she knew to be Sir Royal's.
He shrank as from a blow when the radiant face
turned to his, and he saw that the love he had been
denied had been bestowed upon another.
Sir Lisle touched Diana's cloak lightly.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
229
"Oh, my love is like the red, red rose,
That sweetly blows in June!
Oh, my love is like a melody
That's sweetly sung in tune!”
"Miss Cameron is safe in this," he said.
"Her love is reciprocated. May heaven bless the
child!" said Sir Royal to himself as he turned away.
Indoors music and cards were resorted to, and the
young heiress was eagerly besought to charm them
with her fine contralto voice. Diana's repertoire was
extensive enough. She was equally at home in French
chansons, Italian love-songs, and German lieder; but
she loved best the old English ballads and the Scotch
songs. She sang first:
with its sweet refrain:
$
"An' I would come again, my dear,
Were it twice ten thousand miles."
Sir Lisle listened with rapture.
"She could not be commonplace if she tried," he
said to himself.
He determined to ask her to be his wife, and then
he wondered whether she would accept him. When
he came to think of what had passed between them
-every word, every look, he was mystified. It seemed
at times that she loved him; then again, as when she
flung the flower beneath her feet, it seemed as though.
she must hate him. This evening she had been sweet
and loving; she had given him the flower that he
asked for; she had looked into his face with love-
lighted eyes; and yet her haughty little head had been
raised once or twice in a fashion that did not speak of
love.
Sir Lisle pondered this puzzle; but he failed to
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*
arrive at a satisfactory solution of it. Did she like
him, or did she not? He would have given much
that night to have the question answered. He could
not quite understand Diana. With so much that was
noble and lofty in her character, there was something,
he fancied, of caprice-and yet caprice was foreign to
her.
So he dreamed of the future, and wondered what
time would reveal.
CHAPTER XXVIII
"I KNEW I should hate this day," said Diana, when
"It will bring anything but hap-
she saw the dawn.
2
piness to me."
She knew that; but even she never dreamed of what
would happen before the day closed. It broke beauti-
ful enough, with just a chill touch in the air which
made it fresh and invigorating, this day that brought
to her father the realization of his heart's desire. The
duke and duchess were coming; and his wife had given
him a lesson in demeanor.
"Try to be quiet," she impressed upon her husband.
"There is nothing betrays want of good breeding so
much as fuss, eagerness and undue ceremony. Let
everything take its natural course; do not excite the
servants. I assure you, nothing would displease the
duchess more than fuss.
""
So Peter Cameron tried to hide his elation and tri-
umph according to her laydship's instructions; but his
daughter read in his face the keen pleasure that he felt.
"Poor papa!" she said to herself. "He ought to
enjoy his triumph; he has paid a stupendous price for
it."
Something had softened her heart, and made the
earth and sky seem brighter, and made the flowers
seem sweeter. She did not wait to ask herself what it
was; but she gave herself up to its gracious influence,
231
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詮
​Seeing her father walking with a preoccupied air on
the terrace, she went to him. Ah, surely something
had softened Diana's heart! She clasped her white
hands round his arm. A sharp pang came to her as
she remembered their last long talk on the terrace, and
all that had happened since then.
"Papa," she said, "I believe this is the happiest
day of your life.”
He turned to her a face glowing with undisguised
satisfaction.
"I think it is, Diana," he replied.
She could not tell why the words hurt her; but it
seemed as though neither she nor her dead mother had
any part or share in this happiness of her father's.
"I hope," she said, gently, "that it will go off as
you wish, papa."
"I have no time to talk to you now, my dear," re-
turned the millionaire. "My lady has been impressing
upon me that there must be no fuss, no ceremony.
She says the duchess would not like it. Still I have
many important things to attend to this morning."
"Papa," she said, proudly, "I could have received
the Duke and Duchess of Stone quite as well as Lady
Cameron."
Her father smiled.
"Could you, my dear? But then you see the duke
and duchess did not think so. However, you will do
your best, will you not, Diana, to make everything
pleasant?"
“Yes, papa, for your sake I will," she answered. “By
no ungraciousness or caprice on my part will I mar
the pleasantness of the happiest day of your life."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
233
5
Shortly after this Sir Lisle found her standing by
the noble statue of Flora, looking over the blue waters
of the restless sea.
"How fortunate I am to find you here and alone,
Diana!" he said. "It is as difficult to secure an audi-
ence of you as of a queen-you have so many adorers.
I like your Sir Royal."
"Why do you call him my Sir Royal?" she asked.
"It is plain enough that he sees and hears no one
but you, Diana," replied Sir Lisle.
C
"He loves me as a brother," said Diana.
"And Rich," continued Sir Lisle-"what a fine young
fellow he is! I like all the members of your court,
Queen Diana. What is the cause of the excitement
to-day? Is it because it is the first time that the Duke
and Duchess of Stone have dined here that there is
such a sensation?"
$
Diana blushed as the words fell from his lips, for
she felt that there was nothing but humiliation in the
confession that she must make. How hateful it seemed
to her that he should guess at the truth!
"Better to tell him," she thought, "than leave him
to find out one thing after another." She stood before
him composed and stately, and said:
know that my father was the architect of his own fort-
une?"
"Sir Lisle, you
And the man whose ancestors had fought with the
Crusaders said simply:
"Yes; and I honor him for it.
“So do I," she said, her eyes eagerly seeking his--
"so do I, Sir Lisle. My father must have been a clever
man to accumulate so much money. He is a great
234
1
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man, too.
He has worked out magnificent schemes;
he has managed gigantic undertakings, he has proved
himself to be a man of brilliant intellect—I may say,
of genius."
"You are right," agreed Sir Lisle.
"Then, too, his character is noble-he is generous
and high-minded-in fact, he has but one fault, and
that is his too great love and veneration for the titled
nobility. You see," she added hastily, wishing, after
all, to shield him, "my father held a proud position in
the county as the wealthiest man in it; but nothing
gave him any pleasure because the Duke and Duchess
of Stone persistently ignored him. They drew the
line at trade,' it was said. And do you know, Sir
Lisle, that simple fact poisoned my father's life.
When he went to a county meeting, he came home
miserable, because the duke had spoken to every gen-
tleman present but him. You can hardly fancy so no-
ble a man as my father with such a defect?"
"Yes, I can," said Sir Lisle—“I can imagine it. But
how has he attained this desire of his heart?"
Diana looked at him, scorn shining in her beautiful
eyes.
"By his marriage," she said, gravely. "Lady Cam-
eron is a great friend of the Duchess of Stone; my
father must be at least an acquaintance now."
"And you?" interrogated Sir Lisle.
A sudden rush of color suffused her cheeks as she
replied:
"You had better not ask me. Then she added: "I
resent the patronage of the people I despise."
"How delightfully natural you are, Diana?" he said.
""
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
235
"1
"It never seems to occur to you to hide your thoughts."
"That is the chief fault that Lady Cameron finds with
me," she returned. "She complains that I am not con-
ventional."
"Thank heaven for it!" he cried. "There are plenty
of conventional girls; it is a relief to find one who is
not fashioned in society's mold. Then your father's
marriage has secured him the acquaintance of the
Duchess of Stone, and without that marriage he would
never have made it?"
"That is so," said Diana.
Sir Lisle was silent, for he felt inwardly that his
loved one was unhappy through this marriage he had
thought to be such a happy one for her.
"You have never told me about your home," she said,
anxious to change the subject. "It is called Ling,
is it not?"
"
"Yes," he replied. "It is a very old place_older
even than this, but not so large-and it is made most
lovely and picturesque by the River Floss, which winds
round the whole estate.
"I should very much like to see it," said Diana.
"I hope," he responded with grave tenderness, "that
you will see it some day. The great charm of Ling
is its river scenery."
"You are going to live there, are you not?" she
asked.
"Yes, I hope so. I have always wished to be a poli-
tician.'
"Not a soldier?" she said.
"No. The Scarsdales have all been soldiers-brave
ones too, some of them; but my wish is to enter Par-
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7
liament. I shall wait until the general election, and
then offer myself for the county."
"I wish you success," she said, simply; and as sim-
ply he answered:
"I thank you."
That conversation drew them closely together. She
liked to hear of his desires and plans, and he delighted
in talking of them to her. He knew that life would be
nothing to him unless she shared it. They spoke of the
day on which they had first met, and then their con-
versation wandered off to topics of general interest.
"Diana," said Sir Lisle suddenly, "do you believe
in chance?”
"I do not know," she replied. "Of what are you
thinking?"
"I am thinking of the strange way in which we first
met. You have never told me why you were at the
National Gallery on that day, and I shall never ask.
I am sure you had a good reason for being there."
"Oh, yes!" said Diana, with a smile, as she remem-
bered what that reason was.
"Do you think it was chance that took you there,
and me also?"
"I have never given it a thought," she answered.
"Think now. Was it chance?"
"I really do not know," she replied, with a quick
blush.
"I will answer for you," he said. "No, it was not
chance; it was Providence. All my life has changed,
Diana, since the hour in which I first saw you."
He drew nearer to her, took in his own the two del-
icate hands that trembled in his clasp. She had quite
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
237
forgotten that he was a Scarsdale; she remembered
only that he was like a knight of old, and that she loved
him.
"Diana," he said, "if I come to you some day with
an earnest request, I wonder if you will grant it?"
There did not seem to be much reason to believe that
she would refuse. The blush that covered her face
was so fascinating that he could not resist it-he bent
down and kissed the white brow.
"An earnest request, Diana," he resumed, and then,
without warning, she sprung from his side.
Thea had appeared on the terrace. She looked at
Diana with a half-amused, half-malicious expression
on her face.
"How guilty you look, Diana!" she said, laughingly.
"Have you seen Richard? I want him.”
"I have not seen him, and I am not aware that I
look guilty," replied Diana sharply.
She walked slowly down the terrace, Sir Lisle still
close by her side.
"Diana," he said, "will you be able to find me five.
minutes to-night? I have something I must say to
you; I can no longer keep it to myself. Will you steal
away from them for five minutes? Will you promise?”
She looked at him, read the expression of his face
aright, and answered:
"Yes."
CHAPTER XXIX
LADY CAMERON had been slightly nervous respecting
the visit of the duke and duchess. She was not cer-
tain as to how her husband or his daughter would be-
have. She was half afraid that in his elation and de-
light Peter Cameron might do something outre, just as
she feared that Diana, to show her spirit of independ-
ence, might say something which would be better left
unsaid. However, her husband was quiet and com-
posed, as though he were in the habit of receiving
dukes and duchesses every day of his life. Her lady-
ship had thoroughly drilled him, and she was now well
repaid.
The duke shook him cordially and heartily by the
hand, as though he had not for the last two years rig-
idly ignored his existence; that little fact was not to be
remembered now. His grace deigned to express a
wish that they should be good friends, and that they
might often be found working together in many local.
undertakings. In politics they were rivals, the duke
being a very earnest Conservative and Peter Cameron
an equally earnest Liberal; still they would agree to
differ after a most amiable fashion. The duke also
congratulated him on having already done much good
in the county, and he spoke at some length of the
power of money. Peter Cameron was delighted.
The duchess, too, had been most amiable; she had
I
238
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
239
f
praised his flowers, his house and his daughter. In-
deed, during the few minutes that preceded dinner,
while they were in the drawing-room, the duchess and
Mr. Cameron had made great progress in their acquaint-
anceship. The duchess went further than her illustri-
ous husband; she said frankly that it was to be regretted
they had not known each other before—a concession
so great that Peter Cameron was bewildered by it.
FUL
Both the duke and duchess were honestly surprised.
at the beauty and grace of Diana. The duchess had
expected to find her a rustic beauty with an ample sup-
ply of nature's rouge on her cheeks, and with hands and
feet as ungainly as her manners; she was astonished
to see in her the grace, the dignity, and the slight touch
of imperiousness that might have sat well upon a
queen
The dinner passed off with éclat. As hostess, Lady
Cameron was simply perfect; and Diana gave a sigh
as she saw her place at the table occupied by her step-
mother. Among others, Sir Royal was there-alto-
gether it was a large party, harmonious and well se-
lected.
Sir Lisle occupied a seat by Diana's side, and, as he
conversed with her, was every moment as much charmed
by her bright wit as by her great beauty. The guests.
whose presence delighted Peter Cameron were banished
from Diana's thoughts by the words of love and sym-
pathy that she heard from the handsome man by her
side. Her heart fluttered with pleasant excitement as
she looked into the face of Sir Lisle, and she felt that
she was no longer alone-that she was enjoying the
happiness springing from congenial companionship and
pure, deep, hallowed love.
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The magnificent suite of entertaining-rooms was
superbly decorated with flowers and lighted by wax
tapers; the grand conservatory was illuminated, and
the display of wealth and splendor was superb. The
duchess professed herself delighted.
Diana had been all that was gracious, although she
hated the whole affair, and disliked most heartily both
the duke and the duchess, as the author and authoress
of all her misery. Still she had thought more of her
father than of herself, and to please him she had curbed
her revengeful feelings and been most amiable to her
father's special guests.
Once during the evening Evadne and Lady Cameron
found themselves alone together.
*
"I believe, Evadne," said her mother, "that, in spite
of all my fears, this evening will be a perfect social
success.
له
Evadne, to whom nothing seemed of consequence
except Lord Clanronald, laughed carelessly.
"Never count your birds while the cage door is open,
mamma," she asnwered. "I hope it may be, for your
sake; but it is not over yet."
"Lord Clanronald seems very attentive to you, Evad-
ne," said her ladyship.
"Yes, I can, or rather, I could if I wished, wind
him round my little finger," she answered, metaphor.
ically.
"It would be a great match for you, Evadne," con-
tinued her mother thoughtfully.
"Yes. I wish he had a little more sense, thoùgh;
compared with such men as Sir Royal and Sir Lisle,
he is so horribly deficient!"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
241
"We cannot have everything," said her ladyship,
with a sigh.
It occurred to Evadne just then that in all proba-
bility her lover had done what he did whenever there
was a chance-gone off in search of Diana; and she
went at once in search of him.
•
It was in the conservatory, where the lamps glim-
mered star-like amongst the green leaves and rare
blooms, that Sir Lisle found Diana. She had retired
thither to think over the gratification of her father's
greatest desire-the object for which he had married,
the object for which he had sacrificed his happiness
and hers. She wanted also to think of Sir Lisle; and
the conservatory offered a quiet retreat.
She went in, and, drawing off her gloves, dipped
her hands in the water of a bubbling fountain. It
cooled and refreshed her. She was standing there still
when Sir Lisle found her, looking more than usually
statuesque and queenly in her dress of dead-white silk
and rich lace, with diamonds round her shapely throat
and well-formed arms.
"I have found you, Diana!" he cried, drawing one
of her hands from the fountain and watching the water
drop from her fingers. "You promised me five minutes
to-night."
"I did," said Diana, bending her lovely face over
the water. "I wonder," she added irrelevantly, "what
the charm of falling water is? No matter whether it
be a glorious cascade that dashes from rock to rock or
a little ripple like this, all the music in the world seems
to lie in it. I wonder what is the charm?"
"There are charms more potent and wonderful than
that,” he said, with a meaning look.
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}
He drew nearer to her as he spoke. Diana's proud
eyes drooped, the lovely face was bent over the fount-
ain. She looked a prize that any man might lay down
his life to win, and in truth Sir Lisle would have
given his. He loved her with all the force of a heart
awakened to the knowledge of love for the first time.
At that moment several of the dancers, entering to
seek the cool and quiet of the conservatory, prevented
him from saying all that was uppermost in his thought;
but Diana read it in the handsome, knightly face bent
over her-read the love and the wish to tell it, and the
self-restraint that was so full of respect for her. He
half-raised the pretty hand that he clasped.
"Diana," he said, "you have a beautiful ring on that
finger; I wonder, if I asked for it, whether you would
give it to me?”
1
She looked at it. It was a diamond ring, one that
her father had given to her as a birthday present.
"It would be of no use to you," she answered. “Do
you not see that it is a lady's ring?"
Would you give it to me,
"That would not matter.
Diana, if I asked for it?”
Diana was silent for a moment, looking irresolutely
at the jewel that flashed on her finger. Then she
answered:
"Yes, I would give it to you, if you really wished it."
Sir Lisle forced a smile; but his face was pale with
emotion.
"I shall hope to ask you for more than the ring, Di-
ana; and you-oh, my darling, you will not be angry?"
"I shall never be angry with you," she said. "I
could not be if I tried."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
243
How it happened she never knew, and Sir Lisle was
never clear about it-whether her lovely eyes looked
at him and lured him on, whether her beautiful head,
with its crown of fair hair, drooped near him, or
whether the sweet face was so close to his that it was
quite irresistible-but the baronet, with a murmur of
passionate words, bent down and kissed her. - In
that one sacred kiss his heart went out to her forever.
It
The silence of a great emotion came over her.
seemed to her that that kiss was as solemn as any be-
trothal; it was the first kiss that any man had ever laid
upon her lips. She had as a child embraced Sir Royal
and Richard in her loving, girlish fashion, but there
had never been any other feeling than one of affection-
ate brotherly regard. This was the first kiss given her
by the man she loved, and it seemed to Diana that it
consecrated her to him.
"My darling!" he cried, his face flushed and his
lips.trembling with emotion. "Oh, Diana, you would
give me your ring! My beautiful queen, would you
give me yourself?"
There was the sound of a laughing voice near, the
rustle of a silken dress, and Diana fled, blushing, her
heart beating fast, her whole soul full of new and
ecstatic delight; he loved her, and her dream had come
true!
f
CHAPTER XXX
—
BLUSHING, happy Diana fled. There was music in
her heart to which she must listen, and she wished to
dwell upon this happiness which had taken her cap-
tive. She longed for a brief interval of solitude so that
she might comprehend this new emotion that had en-
tered her soul. Her heart had never throbbed with
such a joyous sensation before. If this were love, then
welcome love, for it had crowned her life with a bliss
she had never before known! In that hour she did not
even remember the name of Scarsdale; she thought
only of her knightly lover.
"I will retire into the fernery," said Diana to her-
self, "and thank heaven. The most blessed gift in
this life is that of perfect love."
True, he had not asked her to be his wife; he
would have done so but for the sound of a laughing
voice and a rustle of a silken dress. But he would do
so, and she knew what her answer would be. O, happy
life-oh, happy love!
the music-room, or
She would not go back yet to
to the drawing-room, or go out upon the terrace,
where in the gray shadows she saw so many figures
flitting to and fro; she wished to commune with her
own thoughts. Truly the poet said:
"There's nothing half so sweet in life
As Love's young dream.”
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245
Oh, happy life that held such sweet love- for it had
touched her that evening and quickened all that was
noblest and truest in her! She went quickly through
the suite of rooms that led to the grounds beyond.
The sound of music and laughter followed her. But
she wanted to be away from everyone, so she hast-
ened to the fernery. This
This was one of her favorite
spots, cool, green, and beautiful, with the sound of
falling water always there.
Peter Cameron had spared nothing on his hobbies,
and the fernery was one of them. It contained, per-
haps, the choicest collection of ferns in England, and
the arrangement of the rockery was perfect. Seats had
been placed in the most picturesque spots, lamps
glimmered in the midst of the foliage. Diana loved
the place; it was as dear to her as the stone terrace or
the rose-garden.
She went straight to the seat in the midst of the
ferns, where she had sat at times talking to her
father or Sir Royal, where she had read some of her
favorite books, where she had wept her most bitter
tears when the news of her father's marriage reached
her. There she now thanked heaven for this blessed
gift of a good man's love. As Diana rose from her
seat among the ferns and prepared to return to the
drawing-room, two figures suddenly appeared in the en-
trance, and she heard Lady Cameron's voice. Had it
been any other person, Diana would have stepped for-
ward and laughingly accounted for being there; but
when she saw the duchess with her step-mother, she
retired into a remote corner, where she hoped to be
unobserved, intending, when they had passed, to
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}
hasten away. She could not meet them with her new,
sweet love springing in her heart, these women who,
she felt, disliked her; she could not meet them while
her eyes were bright with happy, grateful tears. She
stood silent and motionless waiting for them to de-
part.
1
But, to her horror, they drew nearer, and halted
against the very opening in which she was concealed.
She could not step forward then; she would rather
have died than have let them know she was there.
Lady Cameron was speaking.
"I think this is the finest part of the conservatory.
V knew your grace would like to see it, as you are so
fond of ferns."
"It is very beautiful," said the duchess; "and I really
think, my dear Lady Cameron, that you are to be
congratulated. You have a magnificent place."
Diana longed to cry out, "I am here;" she longed to
get away. She did not wish to hear what they had to
say; but flight was impossible now.
"Yes, it is magnificent enough," said Lady Cameron,
"and Mr. Cameron is very kind to me."
"One can put up with a few drawbacks to be mis-
tress of such a place and such a fortune."
"I hope soon to have things in order," said Lady
Cameron, with a sigh of fatigue. "I could not tell you
in what a state I found the place after the reign of
that foolish, capricious girl."
"She is both capricious and ill-bred," remarked the
duchess.
"Dreadfully so," assented Lady Cameron. "The one
great aim of her life is to be original, and she quite
fails in it.'
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
247
The hot color flushed into Diana's face and her heart
beat with indignation as these words fell upon her ears.
She knew that they were not true that she was not
capricious, and that she had governed well and wisely.
"I think she is an arrant flirt too," observed the duch-
ess sneeringly. "She wants to make a conquest of Sir
Lisle, I am sure.'
“And half a dozen more," said Lady Cameron. “Cer-
tainly the girl is a great drawback to my marriage; but
then I hope to get her settled shortly, and thus rid
myself of her. None of us like her; my girls thor-
oughly detest her; and her father, I believe, is grow-
ing tired of her proud, willful ways. I'm sure he does
not feel one-half the affection for her that he did."
1
Though the words were utterly false, they pierced
the very heart of the girl who had heard them. She
covered her ears with her hands, and tried to shut out
all sound; but the thin, clear voice of the duchess
reached her.
"
"I suppose," her grace was saying, "that at his
death she will have Ferness?"
"Oh, yes!" replied Lady Cameron.
"Unfortunately
there is no moving him. I have tried my best, in the
most delicate way, to induce him to leave the estate
to me; but he is quite stubborn on the point, and I
have not been able to move him. He will give to each
of my daughters a good dowry. I have gained much by
my marriage; but my girls were at first quite unwilling
to associate with Miss Cameron."
}
"
"I am not surprised at it," said the duchess calmly.
"Of course for your sake, Hermione, because we are
such old friends and you wished it so much, we have
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#
made the acquaintance of these people; for your sake
only we shall keep it up. But father and daughter are
alike intolerable to me. I dislike equally his servility
and her independence. But for you we should never
have recognized them, the duke was quite decided on
the point."
"I try
"I hate the girl!" exclaimed Lady Cameron.
to keep peace; but if I had my own way, she should
leave here at once."
I
And then to Diana's infinite relief, she heard the
rustle of the rich dresses as the two women passed on.
It was no longer the same Diana who stood there. The
girl now had no happy tears in her eyes, no smiles,
no prayer on her lips. She was transformed with an-
ger and with hate. Her face had grown pale; her
lovely eyes had lost their peace and serenity, and
now wore a look of menace. The cruel, horrible words
she had heard had imbittered her heart and shattered
all her hopes of happiness. They hated her, they
wished her away; even her father had learned to love
her less. She was an arrant flirt, trying to make a
conquest of Sir Lisle. How burning, how poisonous,
how intolerable was each word!
Diana stood erect, the evil words rankling in her
Then again she heard the sound of the two
heart.
voices. The duchess and her step-mother were return-
ing; and this time it was Sir Lisle's name that was
forced on her unwilling ears.
"He is a thousand times too good for her; but her
money will be the making of him," Lady Cameron
was saying. Then she continued, in a laughing voice:
"I have always been a good match-maker and I have
Y
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
249
two plans on the accomplishment of which I have set
my heart.
The first is, I wish to marry my daughter
Evadne to Lord Clanronald. Her love for him is un-
bounded, and he seems to reciprocate her affection; but
lately we have fancied that Diana is trying to lure
him from her. It would be a splendid match for Evadne;
there is nothing would give me such satisfaction.”
"It would be an excellent thing," said the duchess.
"And your second plan-what is that, Hermione?"
"One I have much at heart," she replied. "I planned
it from the beginning. I want Sir Lisle to marry
Diana. She will be one of the richest heiresses in
England, and, as the Scarsdale revenues have been
greatly impoverished, the money she would bring
would restore the family name to its former proud
position. Since Sir Lisle's return to England I have
had that scheme in my mind. I have done everything
to further it; I have thrown them together continually.
She is not good enough for him, I know, and, despite
the money, it would be a wretched marriage for him;
but then the money would in some measure compen-
sate."
"Certainly it would," agreed the duchess. "Have
you impressed that upon him?”
"I have tried to do so; but he is so impatient he
will not listen"-the truth being that her ladyship only
once broached the subject, and then Sir Lisle had
quickly closed it. "I am in great hopes, though, that
I shall succeed. She dislikes me so heartily and so
honestly that I shall be amused if she, in her turn,
becomes 'Lady Scarsdale.'"
"Yes," said the duchess, "it will certainly be amus
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ing. You must be careful, though, Hermione, that
you do not let her know your plans; she would be
certain to spoil them."
"I shall manage it," returned her ladyship, confi-
dently "I am, you know, famous for my skill. I
shall ask your congratulations when I have achieved
my two great desires."
"I am sure you will both deserve them and have
them," said the duchess. "It is a difficult thing, as I
know well, to get such a girl as Diana Cameron mar-
ried. You could not have thought of a better plan for
Sir Lisle."
"No; it will enable him to take the position for
which he is fitted. Sir Lisle is sure to become a dis-
tinguished politician; Mr. Cameron says he is a man
of great intellectual power. My dear duchess, with
plenty of money at his command, his prospects ought
to be brilliant. The only drawback, as I have said be-
fore, is the girl herself. Would that he could have her
money with another wife.”
"She is very beautiful," observed the duchess, "and
she may improve."
"It is possible, but not probable," said her ladyship.
"The worst of it is we all dislike her so much, while
we all love Sir Lisle. And in one respect we shall
suffer by the marriage, for it will of necessity keep us
a great deal from Sir Lisle. If I once get her away
from Ferness, I shall not be anxious to have her back.
I must be very careful, though," continued her lady-
ship, as the two walked on slowly, "for if Diana had
the least idea that this marriage was one of my making,
she would never marry him, even if refusing to do so
broke her heart. I am sure of that."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
251
"You do not think she has any idea of it?" intel·
rogated the duchess.
"Not the faintest, I assure you. I have managed too
well for that. I contrive to bring them together with-
out any knowledge of it on her part. Indeed, my dear
duchess, my hopes are so completely set on these two
marriages that if anything happened to interfere with
them it would almost break my heart."
And so, growing fainter in the distance, the voices
died away.
CHAPTER XXXI
But for the plash of the water as it fell upon the
rocks, the silence was profound. Diana had fallen to
the ground at Lady Cameron's last words, and it seemed
to her that she would never rise again. She tried to
do so once, but her brain reeled. She tried to laugh,
to speak, but no sound came from her lips. Her
senses were numbed, and she could hear nothing but
the drip of the falling water. Gradually even that
sound died from her ears, and there came
to her re-
lief darkness and merciful oblivion. Diana had never
fainted before; she had always been well and happy.
"My heart is broken!" was the last clear idea that
passed through her mind.
As the last sound she had heard was the drip of the
falling water, so it was the first she heard as conscious-
ness came back to her.
At first she could not remember why she was lying
in the fernery, or what had happened-her mind seemed
to be clouded. Then by degrees it all returned to her
clearly, vividly. They hated her-even her father loved
her less; but, because Sir Lisle was a Scarsdale, and
her money would be useful to him, they wanted him
to marry her.
Every cold and cruel word came back
to her; every bitter word appealed to her for ven-
geance.
The tenderness and sweetness of her brief love-dream
252
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
253
died out forever. Love for the time turned to hate. A
desire for revenge surged through her brain like a rag-
ing fire; it ran through her veins like molten lava.
All that was brightest and best died within her, while
all that was worst was roused into sudden and vivid
life—pride, jealousy, a longing for vengeance, hatred
of those who persecuted her, a proud sense of injustice
done to her, a feeling of outraged love, of hot indig-
nation that what was so sacred to her should be a sub-
ject of jest for others. She writhed under the torture
of it. The girl was no longer the lovely young Diana,
sweetly imperious and charming, no longer the trustful
Diana with cloudless face and laughing eyes. Standing
amidst the ferns, with all the worst passions of her
nature aroused, she was stung to madness and brood-
ing vengeance. The soft, brilliant color had died from
her cheeks, and hatred, deep and implacable, was re-
vealed in evey feature of her proud face.
It was in that moment, when good and evil spirits
seemed to fight for the mastery, that she was startled
by the sound of laughter. Wild, mad, wicked laugh-
ter it sounded to her, as it re-echoed through the fern-
ery and died above the falling water. It was mocking,
horrible laughter, all bitterness and scorn. Listening,
she found that it was her own-her own, and she had
not recognized it!
At what was she laughing! She was thinking-
heaven help her!-of the happy girl who had run
away from the music and dancing to thank heaven for
her newly found love. Gay, laughing Diana, with all
her sweet, imperious ways, was dead; the girl whose
horrible laughter rung around was another and far
different being.
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
Presently there came the sound of music and revelry,
and it was then that Diana fully felt the force of the
blow she had received. The tumult of passion had
almost died out, and she stood up cold, proud, and
defiant, the sworn avenger of the wrongs of "Diana of
the sunshine and roses.
"
"When I see this place in the years to come," she
said, aloud, "I shall remember that Diana Cameron
died here; but I who now represent her shall have
avenged her."
She gathered the draperies of dead-white silk in her
hand, and, `shuddering, hurried away. She hastened
through the corridors and the brilliantly lighted halls,
the sound of music and gayety pursuing her to her
room. Over her lovely young face there had come a
great change, such as a troubled life for ten years
would not have wrought. With quick, trembling
hands, she tore the diamonds from her neck and hair,
and the rich, clinging laces from her arms; she dis
carded the draperies of dead-white silk. In her anger
and passion she could have stamped upon them. Like
a tragedy queen she stood there, wrapped in her dress-
ing-gown, its white folds about her, and a streaming
mass of fair hair mantling her shoulders.
But no tragedy queen had ever such hot anger in her
breast. With impatient gesture Diana pushed away the
diamonds and the fair white silk, and went to the
window and opened it. The fire and fever of her pas-
sion almost suffocated her. The moon was shining and
the stars were glittering, but neither moon nor stars
touched her with their pale, pure beauty. Thinking
over the recent past, as she sat there alone; the fury
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
255
of her anger was rekindled, and a desire for revenge
took possession of her soul. The night wind was
surging with musical murmur through the trees, but it
brought no music to her. Burning hate surged through
her heart, even as the wind surged through the trees.
"I wish they both lay dead!" said Diana to herself.
A perfect storm of passion shook her. That her step-
mother and the duchess should so speak of her, that
they should discuss her in such terms, that they should
patronize her father, that they should speak of her
with undisguised contempt-she who was loved and
admired everywhere-that they should laugh and be
amused at the idea of her becoming Lady Scarsdale!
The bare thought frenzied her. She Lady Scarsdale-
she bear that hated name? No, never! No pain, no
torture that human ingenuity could invent, should ever
humble her before her enemies or turn her from the
sweet revenge that she cherished.
"1
Good-bye to the brief love-dream-good-bye to the
handsome, knightly face, to the dark, proud eyes-
good-bye, good-bye! She would rather be the meanest
thing that crawled than Lady Scarsdale!
"I used to think I was a good girl." she said to
herself. "I did not know that I had such power of
hate within me.'
Then suddenly, as she looked at the moon and stars,
her step-mother's words returned to her-that, if her
plans failed, it would break her heart. Diana raised
her fair head; she watched a light, fleecy cloud pass
over the face of the moon and hide it; then it shone
out again as bright as day.
"I will break her heart," said Diana, aloud. "I can,
and I will!"
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泰
​1
P
The dark spirit of vengeance had entered her heart,
and she had resolved in that moment upon the course
that she would pursue to achieve her object.
It was in her power, if not absolutely to break Lady
Cameron's heart, to inflict bitter pain and annoyance
upon her and she would do it, no matter what the pen-
alty to herself. She would tear love from her heart
and trample it under foot; she would endure like a
stoic all pain and torture; she would willingly sacrifice
the happiness of her life to thwart the plans upon
which Lady Cameron had set her heart.
Diana shuddered as she buried her face in her hands.
Her better nature cried out against what she had de-
cided to do; but all reason was gone from her, and
nothing but the discomfiture of the Scarsdales would
satisfy the craving of her soul. She would marry Lord
Clanronald, and not Sir Lisle. She would be revenged
on Evadne, too, for every false and unkind word, for
every insult; she would take her rich and titled lover
from her, and marry him herself.
เ
She shuddered at her own meanness in even con-
ceiving the idea; she felt in it a degradation no words
could tell; but neither the warning of her conscience
nor the momentary assertion of her better nature could
shake her resolve.
"I will do it," said Diana. "I will not burden my
soul with an impious vow; but I will do it. I have
but to look at Lord Clanronald, and he will be at my
feet. I will never be Lady Scarsdale!"
Yet even then, in the bitterest moment of her anger,
she wondered what that stretch of life would be like in
which she should see Sir Lisle no more.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
257
Hitherto Diana had been frankness itself; no false
or mean word had ever escaped her. Had the conver-
sation she had listened to not wounded her so mor-
tally, she would have gone to the duchess and Lady
Cameron and told them that she had overheard it; but
the knowledge that had come to her, she said to her-
self, must be locked in her own breast. Not even to
Royal, that faithful friend and counselor, must she speak
of the information she had so unexpectedly acquired.
She had stood some time by the open window when
a knock came at the door. It was her maid Susanne.
"Her ladyship sent me to see if you were here, miss.
She missed you from the drawing-room."
"Yes, I am here, Susanne. You can say that I am
tired, and that I shall not return to the drawing-room
to-night."
Again all was silent, save the sound of the wind in
the trees, the distant rhythm of the waves, the faint
echo of the music from the western wing. Diana's
heart grew harder and colder as she resolved upon the
all-important step of her life.
Presently there was another knock. This time it was
Evadne at the door.
"Diana, may I come in? I have a message from
mamma."
For a moment Diana hesitated. She would not for
any consideration have a Scarsdale find her in tears.
She was
at first inclined to refuse the girl admit
tance, but that would have betrayed ill-temper more
than anything else; so Diana gave a hasty glance at
the mirror, and then opened the door.
"What are you doing? What is the matter? Why,
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
4
+
Diana, you have removed your dress! How ill you
look!" exclaimed Evadne, looking in astonishment at
the pale, proud figure before her.
"I am tired," said Diana haughtily. "It is all so stu-
pid-I am honestly tired of it."
"Stupid!" cried Evadne. "Why, everyone agrees
that it is the most brilliant party that has ever been
given here."
"I do not think so," said Diana.
"Mamma has sent me to tell you that the duke and
duchess are going, and that she desires you to come
at once and wish them good night.
"Not for all the duchesses in England," said Diana.
"I am very tired, and am going to rest. As for your
duchess, I care nothing for her, and most certainly
never wish to see her again."
"But she is mamma's friend," remarked Evadne.
"Then let your mother say good night to her. That
will do, Evadne; you have delivered your message.'
"I suppose, then, mamma must make what excuse
she can to the duchess for you," said Evadne, trying
to speak pleasantly.
"It
does not interest me in the least," answered
Diana carelessly. "Good night, Evadne.
And the words were accompanied by such a gesture
of impatience that the girl hurried away, leaving
Diana to her misery and despair.
1
}} ↓
"}
CHAPTER XXXII
For the first time in her life Diana rose with a heart
so heavy that she turned her face from the brilliant
rays of the morning sun. She had slept the sleep of
exhaustion. She had stood at the window until the last
carriage had driven away and she knew that the guests
had dispersed and the dinner-party was over.
Diana knew that Lady Cameron would be angry con-
cerning her behavior, and would say that she had
treated both the duke and the duchess with disrespect;
but the girl was proof against her step-mother's anger,
and declared to herself that she would no longer try
to keep up appearances with those she abhorred. Be-
fore her maid came Diana removed the traces of her
passion and angry grief. She put away the diamonds
and torn lace. She had to nerve herself before she
could encounter the curious eyes of the household:
One look in the mirror revealed the effect of her men-
tal anguish.
"I look like a blossom that has been blighted," she
said to herself, as the miserable face of the most un-
happy girl looked back at her from the mirror. "I have
changed from a happy girl to a miserable woman, all
in one night," she thought-and it was true.
She must meet them all-Lady Cameron, whose
cruel words had wounded her so deeply; Evadne,
whose lover she intended to take from her; Sir Lisle,
259
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
whom she loved with all her heart, yet whom she
would send from her with words of disdain, because
he was one of the hated Scarsdale family; Lord Clan-
ronald, whom she despised, yet whom she meant to
marry, to avenge herself.
Many inquiries met Diana as she entered the break-
fast-room. Had she been indisposed or tired? Why
had she left them so suddenly? Was she better? But
Lady Cameron maintained a significant silence; what
she had to say could not be said across the breakfast-
table.
$
Bud
By Diana's plate lay a superb bouquet of orchids,
and her face flushed as her eyes fell upon them. She
had been speaking of orchids to Sir Lisle on the pre-
vious morning, and he had told her of a new and rare
kind remarkable for their exquisite odor, and had
promised to get some for her. There they were; and
he stood watching her, hoping for a smile and a kindly
recognition from the lovely eyes.
But Diana pointed at once to the flowers, and said
imperiously to the footman in attendance:
"Take those away!"
Evadne glanced up in astonishment. Lord Clan-
ronald smiled meaningly, for he had noticed Sir Lisle.
place the flowers on the table. The noble lord's enjoy-
ment was of short duration, for Diana cast
such a
withering, scornful glance at him that he felt for the
moment exceedingly uncomfortable. Sir Lisle, with
a look of deep pain in his eyes, turned aside. He
could not understand such capricious, nay, offensive
conduct toward him. The night before she had blushed
and trembled when he kissed her; she had looked at
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261
him, her lovely eyes softened by love; now she scorn-
fully sent away his flowers. What, he asked himself,
had brought about this revulsion of feeling?
No one could fail to see the change in Diana. The
lovely lips had lost their gracious curve, and were
sternly set; the brows were contracted; the eyes were
cold and proud-all light of love had departed. Diana's
face was as a landscape without the sun. Even Peter
Cameron, who knew nothing of his daughter's early
withdrawal from the festivities—even he remarked how
very ill Diana looked, and said he supposed it was
caused by the excitement of the day before. Her lady-
ship replied that it seemed to her very probable.
Diana bore her pain as patiently as she could. She
felt that it was in her power to scatter her enemies,
to make them suffer, to spoil their plans; and for a
moment she almost forgot her sufferings in her prospect
of revenge. She looked out with dull eyes on the
beauty of earth and sky, and her heart recoiled as she
contemplated the fearful penalty she would pay as the
price of her victory. But then she would be revenged.
The terrace, with its wealth of statuary and flowers,
the spot she had always loved so well, looked dull and
uninteresting to her this morning. She had no inclina-
tion to visit the rose-garden, where a few late roses
still lingered, for she felt that their very fragrance
would mock her. She almost vowed to herself that
she would never, come what might, enter the conserv-
atory again; and, as she recalled all that had occurred
there, her face grew whiter and her heart throbbed
more violently. It was there that Sir Lisle had spoken
to her; it was there that he had kissed her; and with
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a low cry Diana buried her face in her hands. How
long was it since she had stood in the midst of her
little band of friends and sung of sunshine and roses
-merciful heaven, how long?
She was standing at the window of the breakfast-
room, which opened out on the terrace, her mind in a
tumult of confusion, when she heard Sir Lisle's voice.
at the other end of the room. She knew instinctively
that he was looking for her. On the morning before
she would have waited there for him, would have wel-
comed him with smiles and blushes; but to-day she
hastily unfastened the long French window, and was
gone almost before he knew what had happened, leav-
ing him struck with wonder and dismay.
On the terrace she met Lord Clanronald, who had
gone thither to solace himself with a cigar. It was
hastily flung away when he caught sight of Diana and
he advanced immediately to greet the young heiress.
"To what do I owe my good fortune, Miss Came-
ron?" he cried. "I can hardly realize it. How many
times have I longed for a walk with you on this the
prettiest terrace in England; but you have always so
many adorers round you that I might as well wish to
walk with a royal princess."
"She would doubtless amuse, you better than I can,"
said Diana carelessly.
Mechanically she walked by his side, he keeping up
a running fire of compliments to which she gave no
heed.
Having reached the end of the terrace, where a pro-
fusion of flowers and foliage almost hid the seat that
had been placed there from view, Diana sat down,
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and Lord Clanronald, enchanted by her condescension,
placed himself by her side. Diana heard no word that
he said; she was steadfastly looking into his face and
asking herself the question, "Can I marry him?”
Some people would have considered his face a hand-
some one. It was of the Saxon type, and well formed
--a face with a well-shaped brow, high and white, and
large blue eyes. He wore a handsome beard and
mustache; but when the lines of the mouth were vis-
ible, the man's true character could be read at a glance;
for the lines denoted weakness and cruelty. Lord
Clanronald was a peer of the realm and a wealthy
man; but he was not one of nature's noblemen.
In his heart he had thought, from the first moment
he saw Diana, that she was the most beautiful and
spirited girl he had ever met; but she had treated him
with such hauteur, grand match as he was considered,
that he had hardly dared to approach her. He had
been struck some time before by the fair, glittering
beauty of Evadne, and he had had serious thoughts of
proposing to her; but Evadne was as nothing in his
eyes when compared with the stately, graceful heiress,
who had all the dignity of a queen with the sweetness
of a child. Evadne had sought him; Diana Cameron
had always avoided him. He preferred Diana a thou-
sand times; but she seldom, if ever, deigned to look at
him. This morning, however, her manner seemed
changed; there was a slight graciousness in her words
and actions such as he had never been favored with
before from the imperious beauty. Was it possible
that she was beginning to appreciate him, he won-
dered.
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!
$
Diana, with her thirst for vengeance still raging in
her breast, was watching him intently, and asking her-
self whether she could marry him. She saw the flame
of vanity in the light blue eyes; she saw the hard, cruel
lines round the mouth; she saw the weakness of the
whole face. There was no power, no intellect; all the
attributes that belonged to her ideal were wanting in
Lord Clanronald. Then she remembered what Lady
Cameron had said that the dearest wish of her heart
was that Evadne should marry this man; she remem-
bered also the scornful laughter in which her ladyship
had indulged when she had spoken of her as "Lady
Scarsdale;" and filled with these memories, Diana was
prepared to make any sacrifice in order to inflict pain
and humiliation upon her foes.
He had rather an imbecile laugh, this young lord;
and his powers of conversation were extremely limited; ·
consequently his commonplace compliments and effu-
sive flattery soon became monotonous. Diana had hith-
erto always experienced a feeling of contempt for him
when he laughed; but to-day his laughter did not irri-
tate her. "Could she marry this man?" she asked her-
self; and the answer came, "Yes." From that moment
Diana's destiny was sealed.
When she awoke from the reverie into which she
had fallen, she found that Lord Clanronald was talking
of his home at Ronald's Court, and she was compelled,
for appearance's sake, to listen and to speak. But all
the time she was watching him closely and keenly.
He talked of no one but himself, and no other subject
seemed to interest him. He declared that finer trees
grew round Ronald's Court than in any other part of
1
-
*
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265
England, and that there were finer fish in the stream
that ran through his estate than could be found in any
other.
After a time Diana rose and left him; but the look
she gave him was full of encouragement. It was half
shy, half coquettish. Lord Clanronald was dazed by
it.
"She does like me, I declare, after all!" he exclaimed,
with intense satisfaction. "I shall say farewell to Miss
Evadne, and propose to Diana Cameron."
CHAPTER XXXIII
DIANA was seated, book in hand, in the recess of the
library window. She wanted to avoid everyone, to
be alone and think over what she contemplated. She
had not been there long before her step-mother entered.
"Diana," said Lady Cameron, in' her haughtiest
manner, "I wish to speak to you. I wish to ask you
what you meant by your conduct of last evening?"
"I am not accountable to you for my conduct, Lady
Cameron," Diana answered, proudly.
"I consider that you are," rejoined her step-mother.
"While I am mistress of this house, I hold myself
responsible for the conduct of every person in it."
"You will never be responsible for mine," declared
Diana, defiantly. "You may be mistress of the house,
but you will never be mistress of me."
"I shall exact from you courtesy to my guests at all
times and seasons," said Lady Cameron. "You failed
in courtesy last evening. You chose to retire to your
room without bidding adieu to the duke and duchess.
It was ill-mannered in the extreme."
1
Diana knew in her heart that she should have
spoken to her father's guests before they departed; but
she also knew that she had been driven almost to mad-
ness by those who hated her. And Lady Cameron,
looking at the proud, pale face with its expression of
defence, saw that she was gaining no victory.
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267
"I shall not complain to Mr. Cameron," she said;
"he would be only too angry if he knew that his
daughter had purposely slighted the guests he values
most."
This to her the proud, lovely heiress! She did hard
battle with herself, for she knew that, in this instance,
she was wrong. She should have spoken a few farewell
words to the duchess. She admitted to herself that
her conduct was blamable; but she could not humble
herself to confess her error, so she remained silent.
Lady Cameron read the expression of her face correctly.
"I shall say no more on the subject, Diana," she
continued; "but I beg you to understand that, in future,
I shall exact due courtesy from you to my guests. I
make every allowance for your want of good breeding,
for your want of courtesy-every allowance; but I can-
not tolerate the exhibition of it;" and, with this part-
ing shot, Lady Cameron quitted the library, leaving
Diána speechless with anger.
It was just at that moment, the most unfortunate
moment possible, that another person accosted her.
"Diana!"
She looked up quickly and saw the dark, handsom
face of her lover.
“Diana,” he repeated, "my patience is exhausted. D‹
you know how long it is since I have spoken to you
since you have spoken to me, since you have looked
at me, since you have given me any sign that you had
one thought for me? And you know-you know, my
darling, all I desire to say."
The face she raised to his had no emotion in it; th
lovely eyes were cold, proud and indifferent.
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Sir Lisle came near her, and sat down in the deep
recess by her side; he tried to take the book from her
hand, but she held it firmly in her grasp.
"I do not wish to lose my place, Sir Lisle," she
said, sharply, "I am interested in this book."
"Diana, my darling, what has come to you since last
night? What has come to your eyes? Last night they
were like violets in the sunlight; this morning they are
stone-cold."
Seeing that he waited for an answer, she answered
carelessly:
"Nothing, Sir Lisle. I was not aware that one's
eyes changed in that marvelous manner.'
"Yours do," he cried-"they are quite changed.'
"So is my life," she thought bitterly; and again an-
gry pride rose like a flaming fire within her.
"Diana," said Sir Lisle, "you were so good to me
last evening that I have taken hope. You are no co-
quette, Diana. I know that you are too sincere, too
earnest, to be so kind to me if you did not care for me.
I have a mad hope that I may win your love. Listen
to me, Diana. You must not turn your face from me;
let me look into your eyes while I speak."
She had grown white as death while he poured out
his passionate words to her and her eyes drooped be-
fore his. She loved him with all her soul; her heart
vibrated with every word he uttered; but no sign of
emotion escaped her. She beat down with iron will the
tender impulses of her heart, and smothered relentlessly
the intense love that she felt for the man before her.
""
"
As yet no shadow of fear came over him. He had
come to tell her that he loved her, to ask her to be his
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269
wife.
No wonder that she should be unlike herself.
It was only the coy, sweet modesty of a young girl.
He loved her the better for it.
"I wonder," he said, gently, "how I have lived so
long without telling you. You believe in love at first
sight? Diana, the first moment I saw you among the
pictures my whole heart went out to you; the second
time I saw you-you remember where-I resolved to
win you for my wife, if it were in the power of man to
do it. But, Diana, my queen, why do you turn from
me?"
Still he had no fear; such shyness was natural and
becoming. He could not see the face that she had
turned from him.
"I do not know how to tell you how much I love you,'
he went on; "there are no words adequate to express it.
I love you with all my heart, and you are my first
love, even as you will be my last. No other woman
will ever have any charm for me."
Still no answer; and still he had no fear.
"I love you, Diana, with a great love," he continued
-“a love that fills my whole life. My life shall be
devoted to your happiness; and I think, my darling,"
he added, simply, "that we shall be very happy. Win.
ning you will fire my ambition. Ah, heaven, how
bright the future lies before us! Since I saw you first
I have had but one thought, and it has been you; I
have had but one image in my heart-it was yours.
I have pictured you in my home at Ling, until you
seem to be part of it. Oh, Diana, there can be no life,
no home, no happiness for me without you.
The lovely young face grew whiter and colder. The
17
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very longing of her heart was to listen to his love story
and to tell him how she reciprocated his affection. She
would have given her life almost to look into his dark,
loving eyes; but her pride was greater than her love.
Sir Lisle wondered. Surely he had not been mis-
taken in thinking that this beautiful, bright young
girl cared for him?
.
"It may be, my darling," he said, "that my words.
are rough. I am not accomplished in the art of love-
making-you are the only one to whom I have ever
opened my heart-and I know not what to say, except
that I love you, Diana, and ask you to be my wife."
He had taken one of her hands in his before she had
time to prevent it, and she could not withdraw it from
his warm, firm clasp.
"Do you remember, Diana," he continued, "when I
asked you to give me this ring? I was going to ask
vou to give me the hand that bore it; I ask you now.
Diana, have you no word for me, no look of encourage-
ment? Oh, my queen, I am beginning to fear! Why
are you so silent, so cold? Last night you cheered my
heart by your smiling radiance and gracious condescen-
sion-why will you not smile now?"
Ah, heaven, why? Since then the Diana who loved
him had died; the girl now before him was but her
avenger.
"It cannot be," he added quickly, "that I am miś-
taken!" His voice grew hoarse and low as he spoke.
"I am not a coward; but if you send me away from
you, Diana, I shall die! I can never face life with-
out you now, because the hope of winning you has
sprung to life in my heart. You will not be crucl to
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271
me; you will not doom me to a life of misery? Diana,
my darling, my own and only love, will you be my
wife?"
Then she turned her white, set face to his.
"No," she replied slowly; "I can never be your wife,
Sir Lisle Scarsdale."
His face grew white as her own, and quivered as from
the agony of a death-blow.
"No?" he repeated.
"Oh, Diana, my love, you can-
not mean it, you cannot be so cruel! For heaven's
sake, think of what you are saying."
"I have thought of it," she said, "and my answer, my
only answer, is-'No.'"
He recoiled as though the words had stabbed him to
the heart, while Diana felt that she could not bear
the excitement much longer. Her eyes were growing
dim, she could not see, her senses were failing her;
while he was kneeling in supplication at her feet, his
handsome face, white with pain, raised pleadingly to
hers.
"Think, my darling, think!" he said. You cannot
mean 'No;' you must not say 'No' to me. My love,
Diana, do not say 'No!"" He had caught her hand in
his and was kissing it with uncontrolled passion.
"I have no other answer to give," she said defiantly.
"Take that as my final answer, and leave me.
Then he stood before her with outstretched arms, a
look of yearning love on his face which, but for her pride,
must have touched her heart.
"I will not believe it! I will not take 'No' for an
answer. You have not looked into your own heart,
Diana. If there be any truth in woman's words or
looks, you love me; if not, they are all false!"
**
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"I am not false, nor are my words false, Sir Lisle
Scarsdale. I say 'No,' and I have no other answer to
give you.'
"I will not believe it!" he cried, with the energy of
despair.
"It is true," she said.
"You will not marry me, Diana?”
"No," she replied.
"You do not love me?" he asked; and this time he
was keen enough to detect the slightest hesitation be-
fore she spoke. He went to her, and, laying his hands.
on her shoulders and looking anxiously into her face,
said: "Diana, tell me frankly-you are always frank
-why will you not marry me?”
"I am not bound to give my reasons," she said.
"You have more than one then?" he asked.
"I have many," she replied.
"I wish I understood you, Diana," he said, sadly,
"for I am sure that you love me even now. Though
you look proud and angry, I read love in your face."
"You read falsely," she declared; but the proud fig-
ure drooped, the pale face grew paler. She had reached.
the utmost limit of her strength. Then, nerving her
self for a final effort, she said: "Sir Lisle, leave me. I
-I have no more to say. Our interview is ended."
There was something in her voice which compelled
obedience. But he would not leave her thus; he went
to her and kissed her hands.
"I will not take such an answer, Diana," he said.
"I will go now; but I shall come back with my prayer
on my lips to-morrow.
And, glancing at her sorrowfully, he left the room.
"
CHAPTER XXXIV
SIR LISLE Could not and would not believe that his
love was unrequited. He was perhaps one of the least.
vain of men, yet he had felt sure that Diana loved him.
She was so free from artfulness-she could not have
been coquetting with him; and he had an idea that
with Diana love would be a sacred thing-something
to be reverenced and held apart. She had been so
sweet, so gracious, in her manner to him; and he could
not believe that she would have allowed him to embrace
her as he had done, to hold her for one brief minute in
his arms, if she did not love him. He felt that, if he
had asked her in that moment to be his wife, she would
have said "Yes," and he reproached himself bitterly that
he had not done so.
What, he asked himself again, had caused this re-
vulsion of feeling? Last night he had kissed her, and
by the light in her lovely eyes he was sure she returned
his love. She could not have been more sweetly ac-
quiescent. This morning he had found her cold and
proud, he had asked her to be his wife-and she had
refused him.
He tried to recall every incident of the previous
evening. When Evadne came into the conservatory,
Diana, blushing, conscious, and beautiful, had broken
suddenly from his arms. He knew that Evadne had
not seen him kiss her. Diana had hastened away; he
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.
had remained for a few minutes talking to Evadne, and
they had returned to the drawing-room together.
After that he had not seen Diana until she came down
to breakfast with changed, haggard face. In the mean-
while what had happened? Nothing that he could
hear of nothing that he could understand. He had
remained for some time in the drawing-room, hoping
every moment that she would return. When he found
that she did not, he went in search of her. Vainly he
sought her in the music-room, the picture-gallery, and
elsewhere where he thought it possible she might be;
but there was no trace of her. Then he heard from
Evadne that she had gone to her room and would not
return. He had thought that it was a favorable sign for
him-that she was happy, and did not care to mix
with the crowd again. Still it was strange that she
had not wished him good night, that she had sent him
no message, that she had left him without one word.
He had, however, overheard a remark of Lady Cam-
eron's when she found that her step-daughter had un-
ceremoniously left the visitors and gone to her room.
He could think of nothing to account for the change
in her conduct, and yet he felt sure that, even while
she refused him and sent him away, she loved him. It
was that which made him more hopeful. If there were
a mystery, he would unravel it.
It so happened that just before luncheon he saun-
tered into a little ante-room in search of something, and
found Diana there. She had still the same pale,
troubled face; and Sir Lisle's heart melted at the sight
of her. He laid his hand on her arm; but she shook it
off with a proud gesture of annoyance. Sir Lisle placed
A
•
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275
it there again and there she let it remain, as though
disdaining to show her dissatisfaction a second time.
"My darling Diana," he said, "you have dismissed.
me; I will not go; you have given me 'No' for an an-
swer; I will not take it. You have been cold and cruel
to me; I will not heed it. My love for you is great and
deep as the boundless sea; I will be faithful and loyal
to you."
"You have had my answer," she told him, in a low,
hoarse voice, full of misery.
"Granted," said Sir Lisle; "but, Diana, I shall never
relax my efforts until I have won you. The pride,
cruelty, and coldness with which you may treat me I
shall bear; but my suit shall triumph in the end."
"I do not care to discuss the matter any further,"
replied Diana.
She was almost weary of the struggle, and would
have liked best to lay her head on his breast and sob
out all her grief to him; but he was a Scarsdale, and
her foes should not rejoice because she became Lady
Scarsdale. Pride turned her to stone again.
"You are so well worth winning, my queen," he said,
"that I would work for you as Jacob did for Rachel,
and wait my whole life if I had the hope of making
you my wife even at its very close. You cannot gain-
say such love as that, Diana."
"I will try," she answered.
"I love you so well, dearest," he continued, "despite
your coldness, that I would rather spend one hour with
you in misery than a life of happiness with another:
Ah, Diana, you may contract your brows, you may
curve your sweet lips; but you must listen. I cannot
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stifle the feeling that you care for me a little; I cannot
help hoping against hope; I cannot resist appealing
against what seems to me a cruel rejection; and, in
thinking it over, I am convinced there is a mystery
connected with it, and that mystery I am resolved to
solve."
In that moment her determination was taken. He
should never solve the mystery, nor should he know
that she had cared for him. Before night he should
hear of her enagagement to Lord Clanronald. Then
he would believe she had refused him because she loved
another.
But Diana was mistaken; it was incredible that he
should believe anything of the kind.
"I shall be glad, Sir Lisle, if you will refrain from
mentioning this subject to me again; it displeases me,"
said Diana, with a queenly gesture; and before he had
time to answer her she had quitted the room.
She knew that one word of hers would turn Lord
Clanronald in any direction that she wished him to go,
and her mind was quite made up. Before the morrow's
dawn she would have struck a blow at the Scarsdales;
she would have scattered her ladyship's plans to the
winds.
That afternoon Diana, in her trailing robe of blue.
and white, swept down the terrace. Lord Clanronald
saw her, and went to her side at once. The heiress
turned to him with her brightest smile.
"It is such a lovely afternoon," she said, "I wonder
that everyone is not out riding or driving.
"I would far rather be here than anywhere else," he
responded gallantly.
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277
At this moment Diana bitterly realized how guilty
she had been in sending from her the man she loved;
and she could not, try as she would, encourage the
man she intended to marry.
Lord Clanronald could hardly believe his own good
fortune, could hardly believe that he was walking with
the beautiful, brilliant girl whom he had blindly and
silently worshiped for so long He hardly knew how to
talk to her-she was so clever, so intellectual, so infi-
nitely superior in every way to himself.
"Women," he was accustomed to say, "must be
amused and flattered;" and the only way in which he
felt he could do so was by making love to them. He
had hardly ventured thus far with Diana yet; but now,
finding that she was very kind and gracious to him, he
began without loss of time, and soon entered upon
his subject.
She was the loveliest girl he had ever seen. He
knew, of course, that she must be quite tired of hear-
ing that; but that did not deter him from telling her
what he thought.
Diana smiled, and he was lured on to lay bare his
love.
He had been half afraid when he ventured on such
delicate ground; but that smile relieved him wonder-
fully, and he was enabled to take breath and go on
again. He told her that he had thought about her
ever since they first met; and Diana smiled again.
Then he went on to tell her how the mothers and
daughters in Mayfair tried to snare him, how they in-
vited him here and there, how the mothers praised
him and talked to him of their "dear girls."
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If Diana had given way to her own natural impulse,
she would have answered him with scathing contempt;
but she had decided to marry him, and must therefore
stifle her feelings. She had to listen and look amused,
which was not an easy task for one of her sensitive
and refined nature. Once or twice there came a sud-
den sense of shame, a longing to be her own better self
again, to forego her revenge, to return to her lover and
repent of her whims and caprices, her anger and pride;
but her strong self-will soon drove away the better,
nobler thought.
Then Lord Clanronald began to speak of his fam-
ly, of its antiquity, of the great men and women who
had sprung from it; and he told her in his silliest
inanner that twice the Clanronalds had intermarried
with royalty; and then, having expatiated upon the
udvantages to be derived from a marriage with himself,
he made her an offer.
That was the critical moment of Diana's life. Would
she renounce her scheme, which would give her a tran-
sitory revenge, or would she persist in it and cast her
happiness to the winds? If she had no thought for
herself, would she drag down in her recklessness the
man she loved? Would she condemn him to life-long
misery, when she could make both his and her own
life "sunshine and roses?"
"If you will do me the honor of becoming my wife,
Miss Cameron, I will really-that is, I shall take the
greatest pleasure-I mean, you know, that I will do
my very best to make you happy."
And then Lord Clanronald, having worked himself
into a perfect fever of confusion and embarrassment,
stopped abruptly.
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279
There was no answer. Good and Evil contended
for the mastery over Diana, spirits of Good and Evil
seemed to whisper persuasively in her ear. Her whole
nature cried out for the man she loved; her whole
heart rebelled against this mean and ignoble man whom
she did not even respect.
"Miss Cameron," said Lord Clanronald, "will you be
my wife?"
She neither faltered nor hesitated when she answered:
"Yes."
And he, almost as much surprised as he was de-
lighted at his unexpected good fortune, knew not how
to thank her.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE die was cast. Diana Cameron, high-spirited.
brave and true as she was, had promised to marry
Lord Clanronald. There could be no looking back;
regret was useless; she would face the future boldly.
To rivet her own chains firmly and quickly was her
first thought. She must announce her engagement, so
that there could not be any hope of release from it.
"I will not regret; I will not repent; I will never
undo it!" mused Diana, trying to fortify herself by her
own words.
Even in that moment, while listening to Lord Clan-
ronald's proposal, she could hear a voice in her own
heart crying:
"It is not Sir Lisle's fault that he is a
Scarsdale-why punish him for it? You will punish
him more than Lady Cameron." But Diana would
not listen. Her revenge was as sweet to her as it
would be bitter to her enemies, and on no considera-
tion would she forego it.
"Miss Cameron," said Lord Clanronald, "will you
permit me to lay my proposal as soon as possible be-
fore your
father? Shall we say this afternoon? I
should like to have matters settled without delay. If
you marry me," he went on, "I venture to predict that
Lady Clanronald will be a leader of fashion.
He smiled amiably to himself as he thought of the
many girls who would be disappointed over this mar-
".
280
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281
riage of his above all, Evadne Scarsdale, who had
given him so plainly to understand that she was not
averse to him. He tried to be sentimental to his fiancée,
but only succeeded in becoming ridiculous. Diana
was inwardly ashamed of his ignoble nature and con-
temptible manner. It occurred to her that, if he were
so heavy, so foolish, so tiresome to entertain for one
hour, what would he be for life? But she would not
let her mind dwell on that idea. She was going to
marry him for revenge, and, when that revenge was
accomplished, it would matter little how the remain-
der of her life ebbed out. Death would be more wel-
come to her than life.
It was arranged that Lord Clanronald should that
very day seek an interview with Mr. Cameron and lay
his proposal before him.
"I flatter myself," said the young lord, with a weak,
conceited smile, "that he will be more than pleased."
Diana's eyes flashed fire when she heard these words;
then she turned away her head. Of what avail would
anger or indignation be with him? He was but the
-
instrument of her vengeance.
With an unmoved face she listened complacently
to all the silly and conceited things he said, thinking
all the time of how Lady Cameron would feel, and of
what she would say when she heard the news.
"Of course," stammered Lord Clanronald, “I—I need
hardly have feared a refusal, an alliance with the
house of Clanronald being a great honor; but, do you
know, I thought I was absolutely foolish enough to
think that, if you were inclined to like one more than
another of your many adorers, it was Sir Lisle."
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Diana's face grew white with anger. Then she
laughed; and, though the false, shuddering laugh.
sounded horrible to her, it did not attract the insipid
young lord's notice.
"I did indeed," he said. "A capital joke, is it not?
And it is actually I whom you have cared for all this
time! I might have known or guessed that I was more
to your taste than a grave, solemn man like Sir Lisle.
I consider him stupid."
E
It was well for the noble lord, who was just then
intoxicated with delight and self-conceit, that he did
not see Diana's face, the gleaming, angry eyes, the white,
set lips; it was well for him that she controlled herself
with an iron hand; since the man he was speaking of
was the one she loved, yet hated because he was a
Scarsdale.
"We need not discuss Sir Lisle," she said, coldly.
"Oh, no, certainly not-not unless you wish it—cer-
tainly not!" Lord Clanronald hastened to say; and
then, finding the silence that followed awkward, they
retraced their steps to the house.
His lordship lost no time in seeking an interview
with the master of Ferness. He found him in the
library, and, after a short preamble, broached the sub-
ject nearest his heart.
"The fact is, I-I want to marry your daughter,
he said abruptly; "she is quite willing, and we
your consent."
"
"My daughter!" cried Mr. Cameron.
"Yes; she is quite willing," was the assuring re-
ply.
It so happened that Mr. Cameron knew of his wife's
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283
plans and desires. She had said little to him about
Diana; but she had spoken a great deal about Evadne.
He knew that her one great wish was to see the girl
Lord Clanronald's wife, and he not unnaturally came to
the conclusion that it must be Evadne whom the young
lord meant. As for Diana, his thoughts never wandered
to her, for, great man as Lord Clanronald was, Mr.
Cameron would never have thought him half good
enough for her; but for Evadne he considered it would
be a good marriage. And, as he smiled at the silly,
conceited young man before him, the millionaire asked
himself what dowry would he give her.
"I love her, you know; I am really devoted to her,
and all that kind of thing," said Lord Clanronald a
little uneasily. Vain and conceited as he was, in his
nind there was a vague, faint suspicion that Diana was
vastly superior to himself.
"She is a very nice girl," said Mr. Cameron—“very
pretty, quick and intelligent. I am very fond of her.
So far as I am concerned, I consent with all my heart.
I am sure Lady Cameron will be very pleased to give
her sanction."
"I think there is some mistake," rejoined Lord Clan-
ronald slowly, "I am speaking of your daughter,
Diana."
“Diana," cried Mr. Cameron-"Diana? That is quite
another matter. You cannot really mean that she-
that Diana has consented to marry you-is 'willing' as
you express it, to marry you?"
"Why not?" asked his lordship curtly, as his face
darkened.
"I should not have thought," was the blunt reply,
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"that you were the kind of man she would select."
"You are mistaken. She not only likes me better
than anyone else, but she has promised to marry me."
Mr. Cameron was silent from sheer surprise. That
his beautiful, brilliant daughter, with her noble heart,
her high spirit, her pride and fastidous refinement,
should love a man like Lord Clanronald, whose char-
acter he read very distinctly, seemed an impossibility
to him. He could not comprehend that she, an accom-
plished lady, could find anything to attract her in this.
mediocre man. He had often thought of Diana's mar-
riage, and he had always been puzzled as to who would
be good enough for her. Diana's husband had always
been an ideal man in his eyes. Sir Lisle was the
nearest approach to his ideal that he had ever seen.
"You can have no possible objection to me," said
Lord Clanronald, somewhat annoyed at his brusque
reception. "My family," he went on, "is one of the
oldest and, I may add, most honorable in England; I
am rich; my rank, my position in society, would sat-
isfy anyone."
Ka
Peter Cameron might have replied that he did not
admire his character, that he thought him vain, obsti-
nate, heartless; but he answered gravely:
"If my daughter is content, I have no objection to
make." After a pause he added: "Lord Clanronald,
are you sure there is no mistake? Is it Diana?”
"It is hardly possible I should mistake Diana for
anyone else," he replied.
"Because," said Mr. Cameron, "we thought—that is,
Lady Cameron thought-you were paying some atten-
tion to Evadne."
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285
"Not more than I pay generally to all nice girls,
answered the young lord, with a smile of supreme self-
complacency. "There is one thing I should like to say,
continued Lord Clanronald. "Miss Cameron will have
"1
፡
a large fortune, I suppose?"
"In all probability," replied the master of Ferness.
“Well, I am a rich man myself, and I want none of
it. I shall have the most beautiful wife in England,
and I want nothing more. Let her fortune be settled on
herself."
"Is my daughter aware that you are consulting me
on this matter?" asked Mr. Cameron.
"She authorized me to do so," was the answer.
And that completed the elder man's bewilderment.
That his dainty, imperious Diana could have made
such a choice was astonishing.
"You do not seem very enthusiastic about the affair,"
remarked Lord Clanronald. "I hope it will please you
better in time."
"You must remember that it is a very great surprise
to me," said Mr. Cameron, slowly. "Diana is young;
but she has always been her own mistress, and with
respect to her marriage, as with respect to everything
else, she will doubtless exercise her own judgment.
Frankness and honesty, between man and man are
always best, and I therefore say frankly that I do not
approve of this marriage. I do not think Diana and
yourself suited to each other at all."
"I suppose we are the best judges!" interrupted his
lordship.
"You must understand that I offer no objection,"
said Mr. Cameron. "My intimate acquaintance with
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Diana's character tells me how useless that would be.
It would simply have the effect of hurrying on the
marriage. You must understand, my lord, that it is
neither your birth, position, nor rank which fails to
satisfy me."
"I should think not," observed his lordship.
*
"It is simply from my knowledge of Diana's char-
acter and my reading of yours that I do not think the
marriage can be a happy one."
"Time will prove that," said his lordship. "Then I
may take your consent for granted although I must say
I wish it had been more graciously given. Will you
speak to Lady Cameron, or shall I?"
"I will speak to her ladyship myself," said Mr.
Cameron, sadly.
Then the interview terminated, and Diana was sent
for. She met her father without any of the confusion
or embarrassment that might have been expected on
such an occasion.
"Do you really love this man, Diana?" asked Mr.
Cameron, when he had told her all that had taken
place.
"I am going to marry him, papa," she answered
quietly.
"That is not the question. Do you love him?"
"That is a question I can answer only to my own
heart," she replied.
"Oh, Diana, my darling, how changed you are," he
cried "cruelly changed to me!"
"The world has changed altogether," she said. “Life
is no longer the same.
Her father's face had grown pale, and there were
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28%
both pain and despair in it when he said, earnestly:
"Diana, you do not love this man.
I believe in my
heart that you love Sir Lisle. Why are you going to
marry him, child? Relieve my mind of a terrible fear."
"What fear?" she said.
"Tell me that you are not marrying that man be-
cause my marriage has made home unhappy for you.
Do not let me think, Diana, that I have made such a
terrible mistake. Tell me, child, that it is not true."
She could not tell him that. She kissed him with
despair in her face, and left him.
And from that time Peter Cameron had always a
painful feeling that his marriage had driven his daugh.
ter to take her present course.
CHAPTER XXXVI
"I AM SURE, my dear, that there is some mistake,
you must have misunderstood Lord Clanronald."
Lady Cameron stood, as it were, at bay. Her hus-
band had sought her with the startling intelligence he
had just received, and she positively refused to believe
him. It was not possible, she declared, that the two
ardent desires of her heart were to be so ruthlessly
thwarted in a moment.
Mr. Cameron had found his wife in her boudoir, the
nest of rose velvet and gold which he had fitted up for
her with so much care. She was looking very hand-
some too, in a dress of rich silk with gold ornaments,
as she lay on the couch reading. When her husband
entered she was struck at once by the anxious ex-
pression of his face. Peter Cameron could not forget
his daughter; the thought of this marriage was hateful
to him.
"Why in the world could not the girl have fallen in
love with Sir Lisle? There would have been some
sense in that,” he mused.
Peter Cameron derived what satisfaction he might
from the fact that his wife was quite as discomfited as
himself. She rose hastily from her couch. As a rule,
Lady Cameron was far too well bred ever to show any-
thing like temper, and whatever she felt, it was sel
<
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289
dom that the surface of her manner was ruffled, but
now she looked angry, impatient, incredulous.
"Are you quite sure that his lordship said Diana?"
she asked.
"I could not make a mistake in anything so impor
tant," answered her husband. "Assuredly, and to my
great annoyance, it is Diana; and to speak my mind
frankly, my lady, Diana is far too good for him. He
is vain, conceited, and, unless I am much mistaken,
both ill-tempered and cruel. Diana is far too good for
him."
J
"What did he say?" cried her ladyship, impatiently.
"Why do you not come to the point?"
"He said that he wanted my consent to marry Diana
-that she was quite willing; and he added that she
had referred him to me.
Lady Cameron's face grew pale with anger; her lips
quivered with vexation.
"It is incredible," she declared, with a gesture of
angry disdain.
"I will not and cannot believe it. It
destroys the two great hopes of my life."
When she thought of her daughter, her ladyship's
arms fell nerveless by her side, and there was a gleam
of despair on her face. Evadne had fully determined
to become Lady Clanronald; her heart was set upon
it. What would she do? If Diana had seen her lady-
ship in that moment, she would have known how com-
plete her vengeance was.
"He is a dishonorable man!" she cried, vehemently.
"He has devoted himself to Evadne, and she had every
right to expect an offer of marriage from him-every
possible right!"
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"So I thought," said Mr. Cameron, slowry.
"I asked him here purposely for Evadne's sake, one
continued. "I felt perfectly sure that he was attached
to her and he was; I am sure he was. There has
been some underhand plotting to take him away from
her."
"Not by Diana," said Mr. Cameron, defending his
daughter against such an accusation.
"And what did you say?" asked Lady Cameron.
"I told him distinctly that I was not pleased at the
proposal. He is not half good enough for Diana. He
is not at all the kind of man I would wish her to
marry.
"
“Indeed?" questioned his wife, with emphasis.
"I am not speaking of birth; I mean character," said
honest Peter Cameron.
"Character?" interrogated her ladyship, scornfully.
"Lord Clanronald is as good as his neighbors."
"But his neighbors would not be good enough for
Diana," said Mr. Cameron, rather annoyed at his
wife's remarks.
"Did you give your consent?" asked his wife,
"I told him that I did not like the match-that he
was not at all suited to Diana. I told him so plainly,
-and he did not like it.”
"I should imagine not!" said Lady Cameron. "But
did he say nothing of Evadne?”
"I did. I thought it was Evadne he was seeking. He
asked for my daughter; but I never thought of Diana.
I believed he meant Evadne, and I said that I was
sure you would be very pleased.
Lady Cameron's indignation and vexation knew po
bounds.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
agi
RA
"How you have humbled me!" she cried. "How
could you do that?"
"My dear Hermione, it
Hermione, it was most natural that I
should come to the conclusion I did. You have always
talked to me of your desire for Evadne to marry the
young fellow.
He has always been by her side; you
told me that she was fond of him; what, then, could be
more natural than that I should think he wanted to
marry her?
I said 'Yes' at once; but I soon changed
my mind when I found that it was Diana's hand he
sought."
"I must recall you to a sense of courtesy, Mr. Cam-
eron," she said. "It is not good taste to reiterate that
the man who is not good enough for your daughter is
good enough for mine."
"He is your own choice for your own daughter,
Lady Cameron," was the reply; "he would never have
been mine."
And to that stinging rejoinder her ladyship could
make no reply.
"He is one of the best matches in England," she
said, after a time.
"Not to my thinking; I should infinitely prefer Sir
Lisle."
Lady Cameron's face softened at these words.
"That was the very marriage on which I had fixed
my heart for Diana," she said. “I cannot understand
her. I was quite sure
that she was attached to Sir
Lisle; I am more than convinced of it."
"Well, facts point the other way," returned Mr.
Cameron. "Diana has sent Lord Clanronald to me,
and he asked whether he or I should speak to you. I .
know no more of it."
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Lady Cameron's wrath and vexation were boundless.
For the first time her husband saw her without her
society mask, and the revelation was not pleasant to
him.
"I do not know," she said at last, "how Evadne
will bear it. Strange to say, she is really fond of
Lord Clanronald, and her whole heart is set upon mar-
rying him. She has talked of it continually to me;
she has thought of nothing else. She has felt certain
of becoming Lady Clanronald. It will be a most ter-
rible disappointment to her."
"I am sorry that it is not so," said Mr. Cameron.
Her ladyship looked him straight in the face.
"Why does your daughter want
Clanronald? She does not love him."
to marry Lord
Mr. Cameron shook his head.
"You may as well ask me, Hermione, why the sun
shines or the wind blows," he replied.
"You ought to forbid it," said her ladyship viciously.
"Exercise your authority; say that it does not meet
with your approval, and that you will not allow it.”
"It would be useless," he replied despondently.
"Whenever Diana makes up her mind to a certain
course, she will not be thwarted."
"Diana wants checking," declared her ladyship. "Do
you not think," she added, "that, if you were to talk
to her, to advise her, to tell her how much you dislike
the alliance, to appeal to her affection for you, matters
would be altered?"
4
"No," he replied slowly; "I understand the expres-
sion of Diana's face, and I know it would be in vain."
Lady Cameron's bosom heaved with a torrent of
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293
rage, and deep, unmistakable chagrin was visible on
her face.
"You treat your daughter as though she were a
queen,
she said.
"Such she is to me," he acknowledged, sorrowfully.
"Is this absurd-I may almost call it wicked-en-
gagement to be published at once?" asked Lady Cam-
eron, after a pause.
"I suppose so. It will not surprise me, Hermione,
if his lordship presses for an immediate marriage. Oh,
Diana, my beautiful child Diana!"
"Diana is a willful, disobedient, capricious girl,"
said Lady Cameron vehemently. "If she had been my
daughter, I would have broken her spirit long ago.
Mr. Cameron was too generous to remind her that
she had not succeeded perfectly with her own daugh-
ters. "I protest against the whole thing!" added her
ladyship. Her husband answered that all the protesta-
tions in the world would be of no use; and then he
left the room.
"
Lady Cameron abandoned herself to her anger, con-
demning in turn the perfidy of Lord Clanronald and
the plotting of Diana. She sent for Thea, and im-
parted the news to her.
"It will break Evadne's heart," she said, in con-
clusion.
"No, it will not do that," returned Thea; "she has
not much heart, and what little she has, rely upon it,
mamma, will break for no man. But it will hurt her
pride terribly. She was talking to me for half an hour
last night about what she should do when she became
Lady Clanronald."
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"Ias he ever said anything about love or marriage
to her?" asked Lady Cameron.
"I do not think so, mamma; but, although he has
not openly proclaimed his affection for her, he has
looked and acted as though he loved her."
"That will not help matters," said Lady Cameron.
“I feel sure it is all the doing of that horrible Diana."
"I always thought she despised Lord Clanronald
and liked Sir Lisle," remarked Thea.
"I cannot bear to think of it!" cried her ladyship.
"The very thought of this match almost drives me mad,
for I had all my arrangements so nicely made. Diana's.
fortune would have been such a boon to Lisle, and
the girl herself would have suited him. I am more
disappointed than I have ever been in my life." An-
gry tears forced themselves into her ladyship's eyes as
she confessed her discomfiture. "Really, Thea," she
said, "I am almost afraid to meet Evadne with the
news; she will be so angry, and will reproach me sc
bitterly. I have talked to her as though Lord Clan-
ronald were sure to make her an offer; and I believe
he would had it not been for some plotting which I
have yet to discover. She will think I have misled
her."
"She will not, mamma. She knows-I know-that
you have always done your best for us;" and Thea,
who was not given to caresses, bent over her mother
and kissed her gently.
That slight token of filial affection seemed to con
centrate Lady Cameron's attention on her eldest child.
"Thea," she said, "while we are on the subject of
love and marriage, I may just remark that young Rich
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295
ard Marche spends a great deal of time with you."
"He does, mamma," was the candid reply, “I like
him very much. He is so straightforward; he is worth
fifty of the ordinary young men of the present day."
"I hope you will make no mistake, Thea," said her
mother gravely.
"I do not intend doing so," was the quiet answer.
But all the same Thea intended to marry Richard if
he asked her.
The fact of Diana's engagement soon oozed out.
Evadne was the last to hear of it-Richard, strange,
to say, was the first. He stoutly refused to believe it.
Diana going to marry Lord Clanronald! Wealthy peer
as he was, honest Richard despised him, and declared
that he was not good enough to be Diana's footman.
He went in search of her, and found her in her fa-
vorite seat, the deep recess in the library window.
When he looked at her, he saw that the light which
had made her face so beautiful had all faded from it.
"Diana," he asked bluntly, "is this news I hear
true? Are you going to marry Lord Clanronald?”
She shrank from his honest, questioning eyes, then
answered, carelessly:
"Yes, I suppose so.”
"Do you mean it?" cried Richard. "Are you really
going to marry that man?"
"As well him as another," said Diana.
"You cannot mean that, Diana!" he cried, looking
at her sorrowfully. "You have always been such a
good girl; why should you become mean, ignoble,
now?"
"Am I all that, Rich?" she asked, with a forced
smile.
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"You will be all that and more, if you marry Lord
Clanronald. Why, Diana, he is not worthy of you!
Look me straight in the face, my beautiful cousin, and
tell me why are you going to marry him?”
Diana smiled a faint, sweet smile, for she could not
feel cross at the questionings of one who had been like
a brother to her.
M
•
"Rich," she said, "you really should mind your own
business-you should indeed."
"Care of you is part of my business," he replied.
"It has been so ever since you have been here, Diana.
What has put this absurd notion of marriage into your
head?"
"What puts it into the heads of other people?" she
asked.
"Love," he replied; "and you cannot say that you
love Lord Clanronald.
14
"I think everyone is at liberty to love whom he
will," said Diana.
"I am too old-too true a friend, Diana, to be de-
ceived. I love you too well to stand by and see you
blight and ruin your whole life by one act of foolish
self-will. Do you know what I thought about you,
Diana?—and I wish with all my heart that it were true."
"What did you think, Rich?" she asked, innocently.
"I thought that you liked Sir Lisle and that he liked
you. Now, Sir Lisle is a man. He is a true and
noble gentleman-a fit mate for you, Diana; but this
vapid young lord is not."
"Sir Lisle is a Scarsdale," said Diana to herself; and
the thought hardened her even to cruelty. "I shall go
my own way, Rich," she said aloud, "and no one need
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297
try to prevent my doing so. I marry to please my-
self."
"That I will swear you do not!" he thought, but ha
said no more to her.
}
1
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}
A
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE dinner-party at Ferness was not a success that
evening. Evadne was not present; Lady Cameron
said she had a bad headache, and preferred remaining.
in her own room.
Thea looked distressed. Lady
Cameron, disguise her feelings as she would, was very
cross; she neither spoke to nor glanced at Diana.
Mr. Cameron seemed unhappy. Sir Lisle could
not understand the state of matters, for he had not yet
heard of the engagement. Diana herself was pale
and looked tired. Lord Clanronald was in a state of
elation.
The very dull dinner at last came to an end, to the
infinite relief of all, except perhaps Lord Clanronald.
The ladies withdrew; and it was then that Lady Cam-
eron determined to know all about her step-daughter's
engagement.
"I wish to speak to you," said her ladyship in her
most stately manner to Diana. "Will you come to
my boudoir?"
1
This evening Diana had dressed with unusual care.
She wore blue velvet and pearls-a rich costume that
set off her fair loveliness, and gave to it a queenly
grace. As she stood before her ladyship, her beautiful
face flushed with anger and pride, the girl looked like
a foe to be feared. Lady Cameron hesitated for a
298
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299
moment before she began her attack; then, looking at
her steadily, she said:
"Miss Cameron, will you explain to me what you
mean by this engagement to Lord Clanronald?”
"I owe you no explanation, Lady Cameron, and I
have none to give," she replied.
"You do owe me an explanation, and I insist upon its
being given," said her ladyship. "I call your conduct
infamous-simply infamous, base, and treacherous!
You have stolen my daughter's lover.
I use
use the
word 'stolen' advisedly, for he would never have de-
serted her of his own free will."
"She is welcome to win him back if she can, was
the irritating answer.
"You have stolen him from her; and a more base,
underhand proceeding I never knew. It is nothing to
you-merely a whim or caprice-but to Evadne it
is a matter of life or death. She will break her heart
at the loss of one she dearly loves."
Ah, that was the sweetness of her revenge, that they
should feel as they had made her feel, that they should
suffer as she had suffered! They had not heeded the
slow breaking of her heart; she need not heed the
breaking of theirs. This was the sweetness of her
revenge; nothing could be sweeter!
"Why are you going to marry Lord Clanronald,
Diana?" persisted her ladyship sternly.
"My reasons are my own; I shall divulge them to
no one," said Diana.
1
""
"It will be an utterly shameless marriage," declared
Lady Cameron. "You do not love him; he belongs in
all honor and loyalty to another girl. You have no
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!
*
regard for him yourself, and you take him from one
who has. Do you know that Evadne has set her whole
heart upon becoming Lady Clanronald? Can you be
so wicked, so cruel, as to step between her and her
heart's desire?"
"I have met with so little consideration myself that
I have none to give to others," replied Diana.
"There is an unwritten code of honor to which all
girls subscribe," said her ladyship -"that is, all
honorable girls-and the first article of it is that no
girl shall deliberately set herself to snare the lover of
another. This you have been guilty of."
"I am answerable to myself," rejoined Diana, “if I
do a base deed, not to you, Lady Cameron.
"To me in this case," opposed her ladyship, "be-
cause your base deed affects my daughter;" and over
the face of Lady Cameron, who had been so reckless
of the suffering she inflicted on Diana, there came a
quiver of pain. "I repeat that the engagement is
shameless," she continued. "Not only do you not love
Lord Clanronald, but, unless I am greatly mistaken,
you like Sir Lisle."
Diana pressed her lips tightly together lest they
should open and say, "Like a Scarsdale!" If she
uttered that, it would give her enemy the clew to her
actions.
"Whether you like him or not, you have given him
a shameless amount of encouragement," her ladyship
went on. "You have allowed him to believe that you
cared for him-I am quite sure of that.
You are very
reckless in your conduct, Diana. You care little
what you make others suffer; you do not care if you
}
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301
!
break Evadne's heart and make Sir Lisle miserable
for life."
"You are right;" said Diana "I care little; others
have cared less for me."
And Lady Cameron saw that her step-daughter's
lovely young face grew prouder as she defied and irri-
tated her interrogator. Evidently this sort of treat-
ment was useless, so her ladyship decided to try what
she had never really tried with Diana before-kind-
ness. She drew nearer to her, and laid one hand on her
shoulder; Diana shrunk from her touch, but her lady-
ship was not daunted.
"Diana," she began, "I am sure you have not a bad
heart. I beseech you to think over this matter. I do
not know why you are going to marry Lord Clanronald.
It cannot be for money-you have plenty of your own
-it cannot be for his title you could choose one
higher-it cannot be for his birth or descent-you
despise such things.
*
"I do indeed," said Diana, loftily.
""
"Then, if you have no especial motive, why persist
in it? You and I have not always agreed very well;
but, if you will concede this point, if you will de-
cline this marriage, I will do everything in my power
to render your life happy."
1
"It is too late," said Diana. "Besides, I would
never bargain for kindness."
"You could do so much better," declared her lady-
ship. "You have everything in your favor; you have
the whole world to choose from."
"I have already chosen," said Diana.
But Lady Cameron ignored the remark. "Evadne
¡
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/
has always liked Lord Clanronald," she continued.
"I plead to you, Diana, because I cannot bear that my
daughter should suffer. I have not often been driven
to plead; and when a proud woman asks a favor, it
is more bitter than death for her to be refused. I am
a proud woman, Diana. I ask a favor; you will not
refuse me."
Diana felt that that one sweet moment of revenge re-
paid her for all her pain; for the humiliation she had
inflicted on Lady Cameron, for the pain she had caused
Evadne in taking her lover, she felt that she could
have suffered far more deeply than she had.
"I am sorry," she said, in a cold hard voice, "that
I cannot change my plans."
Then Lady Cameron's pride and courage seemed
both to break down. "Diana," she said, in a low
voice full of emotion, "think of Evadne. She is truly
fond of him. I know he is not clever or intellectual,
or anything of that kind; but Evadne loves him, poor
child, and you do not. You will not spoil her life?"
"Mine has been spoiled," returned Diana. "It is use-
less, Lady Cameron, for us to discuss the subject any
further. You must consider that my marriage is set-
tled."
1
A
But Lady Cameron had Evadne's face before her
cyes--her face as it had been when she heard the news.
"I cannot take that answer, Diana," said her lady-
ship, making a final effort to induce Diana to abandon
her engagement. "I make one more appeal to you to
your good heart, to your generosity, to your nobility
of mind. Do not enter into a marriage which will
bring misery to my daughter and misery just as surely
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303
to yourself. I cannot tell you how much depends on
your 'Yes' or 'No'."
·
J
This was her supreme appeal, and it was followed
by a moment of anxious expectation. In this moment
Diana fancied she enjoyed her revenge. With one
word spoken now she could scatter the hopes of both
her enemies; she could wring the daughter's heart,
she could avenge every insult the mother had offered
her. The last spark of goodness seemed to die out in
Diana's heart when she, uttered the word "No;" and
the girl's refusal changed Lady Cameron from a plead-
ing, suppliant woman to a fury.
"You refuse?" she said. "You could do what I
wish if you would. It would not affect you in the
least. You refuse? Let the consequences be on your
own head. From this day I am your enemy. Now,
at this moment when you have set the seal of despair
on my daughter's life, I could curse you."
"It would not hurt me if you did," said Diana. "I
would as soon have your curse as your blessing.
"I have no more to say. You are a hardened, shame-
less girl. You are beside yourself with pride and
arrogance. Heaven will punish you. I shall yet see
you weeping bitter tears for this day's work. When
that happens do not come to Lady Cameron for sym-`
pathy."
"
"You may be sure I shall not," replied Diana. "If
F
you have finished, I will go.
"1
"Yes, go!" said Lady Cameron.
And with great dignity Diana quitted the room, and
sought the welcome privacy of her own chamber.
tried to rejoice over the sweetness and completeness
She
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of her revenge; but Diana could never quite kill her
noble nature. She did not care to remember the pain
on Lady Cameron's face; she did not like to think of
Evadne's grief. It served them right, she argued.
They had insulted her grossly and without mercy;
they had enjoyed one long triumph over her since they
entered her father's house, and, what was still worse,
they had lessened her father's love for her; and now
they expected her to yield to their wishes.
"No," said Diana to herself "An eye for
eye, a tooth for a tooth.""
Yet there came to her the memory of other words-
"Vengeance is mine, and I will repay."
It was not without a hard struggle with her con-
science that she persevered in her evil design. She
knew the course she was pursuing was a despicable
and a wicked one, and she was fully cognizant of the
fact that she was not reaping all the pleasure from it
that she anticipated.
My pa
an
The home-life at Ferness was not much improved
by this last exhibition of willfulness on the part of
Diana. Evadne looked ill and miserable, while Thea
resented the wrong done her sister by treating Diana
with scorn. Her ladyship was as frigid as her posi-
tion of step-mother permitted, and Peter Cameron
nursed his sorrow in silence.
i
CHAPTER XXXVIII
DIANA carefully avoided coming in contact with Sir
Lisle. In vain his wistful eyes followed her; in vain
he sent message after message, imploring that she
would grant him an interview; in vain he waited,
hoping at some time to find her alone.
No one had told him directly of Miss Cameron's
engagement. He heard rumors that bewildered and
amazed him; but he could not credit them. He would
not believe such a monstrous thing, he said to himself,
unless he heard it from Diana's own lips.
He knew Lord Clanronald well; he had seen him the
worse for wine; he had heard him in the stables, among
the grooms, using language that even they resented;
and that sweet, imperious Diana, with her beautiful
face and exquisite, dainty grace, should marry this
man was a complete mystery to him. He resolutely
refused to believe it until he heard it form her own
lips. She seemed to be always on the watch to avoid
him. If they were together in a room full of people,
she never even looked in his direction, never addressed
a word to him, never listened while he spoke to
others. If the numbers dwindled, and there seemed
to be any fear that they might be thrown together,
she quitted the room. If by accident they met in hall
{
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
or corridor, Diana passed on quickly. If he spoke,
she made no sign of having heard.
"I might as well be living in Russia for all that I
see of Diana," he said to himself bitterly.
+
"}
}
'In the meantime the news of the heiress' engage-
ment spread. Sir Lisle was soon assured of the truth
of it. There was an unusually high tide one after-
noon; the wind was blowing from the sea, and the
whole company had assembled on the terrace to watch
the break of the waves on the shore. The wind was
cold, and Sir Lisle, always thinking of Diana, always.
watching over her, with grave, loving, anxious eyes,
saw that she looked pale. He fancied that she felt
chilly, and went in search of a shawl for her. He
found one, and took it to her. She was standing be-
tween Lord Clanronald and her father.
"I thought you looked cold, Dianą," he said; "I
have brought you a shawl."
Diana turned abruptly to him and he was just going.
to wrap the shawl around her shoulders, when Lord
Clanronald stepped forward and took it from his
hands.
"It is my privilege now," he said, "to attend to
Miss Cameron's wants, a privilege I cannot concede to
another.
Sir Lisle made no answer to him; but he looked
straight in Diana's face.
"Is that true, Diana?" he asked.
The question was embarrassing; but Diana, without
bestowing a glance upon her interrogator, answered:
"Yes, perfectly truc."-
Sir Lisle left them without another word, with
}
SUNSHINE AND ROSEZ
309
deep anguish and pain depicted on his face. He be-
lieved all now.
But he little knew how in that same
moment Diana wished herself dead. Nor did he im-
agine how during the remainder of that day she could
not endure the sight of Lord Clanronald or the sound
of his voice.
It was not long before the whole county was ap、
prised of the fåct that a marriage had been "arranged"
between Lord Clanronald and Miss Diana Cameron of
Ferness. It was a nine days' wonder. It was discussed
in the clubs and drawing-rooms; it was severely com-
mented upon by match-making mothers who had
thought Lord Clanronald easy prey.
One morning-it was the third after the announcement
of the event-Diana went to the library in search of
a new novel. She found Lady Cameron and her father
in deep and earnest discussion.
Her father said "Hush!" when she appeared.
But Lady Cameron rather snappishly remarked:
"No, I see no need for silence. I think Diana
ought to know what is said about her mad, foolish
marriage." Then pointing to an open letter which lay
on the library table, she went on, "The duchess is
seriously displeased. She has heard of your engage.
ment, and writes to say how much she disapproves of
it, as she, with many others, saw the devoted attention
Lord Clanronald paid to my daughter."
Diana did not condescend to make any reply.
"It is a very serious thing to offend the duchess,"
remarked Mr. Cameron-"most serious."
Diana laughed aloud, a scornful, bitter laugh that
jarred terribly upon her father.
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0
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"I should not care in the least if all the duchesség
in England were offended with me," she said. "How
can it possibly matter to her, I should like to know?"
"It will be a serious thing for you, if you provoke
her ill-will," said Mr. Cameron.
"My dear papa, it will not matter one jot. In a
contest with the duchess I should be quite sure to
win. It is not even worth while to tell me what she
thinks or what she says. I do not care in the least."
Peter Cameron knew that his daughter was in ear-
nest, and wondered that she should differ so greatly
from himself. To him there was nothing on earth so
blissful or so precious as the friendship of a duke or
duchess, while to his daughter it was far more of a
trouble than a pleasure.
Lady Cameron looked, as she felt, mortified. Diana
was in very deed a thorn in her side. There was an-
other side to the picture. Congratulations poured in
from all quarters. Lord Clanronald's friends and rela-
tives professed to be in raptures; the whole county
seemed delighted. Letters poured in; but not a line
of congratulation came from the duke or duchess; and
Peter Cameron asked himself anxiously more than
once if Diana's marriage would undo the good effect
of his own.
Sir Lisle had not been able to secure an interview
with Diana; he had not been able to press once more
upon her the love that he felt for her. He had made
up his mind to leave Ferness; but he waited from day
to day, hoping always to be able to see her, and per-
haps to unravel the mystery that perplexed him. His
ɔpportunity came at last.
D
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
30g
1
It was the last day in October, and the morning sun
was shining brightly, while a gentle breeze rustled
musically among the still leafy trees. Diana thought
the whole of the party had gone for a drive to the
ruins of an old abbey a few miles distant; she had de-
clined to accompany them. Finding at the last mo-
ment that Diana was not going, Sir Lisle also resolved
to remain at home. He was determined to speak to her
that day, no matter what happened.
Lady Cameron understood Sir Lisle's anxiety to see
Diana and she placed no obstacle in his way. If he
could persuade Diana to change her mind, she would be
only too delighted. She was therefore not displeased
when he said:
"I want to speak to Diana, Lady Cameron; I will
take this opportunity, with your permission.
"You will find her in the rose-garden," said her lady-
ship; "I saw her go there a few minutes since."
Diana, believing they had all started, thankful to be
alone and relieved from Lord Clanronald's unwelcome
attentions, had gone to her favorite spot. The roses
were nearly all dead, but the sun shone brilliantly
and the spray of the fountains glittered in the sunlight.
She felt secure from intruders here. She could sit
down and give rein to her thought; she could bury
her face in her hands and weep the bitter tears that
were seeking an outlet. How long was it since she
had sung of sunshine and roses-since she had re-
joiced in the brightness of her life? The roses had but
bloomed and died once since then, yet she was now
bewailing the unhappiness of her lot in life; before the
roses bloomed again she hoped she would be dead.
19
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
Still her pride was stronger than her love. She could
weep here, with no one to laugh, to sneer, or to con-
dole. She was alone. And Diana did weep, with un-
controlled grief and passion, quite unconscious that
anyone was near her, until a hand was laid on her
shoulder, and Sir Lisle said, in a grave, low voice:
"Diana!"
She started at the sound of her name, and gazed up-
on the intruder with flashing eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Do not be angry, Diana," he said, "I have watched
and waited for days to see you. This may be our last
interview, and I beg that you will listen to me in pa-
tience for the sake of the love I bear you, and the
thought of the love I believed you had for me.
"You had no right, Sir Lisle, to intrude upon my
solitude," returned Diana, haughtily. "I came here to
seek quiet; I wish to be alone."
"You will be alone in a few minutes," he said; "I
•
shall be gone. If I were dying, Diana, would you
refuse to speak to me?"
"No," she replied.
"So far as you and I are concerned, Diana, I am
dying," he said-"for, when this interview is over, life.
will cease for me. Not that I shall lay violent hands
on myself, but I shall seek an honorable death. You
would not refuse a few minutes to me if I were dying
- do not refuse them now."
·
Her heart throbbed with an intense love. She
onged to place her arms round his neck, to lay her
air head on his breast, and declare her love. But he
vas a Scarsdale; neither love nor liking should go
rom her to that hated race. She steeled herself against
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}
him and tried to remember every insult, every wrong,
that she had suffered at the hands of his relatives. She
drew back as he approached.
"You need not fear, Diana," he said. "I will not
touch your hand. The first kiss that I gave you was
he last; and I wish that I had died in that moment.
"So do I," echoed Diana, deep down in her heart.
"I will not touch you, dear. Listen to me for a few
minutes, and then you shall see my face no more-no
more until we stand together where all men shall be
judged. You will answer then for the mercy you mete
"1
out to me now.
These were solemn words, and she shrank from them
as his grave tones fell upon her ears.
"There are many ways of slaying a man," said Sir
Lisle, "all more or less cruel; but I think the most
cruel is when a beautiful woman wiles the heart from
a man's breast, plays with it as with a toy, and then
crushes it and flings it away. This is what you have
done with me, Diana. It is the most cruel of murders,
because all good, all light, all hope, is extinguished
in a man's nature; naught but desolation remains. He
has nothing left to live for; life is simply a burden. I
swear that, had I to live my life over again, I should
prefer any death to this living torture. If your white
hand, Diana, had plunged a dagger into my breast, it
would have been far more merciful. It is my heart of
hearts that you have destroyed; the life you have left
is valueless to me. Diana, you are weeping!'
"}
"Indeed I am not," she answered, sharply; and
you, Sir Lisle, are talking great Lonsense to me!"
Sir Lisle was silent for a few moments; but his
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
heart was full of the wrong done him, and he could
not tear himself away until he had made another des-
perate effort to win her.
When I met you,
"It may sound like nonsense to you, Diana," he con-
tinued, "but it is a deadly truth to me. Think a lit-
tle, dear, and you will realize it.
my heart had never known the love of woman. As I
have told you, I had dreamed sweet and peaceful dreams
of my ideal queen. They were realized when I met
you. Your face, so fair to me, Diana, went straight to
my heart. I have since loved you with a true, faithful,
loyal love that will die only with me. Do you believe
me, Diana?"
"I believe you," she replied.
“I am glad of that. I set myself to work to win.
your love. My one aim, my one object, has been to
make you my beloved wife. You acknowledge that,
Diana?"
AS
She was conscious that his was a pure and honest
love; but no answer escaped her.
"When a man sets before himself an object in life,
to destroy that object mercilessly is almost to destroy
him. You have willfully wrecked my hopes and shat-
tered my life; and that is my charge against you. I
bring it now, Diana, and I shall bring it again, when
I have to account for my lost and blighted existence.
"I do not see why you should thus charge me,"
said Diana, more startled than she cared to own by
the terrible fervor of his words.
"Do you not? Then I will tell you. I loved you,
and I showed my love for you in every possible way.
You did not repulse me; you were kind to me.
I can
+
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
313
recall a thousand actions of yours that were all so many
signs of love. You gave me hope. It is true that to-
gether with the signs of your love for me there were
certain whims and caprices for which I could not ac-
count. I cannot account for them now; but I thought
-knowing you to be so proud, Diana, proud as you
are fair-that they were merely the petty rebellions of
a young girl against submission-against being con-
quered, as it were; and I admired them. I cannot
bring myself to believe that the same girl who fought
against yielding her love to me could yield it to Lord
Clanronald. I cannot believe it."
He looked so noble, so grave, so sorrowful, that her
heart yearned to cry out that it was not true, that she
had yielded her love to him, and him only. But she
could make no such admission.
"That is why I bring this charge against you," he
went on "because you encouraged me, you accepted
my love, you made me blindly, madly happy. You
gave me your love most surely, if ever woman loved
man, and you have taken it from me just as surely.
Can you deny that you loved me?
"I must decline to answer such a question. I am the
betrothed wife of another," she replied.
"Most falsely so," he said bitterly. "If you are be-
trothed to any one, it is to me. I am sure there is a
mystery, Diana; but I cannot fathom it.
11
As surely as
heaven, you
ever the sun, moon, and stars shone in
love me.
You are so proud and dignified, you would
never have allowed me that kiss had you not loved me,
Diana. That kiss was sacred to me as a betrothal; and
I know it was the same with you. I left you that night
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1
--ah, heaven!" he cried, passionately, "I pray that I
may forget! I left your presence that night the hap-
piest man in the world. I left you with love shining
from your eyes, the clasp of your hand still warm in
mine, your kiss sweet on 'my lips. I left you to dream
of you, to long for the morrow, to count the moments
that must pass before I should be again in the heaven
of your presence. The morning came. Oh, Diana,
how can I describe it? I left you all sunshine; I found
you cold, frozen, dead to me. Neither your lips nor
your eyes have smiled since. What have I done?
Tell me tell me what have I done?"
Sir Lisle's earnest appeal touched the depths of
Diana's heart, and she felt acutely the degradation of
her position. She had encouraged him, and she loved
him-yet she would marry another. The thought of
revenge came to her in this moment of suspense, and
she steeled herself against making any confession. The
man she loved was a Scarsdale-her fate should never
be linked with that name. She did not tell Sir Lisle
this, but maintained a stolid indifference to his plead-
ing.
m
f
"You will not answer, Diana," he said, sorrowfully
-"you will not say what it was that changed you in a
few hours from a bright, loving girl to a cold, proud,
heartless woman? You will never tell me why my
love is spurned and I am left to the chill of despair?
I cannot guess; I must leave the mystery where it is.
But, Diana, I have discovered something else equally
mysterious." He drew nearer to her, speaking in a
low, subdued tone. "I know," he said, "that you love
You have rejected me, yet I know that you love
me.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
3x5
me. I swear it--you love me, Diana! You are going
to marry Lord Clanronald;. but you love me." There
was a growing exultation in his face; his eyes shone
brightly; there was a ring of triumph in his voice.
"You may say what you will, Diana; but you dare not
look into my eyes and say it is not true. You love me;
and love is immortal."
She could not look at him and deny it; her eyes
drooped and rested on the dead leaves.
"I used my knowledge against you," he went on.
"If you had been more just to me, Diana, I would have
died rather than tell you what I saw."
"What did you see?" she asked, imperiously.
"I will tell you. I saw you take a glove of mine
from the library table, where I had carelessly left it.
I was just going back for it, you did not hear my ap-
proach, and I saw you, Diana, take up the glove. Oh,
darling, how I wished that I could have taken you in
my arms! You took it; you kissed it. Ah, such sweet,
warm kisses to waste upon a glove! You wept over it.
Such bright, sweet tears to fall upon a glove! They
should have been shed rather on a lover's breast. And
I heard you utter words too sweet to be wasted on
empty air.
You said, 'Oh, my love, I shall die with-
out you!' Diana, you spoke of me."
She answered not a word.
"You spoke of me!" he went on passionately. "Do
you know what you did yesterday? You kissed an en-
velope on which my name was written. Diana, I have
not played the spy upon you-I have not watched you;
but I have seen you give, quite unconsciously, a thou
sand signs of deep-rooted love for me.
"1
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
Diana had grown very pale, and a look of startled
fear came into her eyes. He looked so exultant, so
triumphant; what if he wrung the truth from her?
What if, on finding it out, he made her marry him?
What a triumph for Lady Cameron!
"You love me. Raise your eyes, Diana-not to me,
but to the sky above you. I defy you before heaven
to say that you do not love me. You dare not say it.
I ask you in the presence of heaven, Diana-do you
love me? I will not go from you until I know the
truth. I ask you before heaven; you cannot refuse to
speak."
The very strength of his words and of his love
seemed to extort the truth from her, in spite of herself.
In a low, hoarse voice she answered him:
"I do not deny it; I love you!"
He made one quick step toward her; but she repulsed
him with a gesture of disdain.
"Do not make any mistake, Sir Lisle," she said.
"Although I have admitted that I love you, know also
that 1 would rather die a thousand deaths, than marry
you."
“Ah," he said drearily, "we are near the truth at last!
You love me, but would rather die than marry me.
Will you tell me why?"
"No," she answered, "never.
If it will make your
lot easier to bear, know that I love you
you with my
whole heart, know that I shall never have one happy
moment away from you, but know also that I would
rather die than marry you."
"And you will not tell me why, Diana?"
"No," she replied, "I will not. I should have let
مل
{
*
*
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
317
$
you go, believing, if you could, that I was indifferent
to you; but you asked me before heaven if I loved
you, and I would not tell a lie. I love you; but [
shall never marry you."
“And you will never tell me why?"
"No; I clear myself from the dishonor of your re-
proach. You say that I love you-I admit it; you say
that I encouraged you-I admit it; but I clear myself
by telling you that I have a reason, known only to
myself, and that that reason is as inexorable as death.
"And from that sentence there is no appeal, Diana?"
"None whatever," she answered.
"
"Will you not suffer, Diana?" he asked.
"I suffer?" she cried, in a voice hoarse with anguish.
"Oh, heaven! how can you ask? I suffer so deeply
that I wish-" she paused abruptly. "Of what use to
tell him this?" she thought.
"Have you no pity for yourself, Diana?" he asked
gently.
"No-none," was her reply-"none for myself or for
you."
"Is it fair to me, just to me, to treat me in this
manner?" he asked.
"No," answered Diana, with terrible frankness; "it
is unfair, unjust; but I will have it so."
"I wish I knew how to plead with you, how to save
you from yourself," he said; and she replied:
"You cannot. An angel from heaven could not save
me. I am bent upon-"
"Your own destruction," he interposed.
"Yes-if you will have it so," she said.
"My dear, it cannot be otherwise if you persist in
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this unloving marriage. Oh, Diana, think, pause, hes
itate! By your own confession you are going to mar-
ry one man while you love another. Nothing - forgive
me-could be so false, so mean, so base. It is unjust
and cruel to both of us."
"I know it," she said.
"And oh, Diar, you will repent it sorely-you will
repent it with burning tears! You will live to see the
dạy when you will cry out, Would to heaven that I
had died ere I made this fatal plunge!' Oh, Diana, so
young, so beautiful, so beloved, pause before you do
this deed! My dear, do you know the end of marriage.
without love? It is always hate and untold misery.
Oh, beloved, if it must be, send me away but do not
marry him!”
"I must," she said between her clinched teeth.
"There can be no must," he said; "it rests with
you."
"Therefore," she rejoined, "I must become his wife."
"Think of the life before you-you have time to re-
flect. I say, in all sorrow, that it would be better, far
better, for you to die than marry this man.”
"I know it," she replied, in a tone of hopeless de-
spair.
And then Sir Lisle knew that it was useless to en
deavor to turn Diana from her strange course.
"I cannot guess your secret, Diana," he said; "I can
not understand your motive; but I am sure that it is
dictated by pride. I see pride and love at war in your
face; therefore I know that they are at war in your
heart. Pride is the sin by which angels fell. Oh,
Diana, take warning! Pride brings its own punishment,
SUNSHINE AND ROSÉS
319
•
and the punishment of yours, so blind and so willful,
will be great. You will have to win your way to heav-
en through tears," he continued. "Break down the
pride which is now shutting out the sunshine of your
life-soften your heart and clothe it in humility.
'Blessed are the meek;' there is no blessing for the
proud." He paused and then resumed more calmly,
"Lord Clanronald is not a great man, not a good man;
but he deserves honesty and fair treatment from the
woman he marries. He cannot have them from you.
You do not love him."
She held out her hands with a gesture of impatience.
"Say no more, Sir Lisle, it is all in vain."
"I see it," he replied sadly, "I speak without hope.
I am sorry for Lord Clanronald, and I am sorry for
myself; but the great pity of my heart is for you, Diana,
for you.
A miserable, loveless life, and a deep and
bitter repentance, when it is too late, will be yours.
Ah, my lost love, it would be better to die, now ir
the freshness of your life and innocence than succumb
to the fate that awaits you if you marry without love!"
"If it were a thousand times worse," said Diana,
slowly, "I should embrace it."
And then Sir Lisle, his heart bowed down with
grief, left her.
+
↓
1
CHAPTER XXXIX
1
"I THOUGHT I had better tell you myself, Royal," said
Diana, in a voice that had lost its old ring.
"I certainly should not have believed it from any
other lips," replied Sir Royal. "So," he continued,
looking thoughtfully at her, “you are
Clanronald?"
to marry Lord
"Yes," she said wearily; "all the arrangements are
completed. He wished to have the wedding at Christ-
mas; but I have persuaded him to wait until May."
"May marriages are
"May?" repeated Sir Royal.
proverbially unlucky."
"The more suitable to me," she replied, with the
ghost of her old sunny laughter.
"It is the most astounding piece of news
heard in my life," said Sir Royal; "I can hardly credit
it. Lord Clanronald is good-looking enough-I sup-
pose most people would call him handsome-but some-
how I do not like him, Diana.
11
"I am sorry to hear you say that," she returned,
with quivering lips.
He looked at her again, gravely, thoughtfully. "Lord
Clanronald is the last man on earth I should have
thought would have any power to attract you, Diana,"
he said.
The heiress made no reply to his last remark.
She had been recklessly frank with Sir Lisle; but she
320
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
321
could not tell this faithful friend and counselor, this
man who had always loved her, the kind of marriage
she was going to contract. She was never more bitterly
ashamed of it than when Sir Royal expressed his honest
opinion of so ill-assorted a union.
Diana had driven over in her little carriage to see
Sir Royal; he had asked her several times, but she
had hitherto shrunk from the interview. They were
together now in the library, from which the lake which
gave Westwater its name could be very plainly seen.
"I do not like him," he continued. "His character
impresses me far from favorably. Oh, Diana, how
blind love makes woman.
"
"Love?" she repeated half mechanically.
"Yes-love. Who could have thought that you, a
sensible girl, with clear reason, sound judgment,
would have chosen a man like Lord Clanronald? What
can have possessed you to choose him?”
"It is my fate, I suppose," she replied, with a reck-
less little laugh; but the lovely eyes raised to his were
full of pain.
"No; it is your whim," he said. "I am sure, Diana,
that, when those two men came to Ferness, it was Sir
Lisle you loved. I remember the light on your face
when his name was mentioned. I would
I would have given
you up to Sir Lisle with pleasure, but to Lord Clan-
ronald-no, the bare idea is horrible to me-perfectly
horrible!"
"I am truly sorry," murmured Diana; and her heart
almost died within her as she saw the genuine sorrow
on her faithful friend's face.
"You did not appear to give much attention to Lord
322
}
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Clanronald when I saw you together," he continued.
"The last time I was at Ferness you were talking to
Sir Lisle the whole time, and there was love in your
eyes, Diana, and love in his; I saw it. I do not mind
confessing that it made my heart ache at first; but
afterward I was glad, honestly glad. I knew that you
could love no nobler man. At that time you treated
Lord Clanronald with something like contempt. I re-
member the curl of your lip when you spoke to him.
Is not what I saw true, Diana?"
"It is true," she replied reluctantly, "that I did not
appreciate him at first. Why are you looking at me
in that, way, Royal?" she said.
"I am trying to read your thoughts, my dear; I could
do so two years ago. Then, when I looked into your
eyes, Diana, I could read all that was passing in your
heart; now their depths are troubled, and the heart is
no longer an open book to me."
"Do not say that, Royal," she pleaded, "it grieves
me."
"It is true, my dear, nevertheless," he said sadly
"And the old trust is gone.'
"Oh, Royal, have I not come expressly to tell you
this important news myself?”
"Yes; but you are telling me only half of it. You
have not told me in plain words why you have set.
aside a noble man, a gentleman, a true knight, to
marry-pardon the word-a fool."
"}
Diana winced at this description of her future hus-
band. Yet she felt that it was true.
"Oh, Royal!" she said.
"My dear, it is the truth. If no one else will tell it
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
323
to you, I will. Lord Clanronald, with all his ancient
descent, splendid title, and wealth, is but a fool. He
has neither mind, manners, heart, nor intellect, and if
you marry him, you will repent it to the last day of
your life.”
"Oh, Royal, how severe you are-you who used to be
so kind and generous to me!"
"Kindness in this case is cruelty," he said. “Real
kindness is to tell you the bare, unvarnished truth; and
that is, if you marry Lord Clanronald, your life will
be one of wretchedness and bitter repentance."
Every word this faithful friend spoke went straight
to Diana's heart. She knew there was no other so
true, so loyal as he.
"Diana," said Sir Royal presently, "my sight has
grown dim since I have suffered so terribly with my
head; come closer to me, so that I may look into your
face. Oh, child, what have you done to yourself?
Why, the very freshness has gone from your beauty as
from a faded flower! What is the matter with you!"
She had gone nearer to him, and stood with droop-
ing head by his chair. She did not dare to tell him
that she had done violence to her feelings. She dared
not tell him that in her heart desire of vengeance
reigned supreme and that she was
was dearest in life for the sake of
Lady Cameron.
sacrificing all that
being revenged on
}
"Diana," went on Sir Royal, "once or twice in your
life I have given you a friendly lecture; I shall give
you one now. I do not know your secrets; but I am
certain that pride is at the bottom of this marriage--
wicked, stiff-necked pride."
[
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2.
For a moment she felt inclined to confess all to him.
His great wisdom, his large experience would soon put
matters straight for her. But, no, no; she must have
her revenge! The good impulse passed, and with it
the last hope of earthly salvation.
"If it be as I think, my poor child, pause while
there is time. I know that pride is your stumbling-
block Diana, and that for pride's sake you would suffer
torture without complaining. Oh, Diana, be warned
in time! If I could have but foreseen what was
to happen to you, I would have persuaded you to marry
me last year. Diana, take up arms against yourself! If
you marry this man, unspeakable misery will follow.
You will come back to me and weep tears that will
break my heart. You will repent sorely, bitterly; but
I shall not be able to assist you then-it will be too
late. My darling Diana, let me help you now."
'I want no help, Royal," she said, in a low, strained
voice. "You could not help me; but you can love me.
Royal, love me always, and think kindly of me. I-I
am not happy!"
"Poor child!" he said, his hands caressing the fair
hair; and then he asked, "Where is Sir Lisle?"
'He has gone away," she replied.
"Has he left England?"
"Yes; he has gone abroad. He says he shall never
return to England."
"Poor fellow!" said his noble rival.
And at the sound of the kindly voice, the tender
words, Diana's pride gave way, and she wept bitter,
despairing tears. But neither tears, prayers, nor en-
treaties shook her resolution to marry Lord Clan-
ronald.
CHAPTER XL
LADY CAMERON acted with the policy of a worldly-
wise woman. She saw that nothing could be done at
present to change the aspect of affairs. Lord Clanron-
ald was infatuated; Sir Lisle had gone abroad, and
they had heard nothing more of him; Evadne was mis-
erable, Diana silent, haughty, and cold. Lady Cam-
eron considered that the best thing to be done was to
fill her house with company, and so prevent the differ-
ent members of the family from being thrown too much
into one another's society.
The Christmas party at Ferness was a gay one. Peter
Cameron's heart rejoiced over the long list of noble
names that figured in the county paper. True, the
great magnates, the duke and duchess, were not there
-they had gone to the south of Italy for the winter-
but there were others to take their place. Lady Cam-
eron was an accomplished hostess, and the festivities
were something to be remembered. The dinners, balls,
charade parties, and private theatricals delighted the
whole county.
There was such a succession of gay-
eties that there was no time for domestic warfare
among the members of the Ferness household.
Sir Royal was repeatedly at Ferness, and he was the
only one with whom Diana seemed happy or at ease.
Nobody ever mentioned the marriage, for the subject
325
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
was distasteful to all except Lord Clanronald, and was
therefore tacitly avoided.
Lord Clanronald spent his time in traveling down to
Ferness for a few days, and then rushing back to town
to see his lawyers. When hc, came, Sir Royal never
appeared at Ferness; he could not endure him.
In the meantime a great change had come over Thea.
Richard had fallen deeply in love with her, and under
the influence of this love her whole character changed.
Richard was so honest and manly, so noble in himself,
so frank and true, that his influence was always felt by
those around him. They were both almost unconscious
of the attraction they had for each other.
Thea grew
more gentle, more tractable, and learned to like Diana
better. Honest Richard never ceased talking of his
cousin of her beauty, her grace, her daring wit, her
nobility of character-and Thea learned to see her with
Richard's eyes. The better she liked her, the more was
Thea puzzled to account for her engagement with Lord
Clanronald. Two persons of more opposite nature
never lived. What was best, noblest, and brightest in
Diana was a dead letter to Lord Clanronald. He wor-
shiped her beauty; but to her thoughts, feelings, and
tastes he was supremely indifferent. He said to him-
self that he would have the loveliest wife in England,
and he was content with that. Thea and Diana never
became great friends; but they grew more tolerant of
each other, and the bond between them was love for
honest Richard.
So the winter passed. Lady Cameron heard once or
twice from Sir Lisle; but she did not speak of his let-
ters. She had refused to have anything to do with
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
327
Diana's trousseau. She could not forgive what she con-
sidered her treachery. Lord Clanronald had paid such
marked attention to her daughter Evadne that he
ought to have made her an offer, and he would have
done so but for Diana, she argued to herself. Diana
had lured him away.
The hawthorn was in bloom, the birds had begun to
build their nests, the clover was green in the mead-
ows, and the wedding day was close at hand. As it
drew nearer, Diana grew more and more miserable and
more haughty and reserved.
Sir Royal came to Ferness on the day previous to
the marriage. He had at first declined to be present
at the ceremony.
"It is such a
witness a cere-
If you
"Do not ask me, Diana," he said.
wretched marriage; do not ask me to
mony which is to make you miserable for life.
were going to marry Sir Lisle, I would come from the
uttermost ends of the earth to be present; but this is
a desecration; I would rather not be there.
"
"You must come, Royal, my dear old friend," said
Diana, as she clung to him. "I shall not live through
it unless I have your kindly face to gaze upon."
The wedding was fixed for Tuesday, the thirteenth
of May, and everything was ready for the ceremony.
There were six bridesmaids, Thea being one of the
number. Evadne had refused to be present, and the
duchess had fortunately come to the
to the rescue, and in-
vited her to join herself and her husband in the south
of France. Her absence took some of the sweetness
of her revenge from Diana. True, she was too warm-
hearted to rejoice at the sight of the girl's sorrowful
1
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
face-for Evadne felt the disappointment grievously-
but she enjoyed the feeling of triumph and victory.
Lady Cameron and her daughters had embittered her
life, and now it was their turn to suffer. "An eye for
an eye, a tooth for a tooth." They had
enough from her; let them weep now. Lady Cameron
went about with a pale, careworn face, but she looked
brighter when Evadne had left Ferness. Evadne had
met Diana in the great hall when the carriage stood at
the door.
wrung tears
"You will be pleased to find that I am going," she
said. "My presence here must be a continual re-
proach to you-a reproach because you have basely in-
jured me."
"I am not aware of it," returned Diana calmly.
"That is false! You know that by arts such as I
would have scorned to use you lured Lord Clanronald
from me. I am
sure that we should have been very
happy together but for you. You have taken him from
me; but you will repent it. I shall live to see your
treachery punished, your pride humbled. When that
time comes, remember my words, and seek no pity
from me.
">
The girl's speech rang in Diana's ears long after
Evadne had departed.
There had been a slight passage of arms beween Mr.
Cameron and his wife. She had declared her intention
of having nothing whatever to do with the marriage.
He said that he would not allow his daughter to be
slighted, and that her wedding must and should be
celebrated with all possible magnificence. At first Lady
Cameron felt inclined to contest the question with her
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
329
husband; but her better sense came to her aid. If she
did so, it would only attract public attention to the
family disputes. She therefore judiciously gave in, and
a series of festivities were arranged. Lady Cameron.
tried her best to lose sight of the principal object of
these elaborate entertainments, to forget that they were
held in honor of Diana's marriage, and to remember
only how they would redound to the glory of the
house. The happy pair were to go after the marriage
to Ronald's Court, a fine old English mansion, one of
the country seats of Lord Clanronald. It was Diana's
wish; she would not go abroad.
The wedding-presents were arranged in the white
drawing-room -jewels, rich laces, superb ornaments,
gifts of plate, and choice artistic treasures. But the
bride hardly looked at them, or at the jewels presented
by the enamored bridegroom, which were numerous
and most costly.
Lady Cameron had purchased a very beautiful pearl
brooch; it lay among the other presents until the night
before the wedding, and then her ladyship found it on
her dressing-table with the word "Declined" written in
Diana's firm, clear hand-writing. Lady Cameron said
nothing; she understood the girl's intention of not
taking into her new life anything that could remind
her of her step-mother.
On the night before the wedding there was the
most sumptuous dinner ever given at Ferness.
Sir Royal was there, and after the repast he asked
Diana to find a few minutes for him. She led the
way to the terrace.
"Come here, Royal," she said, "where we have
spent so many happy hours together."
1
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He stood by her side for some few minutes in silence.
The "child Diana" had long been dead to him; the
beautiful, wiflful young girl, so charming and graceful,
had died also. By his side stood a proud, cold woman
on whose fair, moonlit face there was not the shadow
of a smile.
"Diana," he began, "I want to explain about my
present to you."
"I hope," she said, interrupting him hurriedly, "that
you have not sent one."
"No-not as other people have. I could not and
would not send anything to lie on those tables there,
labeled as coming from me. I have brought you a
present; but it is not a wedding-present-it is a gift
from me to you. Look, Diana; I am sure you will
like it. Let me fasten it round your neck, dear."
He showed her a diamond heart, consisting of stones
of the first water- a gift worthy of a prince, but in
his eyes not good enough for her.
"The shadow of parting l'es heavily on me," said
Sir Royal. "After to-night I shall see the 'child
Diana' and the slim young maiden no more. Lady
Clanronald may return; but I shall never again gaze
upon the child I have loved so dearly. Let me fasten
this diamond heart round your neck, Diana.
She bent her fair head toward him, and he tied his
gift, which was attached to a band of black velvet,
round Diana's white throat; and, as he did so, a deep
sigh escaped from his lips.
Sta
"}
"Wear it for my sake, Diana," he said, "and think
of my heart, which is all yours, whenever you see it.
My love for you is clear and bright as these jewels.
1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
331
When you look upon it, remember also that whatever
betides, I am your stanch friend."
She felt the warm tears from his eyes on her hands,
and she knew not how to comfort him..
"My child, my love," he said, "is it all too late?"
"Yes-too late," she sighed. "Royal, do not grieve;
I am not worthy of your generous, devoted love. I am
a proud, wicked girl."
"Always remember, Dian, that my life is yours,
and that, if ever you need it, I will give it gladly."
"You will be with me to-morrow?" she said anxious-
ly. "Oh, Royal, let me have one true heart near me!"
"I will be with you, Diana," he promised; and to
himself he added that it would be better for her if he
were going to her funeral than to her wedding.
CHAPTER XLI
.
WHEN Sir Royal left her, Diana wandered away.
She was to leave the beloved home on the morrow,
and she wished to visit some of her favorite haunts
once more. She wished to stand beside the fountain
in the conservatory, where Sir Lisle had kissed her and
the happiest hour of her life had been passed. She
wished to dream for one short half-hour of the dark,
handsome face as she had seen it then-to forget the
terrible present, with its load of misery and remorse.
There could have been no more beautiful picture
than that of the tall, slender girl with her fair face and
head bent over the rippling water, the light falling
softly on her pale-rose velvet and sparkling diamonds.
Once more she dipped her white hand in the plash-
ing fountain. How well she remembered the night
Sir Lisle had found it there-how tenderly he had
drawn it from the water! Where was he now? Whither
had her pride and vengeance driven him? She must
not think of him; to-morrow was her wedding-day!
But in this brief retrospect her pride gave way. She
fell upon her knees by the pretty fountain, and her
tears mingled with the rippling waters.
"Oh, my love, my love," she cried, "what have I
done-what have I done?"
To her excited, despairing fancy it secmed as
though he were there, that he had raised her in his
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333
arms, that he kissed her and held her to his heart,
that he cried out to her that it was all a wretched
dream, that it had passed, and he was there to love
her-love her always.
A few minutes later Lord Clanronald stood beside
her, looking into her face, his own inflamed with
wine. With a gasping sigh she came back to the stern
reality.
"Diana," said the thick voice of her future lord, "I
have been looking everywhere for you. Why did
you steal off here alone? You wanted me to follow
you, I am sure!”
Of what use to raise her fair head with queenly
dignity and deny it? He only laughed a coarse, loud
laugh.
"What a grand evening!" he continued. "But this
is the best part of it. Why did you not tell me you
were coming here? I should have been here before
you."
Diana looked at him, her brows knit, her eyes cold
and clear.
"Do you really believe," she said, "that I came here
hoping you would follow me?“
"Certainly and very natural too," he replied with
another laugh. "We are going to be married to-mor-
row; we ought therefore to have a few loving words.
to say to each other. Diana," he cried suddenly, "give
me a kiss!"
There, on the very spot where Sir Lisle had stood
when he gave her the kiss she had looked upon as a
betrothal where the one happy hour of her life had
been passed!
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ES
“A man has a right to kiss his future wife," said
Lord Clanronald.
"Not unless the future wife chooses; and I do not
choose," replied Diana, proudly.
"You ought to kiss me, considering that we are to
be married to-morrow," said his lordship.
He had taken just a little too much champagne;
otherwise he would not have had the courage to speak
as he did to the one he loved yet feared.
"I decline," said Diana, haughtily, "to do anything
of the kind."
Lord Clanronald looked at her with something like
wonder.
"If you cannot kiss me, you do not love me," he
said. "If you do not love me, why are you going to
marry me? I flatter myself that I have put that very
neatly, Diana."
She saw that it would be useless to argue or con-
tend with him. She was going to marry him on the
morrow, and he would be the arbiter of her destiny.
She crushed down the rebellious feeling that rose in
her heart against him, and held out her slim, cool
hand for him to kiss.
"There!" she said-"now we are friends.'
"I shall have what I want," he told her, sullenly,
"or nothing at all," and he bent down and kissed the
half-averted face. "I do not understand this coldness,"
he added. "I hope you love me, or the future will not
be very pleasant for either of us.
he saw on his face the sullen expression that oc-
cas onally appeared there, she heard him mutter some
angry words, and that was the memory she had to
take with her on her wedding-eve.
"1
"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
335
They were all asleep now-father, lover, friends,
and foes-all dreaming, most likely, of the grand
pageant of the morrow. But no rest came to Diana.
It was a bright, moonlight night, and as she opened
her window, the gentle breeze brought in the sweet
perfume of the hawthorn and clover. She could see
in the distance the sea breaking gently upon the shore.
How calm and peaceful the face of nature looked,
bathed in the silvery moonbeams! What a contrast
between it and the tumult in her own breast, between
the bright moonlight and the darkness that lay over
her own soul! If she could but see Sir Lisle now for
a moment; if she could but ask him to forgive her; if
she could only tell him that she loved him, but that
she had been wicked, revengeful, proud; if she could
only lie at rest in his arms and die!
An hour later Diana knelt by her bedside trying to
repeat the prayers she had said when a little child.
But the words refused to come; her lips were feverish
and she trembled violently. She had much to suffer,
but never was her agony greater than on that night;
and, when she thought of her vengeance, it had lost
all of its sweetness.
She wept bitter tears, half tempted even now to run
away from the fate that she had prepared for herself,
and end her days in solitude. The shades of night
were passing, the first faint gleam of dawn was in the
sky. In a few hours more she would be Diana Cam-
eron no longer; the old life would have passed away
forever. Farewell to the roses and sunshine of youth!
Oh, if heaven, in mercy, would but send back to her.
the happy time when she had sung of them and known
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•
no care! As the red dawn crept into the sky, she
realized the magnitude of her sin and the severity of
her punishment. Then, worn out with weeping and
pain, she lay down to rest.
-X-
f
*
*
*
*
The day had arrived which was to see Diana's
revenge crowned-that was to see the consummation of
all her plans to checkmate and injure the Scarsdales.
It was her wedding-day! Everyone was astir early at
Ferness. All the servants were busy; the bridesmaids
had the onerous duties of the toilet before them; Lady
Cameron, with the great mansion filled with guests,
had not one moment to spare. Everyone was busily
engaged except the bride herself; and she, even while.
the May sun shone into her room and the May birds
filled the air with their tuneful songs-even then she
slept on. Susanne did not like to wake her, she looked
so pale and tired; and the maid had some shrewd
ideas connected with her young mistress' marriage.
"It is not like waking a happy bride for a happy
wedding-day," she thought to herself. "I will let her
sleep as long as possible."
When Diana woke, with a heavy heart and heavy
head, Susanne was standing by her side. In her first
momentary confusion she looked questioningly at the
pretty, smiling maid.
"What is it, Susanne?" she asked.
"It is your wedding-day, miss," she answered.
O blessed sleep that had enabled her to forget! O
bitter waking that brought her misery back with re-
doubled force! With a low moan she turned on her
pillow. Her wedding-day! Would that she were
dead'
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
337
"It is such a bright, beautiful day, miss," said Su
sanne, trying to cheer her young mistress.
But no color came to the pale face, no light to the
eyes dim with weeping.
"I do not believe that I can rise," said Diana; “I
am so tired."
Susanne had her remedies at hand, in the shape of
a cup of fragrant tea, and some scented water to bathe
her mistress' face; and after a few moments Diana was
able to proceed with her toilet.
This was the day of her supreme revenge. She
had taken Evadne's lover; she had sent away Sir
Lisle; she had carried out her resolution; she had
avenged her own wrongs. The Scarsdales had
come to Ferness, had taken possession of it; they
had usurped her place, had treated her with insolent
contempt, lessened her father's love for her, sneered
at her, laughed at her, and then coolly ordained that
she should marry their kinsman and endow him with
her fortune for the glory of their house. They had
been so sure of triumph; Lady Cameron had even been
amused at the idea that she would bear a name she
was well known to hate. The tables were turned now;
but Diana, in the hour of her triumph, was wretched.
Presently Thea came in; then the bridesmaids, one
after another; and lastly Lady Cameron made her
appearance. Diana could hear the noise of the car-
riages, the sound of voices; the house resounded with
laughter and merriment.
The marriage was to be celebrated at the old church
at Edenwood at eleven. Half the county were invited
to it, and to the wedding-breakfast afterward.
Such a
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wedding had not been seen in that locality before.
The old town of Edenwood was greatly excited; the
streets were lined with people, and triumphal arches
spanned the roads. The old church was decorated
with a profusion of flowers, and nature herself had
donned her brightest garb.
Diana shuddered when the wedding-dress was brought
in to her. The bridesmaids were there-Thea among
them-and two or three lady's-maids. When the
dress and the veil were spread out for the admiration
of all present, she gave a longing, hopeless look round.
Would nothing happen to save her? And why, through
all the confusion of her brain, should she hear so
plainly the words of "Young Lochinvar"? Ah, if Sir
Lisle, like young Lochinvar, would but break in and
carry her away!
There was a knock at the door, and a pause. Then
a superb bouquet of orange-blossoms, white roses and
white lilies was carried to the bride-"From Lord
Clanronald." And with these flowers, so rich and rare
that the whole room was perfumed by them, came a
costly bouquet-holder made of purest silver set with
pearls. What a bridegroom! What a happy, much-
to-be-envied bride. The bridesmaids gathered round
the bouquet and pronounced it a floral gem.
Would nothing happen to save her? They had now
thrown the bridal veil over her; the orange blossoms
were fastened on her fair head; she held the bouquet
in her hands. Diana, in her bridal robes, appeared
unconscious of anything that passed around her, until
the bridesmaids kissed her. As Thea did so, she
whispered, "Poor Diana!"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
339
It was the sound of those words that nerved her,
that once more roused the spirit of pride almost dead
within her. "Poor Diana!" She had won a victory
over those Scarsdales; they should not now, in her
hour of triumph, see anything in her to pity.
As she passed through the great hall, a vision of
radiant loveliness, leaning on her father's arm, some
smiled, some wept, some blessed her, some prayed
for her.
There were two in the company who were stern
and silent-Sir Royal and Richard.
The bride swept
on, and as she passed him, Sir Royal saw that she
wore none of the superb jewels presented to her that
day-nothing but the diamond heart he had given
her; and his eyes filled with tears.
The carriage was waiting; the horses, with new
harness and white wedding-favors, were hardly to be
restrained. The sunshine was brilliant, the birds
were singing,' the trees in all the beauty of their fresh
green foliage-it was a lovely May morning. Yet, as
the moments chased each other with relentless rapid-
ity and the fatal one drew near, Diana had a vague
presentiment that something would intervene to save
her from the fate she dreaded yet courted.
"Now, my darling!" said her father.
Servants with white favors were bowing all round
her. The carriage door was open; Diana stepped in,
and they were soon driving through the park. The
trees were laden with pink-and-white may; the tender
leaves of the lime were yellow and gold; the chest-
nuts were in bloom; the purple lilac and the golden
laburnum were in perfection; the odor of the haw-
}
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
thorn was wafted to her; the whole glad earth laughed
in the summer sun, while the black chill of death lay
in her heart. Would nothing intervene to save her?
Surely horses had never traveled so quickly before!
They were nearly at Edenwood, yet it did not seem a
minute since they had left Ferness.
Should she turn to her father, and cling to him, cry
to him to save her at any cost-to save her, no mat-
ter what happened? There were crowds of people at
every turn, at the stiles, at the gates, everywhere, to
see the bride pass-the bride who looked so pale, so
lovely, and who had such yearning sorrow in her
beautiful eyes. Surely something must happen! She
had grown nervous, and looked about in alarm.
Would the horses take fright, and, in their mad career,
bring the journey to a violent, a fatal conclusion?
Then she saw her father looking at her anxiously.
"Are you ill, Diana?" he asked, tenderly.
She stopped to think whether, if she answered "Yes,"
he would defer the wedding; but, if that were done,
what a triumph for the Scarsdales!
"Are you ill, my darling?" he repeated.
look so very pale. I feel quite anxious."
"You
"No; I am well," she answered. Then a quiver of
pain passed over her face. "Papa," she said, "do you
realize that, when I drive home, I shall be Lady Clan-
ronald, and never Diana Cameron again!"
"I do realize it, my dear," he answered; "but you
will always be the dearest of daughters to me. You
look so ill, Diana," he added; "I am anxious about
you.
The church will be crowded; you will never be
able to bear the heat.'
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
341
"It will not affect me," she replied. There were
infinite pain and longing in her eyes as she looked at
her father. "Papa, let us talk for one moment as we
did before your marriage-heart to heart."
"We have always been the same, dear," he said,
quietly.
A
"Oh, no," she contradicted, with a shudder; "we
have not been the same since they came-not quite
the same! We have never been together and alone
since then. Just for two minutes let it be old times
again. Papa, I am going away from you for life-
not for a few years, but for life!"
"It is the rule for children to leave their parents,"
he said. '
"Tell me, are you sorry," she cried-"sorry that I
am going, that you are about to lose me?"
"I am sorry beyond measure," said Peter Cameron;
"home will have lost its greatest charm for me when
you have left it."
"Will it, papa? I am sorry, yet so glad to hear you
say that;" and the white, pained sadness of the beau-
tiful face broke into swift, sweet blushes.
"Do you
love me, papa, as much as you have always done?"
"Just as much, my dear," he replied "better than
all the world."
"Kiss me, papa," she said.
And Peter Cameron kissed his daughter through her
bridal veil.
The millionaire never forgot that drive to the end
of his life, and he would not have repeated it to
double his fortune.
Presently they ame in sight of the town of Eden-
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wood, where the streets were crowded with people
who had come to look at the bride---the beautiful,
happy bride. They cried out when they saw her-
a radiant vision, with an exquisite face, and eyes that
haunted those she looked upon.
There was the church standing in the midst of a
clump of oak-trees. Diana looked almost wildly up the
long, crowded avenuc, and again there came finging
through her brain the words of "Young Lochinvar."
Would someone come galloping through the surging
mass of people and take her away? Then she was
conscious of a sudden stoppage, of some confusion, of
the crowding of people to look at her, of a few hurried
words from her father. The golden sunlight, the blue
sky, the green trees, the faces of the people, were to
her eyes all but indistinguishable; and then she
found herself in the cool, darkened aisle.
M
Was it her fancy? Were the people really crying,
"Miss Diana's wedding-day?" She looked at her father
to ask him the question, and he was terrified at the ex-
pression in her eyes. She tried to hear, but the peal-
ing of the organ through the church drowned all other
sounds.
The faces of fair women, their rich dresses and glit-
tering jewels, seemed to close round her, and Lord
Clanronald was standing by her side. She saw the
great stained-glass window, and she realized that she
was before the altar, and that the marriage service had
begun.
Nothing could happen now to rescue her. She was
hemmed in by hundreds of people; she was surrounded
by friends, and a voice seemed to pierce through space
a voice which said:
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
343
"Diana Cameron, wilt thou have this man to thy
wedded husband?"
There was a moment's awful pause. She tried to
speak; but in that moment she believed heaven had
stricken her dumb. No sound came from the white,
locked lips.
The minister looked at her wonderingly, her father
touched her arm, one of her bridesmaids stepped for-
ward; and then her voice and her senses returned to
her.
"Yes," she answered firmly; and the deed was done.
Diana Cameron lived no longer; Lady Clanronald
stood in her place.
}
CHAPTER XLII
THE mists cleared from Diana's brain. The ring-
ing left her ears, and she began to distinguish faces in
the brilliant, moving mass around her. She was stand-
ing in the vestry, Lord Clanronald by her side, where,
by her own will and deed, he was to be forevermore.
Then people crowded around her again, and called her
by her new name. Her father kissed her, and pressed
her warmly to his breast. Lady Cameron, too, came
forward; but Diana shrunk from her-she would not
let her enemy's lips touch her.
The clash and clang of the bells were almost deaf-
ening; the organ pealed out the wedding-march, and
the stately procession reformed, the bride this time
with her hand on the bridegroom's arm. The crowd
of friends and strangers pressed forward to see her as
she passed down the aisle; and midst the ringing of
the bells, the cheering of the crowd, a shower of flowers,
and the shrill cries of children, Lady Clanronald en-
tered the carriage with her husband, and they drove
off together.
For a few moments she bowed her beautiful veiled
head in acknowledgment of the cheers and greetings
that saluted her; then suddenly she flung back her
bridal veil and seemed to gasp for breath. Her hus-
band was startled by the deathly pallor of her face.
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
345
"You are ill, Diana!" he cried. "The excitement
has been too much for you."
He was still more alarmed when she asked him, with
white, quivering lips:
"What bells are those ringing?"
"Those are our wedding-bells, Diana, and this is
our wedding-day," he answered.
He had sense enough not to bore her with conver-
sation, but to leave her in peace to recover herself.
No wonder, his lordship thought, that she was over-
come. The wedding had been one of unexampled
magnificence; and his heart swelled with pride as he
thought of the company present.
It was Thea who led Lady Clanronald to her room.
"There is quite half an hour," she said, "to spare
before the déjeuner; you must rest, Diana, or you will
be ill."
She made her lie down; she kept watch and guard
over her, and would not allow her to be disturbed.
Lady Cameron did not trouble the young bride with
her presence, and the guests were not surprised when
they heard that Lady Clanronald was resting after the
excitement of the morning.
The wedding-breakfast passed with the vague con-
fusion of a dream, to Diana. Her outward appearance
must not reflect the desolation of her heart and hopes.
She must smile, she must answer the questions ad-
dressed to her, or everyone would guess her secret.
It seemed as though the breakfast would never end;
but at last there was a movement among the guests.
"Go to her, Thea," said Richard, who had perceived
Diana's unhappiness, and was sorely grieved. "She
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
1
has no mother or sister; go to her, and be kind to
her."
"For your sake," answered Thea, "not for her own.'
"Yes, for her own, dear; go and be kind to her;"
and Thea went.
She took Lady Clanronald to her room, and helped
Susanne to dress the bride in her traveling costume.
When it was time to go, she held out her hand.
"Good-bye, Diana," she said coldly. "As you have
sown, so you will reap."
Then womanly pity stirred her heart as she looked
at the sad, beautiful face, and bending her head, Thea
kissed her. A faint flush spread over the pale cheeks.
"Do not be kind to me, Thea," she said. "Kind-
ness would be the greatest cruelty to me now. Good-
bye."
Once more she stood in the hall, with the brilliant
crowd of guests surging round her, while good wishes
and congratulations were lavished upon her. To Lady
Cameron she had said "good-bye" with a pleasant smile
—no kiss, no clasp of the hands, but a pleasant, care-
less smile. She had bidden her father farewell, her
eyes so blinded with tears that she could not see his
beloved face. He had whispered to her that she must
try to be happy, that she must remember always she
had a loving father and a home ever warm with his
love for her. Then he had kissed her, and, after a
fashion, she had passed out of his life. Richard, when
his turn came, had few words, and those few he could
hardly utter. Sir Royal's eyes were the last that looked
into hers, Sir Royal's voice was the last she heard.
"Heaven bless you, Diana!" he said. "Remember
(
p
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
347
that, if ever you need it my life itself is at your
service."
Then she was in the carriage, being whirled away
to the railway station, her husband by her side. He
had taken her hand, and was whispering effusively
that she was his wife, his beautiful wife at last, and
that he considered himself one of the most fortunate
of men.
Diana neither heard nor heeded him. Her
perverse fancy would picture Sir Lisle in his place.
Ah, heaven, how different would have been her future
had he been there!
Another hour passed, and she was seated by her
husband's side in a railway carriage, on their way to
Rinehill, the nearest railway station to Ronald's Court,
where the carriage was to meet them.
Lord Clanronald had been most attentive to his
young wife. He had excused her silence by reflecting
that it was only natural after so much excitement, and
on leaving home with all its old and happy associa-
tions. He had procured an ample supply of papers
and magazines for her; and, as he placed her in the
seat near the window, and arranged everything for her,
he kissed her. She offered no resistance, and he sat
down by her side.
"I am almost sorry that we are going to Ronald's
Court," he said. "I am awfully afraid you will find it
dull. I wish now that we had arranged to go to Paris."
It was a matter of perfect indifference to Diana-her
misery would be undiminished, whatever her surround-
ings might be. He went on:
"I wonder whether you will like the Court. It is a
fine old place, but I do not think it is equal to Fer-
ness."
-
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
Presently Lord Clanronald opened a traveling bag
that he had with him, and drew from it a flask of
brandy. Diana looked at her husband in wonder as he
filled a glass and swallowed the contents.
"I never travel without brandy," he said, apologetic-
ally.
"But do you drink brandy without water?" she asked,
wonderingly.
"Yes; I am accustomed to it," he replied; “and use
is everything." He refilled the glass as he spoke, and
then put away the flask.
"The smell is very disagreeable," said Diana; “it is
so strong that it has ruined the delicate fragrance of
my flowers.
"
He laughed, as though it were an excellent joke.
Diana looked out of the window, her mind absorbed
in the contemplation of the happy past, the miserable.
present, and the clouded future. They were passing
through a beautiful sweep of country, and she was gaz-
ing at the abundance of hawthorn in the hedges, when
she was suddenly made aware that her husband was
asleep. The champagne at the déjeuner and the
brandy afterward had been too much for him.
To secure her revenge, to make her enemies suffer,
she had given up Sir Lisle for this debauchee, who
slept until the journey was ended, and then woke up
irritable and chilled. She could never think without
the most painful emotion of that going home. By her
express wish Lord Clanronald had written to the Court
to say that, at present, there were to be no rejoicings:
so on alighting at Rinchill, they drove home quickly
through the park. Home! The word went through
her heart like a knife!
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
349
Lord Clanronald was more or less ill-tempered all
the way.
He had secured his prize; there was now
no further need to keep up appearances. Nothing
could separate them, and it was a relief to be able to
speak his mind freely. He was cold; he had no idea
that the sun set so early He was certain that the
champagne was not good; he never felt well after
sweet champagne. He wondered that Mr. Cameron
had allowed sweet wines on the table; they should all
have been dry. There was nothing like dry wines. So
he continued to grumble during the drive to the Court,
which was reached just before dark.
The first order Lord Clanronald
and soda, and be quick about it.
"
"Welcome home, Diana!" he said, when they stood
in the entrance hall.
He kissed her, and called for Mrs. Halliburton, the
housekeeper, who came and looked with kindly, wo-
manly pity at the pale, beautiful face of her new mis-
tress.
gave was--
gave was—“Brandy
"Dinner is ordered for half-past eight, Diana," said
Lord Clanronald. "You will therefore have plenty of
time to make the necessary alteration in your toilet.
Mrs. Halliburton will show you to your rooms. Now,
Towner, the brandy and soda quickly."
"I wonder," thought Diana, "whether he is always
drinking brandy and soda water? It really looks like
it." She went away to her rooms with Mrs. Hallibur-
ton, tired and depressed beyond words. What a home-
coming!
"You look ill, my lady," said the housekeeper, whose
heart went out in pity and sympathy to the lovely but
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sorrowful bride. "Has she found out about his lord-
ship's weakness?" she wondered. "Ah, if I had known
that she was so young and beautiful, I would have
given her a warning before allowing her to fling her
life away!"
She noticed the distressed look in the eyes of the
bride, her want of interest in everything-for Diana
never even cast a curious glance round the rooms to see
what they were like. She walked straight to the win-
dow, after speaking a few gentle words to Mrs. Halli-
burton, and stood there silent and motionless until
Susanne told her she would be late for dinner unless
she dressed at once.
When her young mistress' toilet was completed, Su
sanne cried out in admiration. Diana did not even
look in the glass, but went down to dinner, her face
as white as the silk she wore, in the listless manner
that she had evinced since her arrival at the Court.
Lord Clanronald had recovered from the effects of
the champagne that he had drunk, and was now talk-
ative and full of compliments. He praised his wife,
praised her dress, her flowers. He persisted in drink-
ing her health. Glass after glass of champagne was
drunk in her honor until Diana caught the butler's
eyes fixed anxiously on her, and then she rose from
the table.
I
"I will follow you," said Lord Clanronald with a
nod of his head.
She was very beautiful, very stately, very graceful,
but he found it difficult to make himself agreeable to
her.
"Bring me the brandy, Towner," he said to the but
ler, as soon as his wife had disappeared.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
351
He thought to himself that a glass of cognac would
inspire him, and that he would then be able to talk
eloquently to his wife and make her look at him with
bright, wondering eyes. He took one and did not feel
quite so eloquent as he had expected; he took another
and then felt stupid; he took a third, and then re-
membered nothing more. Two hours afterwards when
the butler returned he found his master sound asleep,
and all efforts to awaken him were vain.
"He will have to sleep off the brandy," said his
valet. "He will not awaken until to-morrow morning."
Nor did he.
While Diana waited in the drawing-room, she tried'
to sing and to read, listening now and again with a
beating heart for the footsteps that never came.
Long after midnight, when the moon was shedding
her silvery beams over the fair grounds of Ronald's
Court, Diana sat by her window brooding over the
dead, happy past, and contemplating the black, dreary
future; while she did so she fell asleep there; and it
was not until the birds began to sing that Diana woke
from her slumber.
0
CHAPTER XLIII
"I SHOULD like to show you the house, Diana," said
Lord Clanronald, when he met his wife in the morn-
ing.
He was very contrite, very much ashamed of himself.
He apologized to her again and again, and declared
that Towner, the butler, must have given him too
much brandy, that he would take care such a thing
never happened again.
So Diana went over the house with her husband. It
was a grand and spacious mansion, but it was not
equal to Ferness. The rooms were lofty, light, and
handsomely furnished. The picture-gallery ran round
the whole of the building, and was unique in its way;
the ball-room was one of the largest in England; the
suite of drawing-rooms, ending in a fine large conserv-
atory, were spacious, and decorated with great taste;
the large dining-room contained several paintings of
mail-clad warriors and much befrilled ladies, the an-
cestors of the present owner of Ronald's Court; the
smaller one was most comfortably arranged; the stair-
cases were wide, the corridors large. But the gem of
the whole place was her ladyship's boudoir—an octa-
gon room with three large windows that looked over
the deep, still waters of a picturesque lake. It was
luxuriously furnished in blue and white, the very col-
ors, Lord Clanronald assured his wife, for a blonde.
352
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
353
No more charming room could have been imagined.
The few pictures, all by modern artists, were all chosen.
There was a lovely face by Millais, a Roman scene by
Alma Tadema, a landscape by Linnell. There were
statuettes of pure marble-copies of the world's most
prized art treasures-and a profusion of choice flowers.
Diana uttered a faint cry of
a faint cry of admiration when the
door was opened, and Lord Clanronald was delighted.
"Now tell me, Diana, if you are pleased with your
new home," he said.
She tried her best to look contented and happy as
she answered, "Yes."
Then when she had been over the house, he ordered
the little pony-carriage, and in his most amiable man-
ner insisted upon driving her round the park. The
one thing that pleased her most was the river, with its
ever-varying charms, which ran through the estate. It
bore white water-lilies on its broad bosom, was spanned
in several places by rustic bridges, and ran at times
between grassy banks fringed with forget-me-nots. At
one point it widened into a reach, at another it broke
into a miniature cascade, leaping from rock to rock in
its fantastic course. That river, with its lovely home-
scenery, afforded some comfort to Diana's heart.
"Now you are installed, Diana," Lord Clanronald
said to her when they returned. "You are mistress of
Ronald's Court, with power supreme A few minutes
afterward he added, “Diana, what shall we do all alone
here for a whole month? We had better invite some
friends. It will be dreadfully dull."
"We cannot invite people," she answered, "without
proclaiming the fact that we find our own society a
bore."
#1
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"
"We need not mind that," he said, laughing lightly,
"though it is perfectly true. One of 'my great puzzles
in the matrimonial line has always been to guess what
two people who were married talked about how they
could always find fresh matter for conversation."
"You have not solved the problem yet," she re-
marked, “although you have been-how many hours
with me?"
"We have not stood still yet," he said; "besides,
Diana, you are far above other girls in that respect.
No one could be dull with you."
"Yet you are so afraid of our being alone that you
want to fill the house with visitors."
"One likes a little variety," he answered, still laugh-
ing good-naturedly. "Diana, I see no sense in honey-
moons, except so far as they test the temper of the hus-
band and the patience of the wife.”
"That is a novel idea," she said, scornfully.
"It is no use looking like a tragedy queen, Diana.
Answer me truly-do you not think the custom of
honeymoons stupid and old-fashioned-altogether
played out, indeed?"
"I shall be able to tell you better when I have had
one," she replied. "There are circumstances in which
I can imagine a honeymoon almost like Paradise in
its happiness; but there are also circumstances which
would make it just the reverse.
"There is an insinuation of some kind hidden away
in that little speech, Diana; but I cannot tell just
what it is. If we are to spend the time pleasantly,
you must amuse me. Suppose you begin now."
"I will tell you what I should like to do," said Di
I
""
"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
355
•
}
ana, her eyes dilating with scorn. "I should like to
rouse you, to stir your dormant faculties, and make you
for once feel the energy, the activity, the ambition of
a man."
"My beautiful Diana," he returned, carelessly, "you
must admit one thing; I had the energy to win you,
which is more than any other man in England could
have achieved. You ought to reward me with one of
your sweetest smiles for that."
"Do you ever read?" she asked, suddenly.
"Not if I can persuade anyone else to read to me—
always excepting the journals of my country, which oc-
cupy me for a couple of hours every morning.”
"But," she persisted, "do you never read a book?"
"Very seldom; when I do it is a French novel."
There was a short lull in the conversation, and then
his lordship broke the silence.
"There is a capital billiard-room in the eastern
wing," he said. "Do you play at all, Diana?”
"Sir Royal taught me," she replied; "I have often
played with him."
The name almost choked her as it
passed her lips,
and her face paled. Oh, the contrast, the bitter, black
contrast, between the past and the horrible life which
lay before her!
اری کر دیا۔
**
Lord Clanronald began to whistle the air of a favor-
ite song, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets, his
manner one of stolid indifference. She turned to him
almost in desperation.
"Have you no occupation, no interest, no aim in
life?" she asked.
"Yes; just at present my occupation is admiring you.
356
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
You must not be too exacting, Diana," he added, se-
riously. "I am not intellectual or clever. I enjoy life,
that is all."
“And that contents you?" she asked.
"Quite, my dear. My chief aim is to find out new
enjoyments and new pleasures when I tire of the old."
"Have you never thought of anything higher, better,
nobler—of the poor, the sick, and the sorrowful-of
those dependent on you?"
"My agent manages all that for me," he replied,
airily.
"But your agent cannot keep your conscience!" she
cried.
"The office would not be a sinecure. But look,
Diana; there are limits to all things. I did not bar-
gain for catechising as a portion of the pleasures of
our honeymoon. Now make a proper honeymoon of it,
Diana; throw your arms round my neck, and put your
beautiful lips to some better purpose than lecturing
me."
But she was still looking at him with thoughtful
eyes.
"Ronald," she said, earnestly, "every man should
live up to his highest ideal of true manhood, should
he not?"
"I suppose so," was the careless reply.
"Is what you told me your highest?"
His face suddenly darkened.
"I have had enough, Diana," he said, abruptly; "I
want no more. I see no sense in talking about stand-
ards and ideals. Let a man go on his way straightfor-
wardly; he need do no more."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
357
With this exposition of the duties of man. he walked
away, leaving her almost transfixed with wonder.
She could not understand that there should be a man
whose only aim in life was to find new amusements.
"Am I a new amusement?" she thought.
“Diana," said Lord Clanronald, as they sat together
at dinner, “I am really in love with you."
"I have never doubted it," she returned in a quiet,
queenly fashion that somewhat disconcerted him.
"I married you," he said, "because I was deeply in
love with you and I thought you, as I believe you to
be, one of the handsomest girls in England; but," he
added, anxiously, "I hope you are not going to develop
into a strong-minded woman, or a woman with ideas
about rights and missions and all that kind of non-
I may as well tell you tha. it would be a hor-
rible disappointment to me-in fact, I could not en-
dure it.'
sense.
1
"I cannot be anything but what I am," answered
Diana. "No one has ever accused me of being strong-
minded;" and her thoughts went back to the happy
years in which she had been so beloved, so praised.
"I may say frankly that I hate a preaching woman,"
said the lord of the household.
"If we are to live
peacefully and enjoy the happiness that is supposed
to belong to the matrimonial state, you must check
all that. I tell you candidly that I am quite satisfied
with myself, and that I have no desire to change-not
the least in the world."
"You are certainly quite a new specimen of manhood
to me," retorted her ladyship, the disgust she felt very
plainly revealed in her words.
1
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P
If 1
"You knew what I was when you married me.
was good enough for you then, I ought to be good
enough now; and I may as well tell you at once that I
have no intention of altering my habits of life to please
you or anybody else."
There was one moral feat, however, that he did ac-
complish that evening-he kept sober. He resisted
the attractions of "brandy and soda." When the butler
brought it, he sent it away, and then felt as though he
were the very embodiment of all the virtues.
"I will go into the drawing-room with you to-night,"
he said, "it must be rather dull for you to be alone.
"I am never dull when I have the society of a book,”
rejoined Diana quickly.
"Another shot at me. You will get tired of firing in
time; I am positively armor-proof against such moral
bullets. Now be amiable, Diana, and sing to me."
"That you may sleep!" she thought to herself bit.
terly.
1)
Lord Clanronald accompanied his wife to the draw-
ing-room, and, stretching himself upon a luxurious
couch, waited patiently for Diana to charm him with
music and song. Her fingers wandered over the keys,
and the first words that came to her were these:
"Once in the days of golden weather,
Days that were always fair,
Love was the world we walked together-
Oh, what a love was there —
Fresh as a flow'r when rains are falling,
Pure as a child that prays-
· Once in the days beyond recalling,
Once in the golden days!
[
1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
359
"Ah, but the days brought changes after,
Clouds in the happy skies,
Care on the lips that curled with laughter,
Tears in the radiant eyes!
Parted asunder, worn with grieving,
Wearily each one prays,
Oh, for the days beyond recalling!
Oh, for the golden days!"
Her voice died away and her lips quivered. A sud-
den noise from the couch brought back her thoughts to
the present realities of her life, and, on turning round,
she saw her husband not only fast asleep, but breathing
heavily. She turned away, disconsolate and faint at
heart. She drew the hangings, lowered the lamps, and
went away silently and left him to his noisy slumbers.
*
CHAPTER XLIV
DIANA had been married a week, and she owned to
herself frankly that life had no illusions left. She
went into her dressing-room one morning when Susanne
was arranging her wardrobe. Amongst other things.
she saw the wedding-wreath she had worn on her mar-
riage morn laying on the table ready to be packed
away. She could hardly account for the impulse, and
she was heartily ashamed of it afterward; but she took
it in her hands and destroyed it, trampling the frag-
ments under her feet. She then laughed the most bit-
ter laugh that had ever passed her beautiful lips.
"I wish," she cried to herself, "that I could fing
the ring from my finger as easily as I have destroyed
that!"
She was wandering listlessly about the house, trying
to get interested in it, trying to become acquainted
with the various rooms and their uses. She endeavored
to feel some interest in what Towner, the butler, told
her about the plate, and what the housekeeper said
about the china and linen closets; but in her heart she
could not. In vain the housekeeper threw open door
after door; Diana scarcely looked at the contents of the
various closets that she was expected to admire.
"I should not think, my lady, that there is a finer
collection of antique china in England than this," said
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
361
the housekeeper. "Many of the lady visitors who come
here admire it immensely."
"It is very nice," allowed Lady Clanronald, absently.
To herself she said, "I wonder, if I had married a man
whom I loved, whether I should have been interested
in his china and glass?"
Presently she said she was tired, and would resume
the task of inspection on the morrow.
"Her heart is not in it," thought the housekeeper.
She retired to her own suite of rooms, and stood by
one of the windows, longing to be engaged in some-
thing, however trifling, to banish her miserable
thoughts, when she was suddenly startled by the cry of
an animal in pain. She hurried down stairs and made
at once for the lawn, whence the noise proceeded, and,
as she drew nearer, she felt sure that her favorite
spaniel, Floss, was in trouble. Until the day she died
Lady Clanronald never forgot the scene that presented
itself to her astonished eyes. Her husband was sitting
smoking under the shade of a stately elm. He had
set two dogs to fight, and was eagerly urging them on,
enjoying the combat with undisguised delight. For a
moment Diana was too horrified to speak when she
saw her pet dog being urged to fight with Carlo, the
big retriever belonging to Lord Clanronald. Up to
this time Floss had had the worst of it. He was torn
and bleeding, and Diana's soul rose up in arms when
she saw his condition.
his condition. Lord Clanronald laughed
aloud; it was excellent sport to him.
Diana's eyes literally flashed fire.
"Call off that big dog at once!" she cried.
"Quietly, Diana; I want to see the fight out. I
would wager five to one on Floss now."
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"Call off that retriever, or I will kill him!" she cried,
her eyes sparkling, her face flushed. "You contempti-
ble coward, to sit by and see a big dog punish a little
one! You are a miserable coward! I will kill your
dog if you do not call him off!"
He did not even seem to hear her, he was so busy
in urging on Floss. The little dog presented a pitiful
sight, with the cruel wounds inflicted by its more
powerful opponent. Then Diana ran to the rescue.
She looked like her namesake, the queenly huntress,
as, with one arm uplifted, she seized the black re-
triever and drew him away.
I
"Bravo, Diana-well done! I shall bet on you an-
other time, not on the dogs!"
She raised the poor little spaniel in her arms and
kissed it with passionate grief; then she walked up to
her husband, and with one stroke of her white hand,
gave him what she would have given any schoolboy—
a hearty box on the ears.
"You contemptible coward! You ought to be made
to suffer just what these dogs are suffering!"
He was too much astonished at first to reply to this
unexpected rebuke. He looked at her with his eyes
very wide open.
•
4
"My Lady Clanronald," he said then, "take care that
you never repeat such conduct!"
"My Lord Clanronald," she rejoined, with flashing
eyes, "take care that you do not repeat your offense!
If you set those dogs to fight again, I will brand you
as a coward before the whole world!"
He cowered before her bright, angry glance.
“Do you think," she asked, "that animals were cre-
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
363
ated in order that men might amuse
their torture?"
themselves by
"I have never thought about it," he said; "I do not
want to be cruel to the dogs. But, be that as it may,
Diana, you must not again behave like that to me."
She was a little ashamed of her exhibition of tem-
per, for she offered a half apology.
"I was wrong to act as I did," she said. "Nothing
could justify me; but you looked so contemptible, you
so big and strong, looking on while my little dog was
being mangled;" and she moved away with the dignity
of an outraged queen, carrying Floss in her arms.
Lord Clanronald was very sulky with her during the
remainder of the day; but Diana would not notice it.
The little dog suffered terribly, and one of the grooms
was dispatched for a veterinary surgeon, as it was
feared that Floss would die.
From the whispered comments of the groom and the
surgeon she gathered that it was not the first time his
lordship had distinguished himself by cruelty toward
animals. As she sat by the little dog, more than once
it flashed across Lady Clanronald's mind that he was
the worthier animal of the two. The housekeeper
nursed Floss in her own room, and told the horrified
young wife more than one story of his lordship's
wanton cruelty. Hitherto Diana had not actively dis-
liked him; she had been careless and indifferent; but
as the days passed by and she began to understand the
weak, vain, cruel, selfish nature more clearly she could
not help despising him.
Diana was little by little finding out the true char-
acter of the man she had promised to love and obey.
-
¿
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
He loved her more perhaps than anything in the
world, but he never studied her feelings or gave her the
least consideration. She must do exactly as he wished,
whether it suited her or not. In every case it was his
will, not hers, his pleasure, not hers, his convenience,
not hers. If she resented it, if she made the least at-
tempt to oppose him, she had to encounter a storm so
violent that for a time life was almost unendurable.
Well bred and refined, she detested "scenes," and the
least opposition on her part soon brought one about.
It was not worth while to suffer from the effects of
two or three hours' sullen or ferocious temper through
making an effort to save him from one of his acts of
stupidity or worse; so she gradually ceased to remon-
strate with him; he did as he liked, and said what he
would. She had not even begun in those dark days to
realize her pain; it was something so horrible, so dark,
that she could not gauge its depth.
Thus the first two weeks of her married life passed
away-two weeks of misery, unrelieved by a single
ray of happiness. One morning during the third week
of the honeymoon Lord Clanronald sought his wife
and told her that he thought it was time there should
be an end of all sentiment, and that they had better
ask a few people down.
"I was not aware that there was any sentiment,"
said Diana coldly. "If there has been, it has all been
on your side. You can invite as many people as you
please the more the better; I am quite as much bored
as yourself."
S
And Lord Clanronald felt a certain admiration for
his wife's spirit. He made no rejoinder, but sent out
his invitations.
CHAPTER XLV
(
LORD CLANRONALD stood on the lawn, smoking his
morning cigar. With him was his best friend—if such
an epithet could be applied to Captain Basil Egerton
of the Royal Horse Guards-one of the handsomest,
most accomplished and good-for-nothing men of the
day. Basil Egerton had already run through three
fortunes, and had darkened more homes and blighted
more lives than perhaps any man of his age. His
handsome, careless face wrought evil wherever he
went. He was one of those men who incline naturally
to evil, yet often redeem a wasted and ill spent life
by some heroic act at last-a man hated, yet liked,
proud rather than otherwise of his character. He
had been for years the intimate friend, guide, and
counselor of Lord Clanronald; there was no evil ex-
treme to which he had not led him; and now Basil
Egerton had condescended to stay for a week or two
at Ronald's Court, to help his trusted friend and com-
rade through the tedium of the honeymoon.
"Not that I should have found the honeymoon te-
dious, Ronald, with such a wife as yours," he was say-
ing. "She is the most beautiful woman in England;
bar none.
In your place, I should have enjoyed it.'
"I am glad you admire her," returned Lord Clan-
ronald. "She is a handsome woman, and high-spirited
too. But I have been thinking-and I am right for
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once in my life in the opinion I have formed that she
is too high-flown for me."
"I can imagine," said Basil Egerton, "that you find
her so."
"And so would you," retorted his lordship somewhat
sharply. "She was so perfectly beautiful in face and.
figure that I was carried off my feet, and I never
thought about what they call 'mind.' Indeed it is the
last thing I ever troubled about in anyone.
11
"Decidedly," agreed the captain.
"I find it out now," resumed Lord Clanronald. “She
is too high-flown for me altogether. She believes in
all kinds of romantic nonsense, would die at a dog-
fight, talks of sermons in stones and brooks, goes into
raptures over a half-blown rose, likes the early morn-
ing and the dew on the grass. Now what is the use of
such a wife to me?"
"Very true," said Basil Egerton. "But how is it you
did not discover this before?"
"I never thought of it. It was her face that fas-
cinated me and caused me to forget everything else."
"If her face was enough then, why is it not enough
now?" asked the captain.
"I am tired of it," replied his companion. "It is all
through this foolish custom of honeymoons.
I have
seen no one else, no other face for so long—a state of
things which brings about its own results."
Captain Egerton laughed at the thought of his
friend's matrimonial dilemma.
"You have done a thousnd times better than you de-
served," he said. "To tell you the truth, Ronald, my
great surprise is that you were able to win her; she
might have aimed much higher."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
367
"I do not consider that I was a bad match for her,"
rejoined Lord Clanronald, sullenly.
"Perhaps not. But she might have done much better
-she might indeed; and I wonder she did not."
Lord Clanronald looked straight into his friend's
face.
"Basil," he said—“do not be afraid of wounding my
feelings-tell me-do you think my wife loves me?"
"No," replied his friend; ."I should say most decid-
edly that she does not."
me
"She has money; she could not have married
for money. It was not for that, I am sure, nor for my
title for she thinks less of the title, as I happen to
know, than she does of the man.”
"For all that, it is a good old title," observed Basil
Egerton.
"I am proud of it; she is not," said Lord Clanronald.
'Now, Basil, you have a better knowledge of these
matters than I have, you understand women, and I do
not-tell me frankly, what do you think she` married
me for?"
"Frankly, I cannot," replied his friend. "I was puz-
zled when I saw her. She is a grand woman, noble
by nature; and you-well, to put it as lightly as I can,
you are essentially human. Tell me what you thought
she married you for. "
'I thought she was very fond of me," said Lord
Clanronald.
"Why do you not think so now?" asked the captain.
The other laughed a little uneasily.
"A man can soon tell if his wife cares for him. She
never seems to see me, but ignores me as much as she
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can; and her contemptuous looks when I venture to
speak tell me that she has not that love she ought to
have for me; I am less in her eyes than the grass on
which she treads." He thought of the box on the ear
that she had given him, but he did not mention it.
"Do you never see her lip curl when I speak?" he con-
tinued. “And I have just as much right to express my
opinions as she has. My own belief is that she has a
most horrible temper."
"No woman is worth anything without a touch of
temper," said Basil Egerton laughingly.
"It should never be shown to her husband then,
declared Lord Clanronald. "She might have as much
as she liked if she would only keep it from me."
"Pooh! I should never let my wife's temper trouble
me," said Captain Egerton, contemptuously.
"You don't understand. However, Basil, we have
been true friends, old comrades-you will not desert
me now? Stay with me until this month is over; then
I will, if possible, run over to Paris with you for a
week, just to disperse the mists a little."
"I will see you through it. Yours is the worst case
I know, Ronald. Most men get through their honey-
moon in one way or another; you are the only one I
know who has absolutely failed."
!
For his lordship had failed most signally. He could
no longer do without amusement and excitement; and
when he found that Diana took no interest in dog-
fights or in any of his favorite pastimes, he felt that he
was destitute of any resource wherewith to engage his
wife. He could not converse on any of the subjects in
which she was interested, no matter how much he tried.
SUNSHINE And roses
369
}
He hardly ever opened a book; the
really enjoyed was that which the
provided. It was little wonder then that he invited
friends to come to his rescue.
only reading he
sporting papers
0
Lord Alerton was another old comrade. In the course
of the previous year he had married a city heiress,
whose money had repaired the damage done to a large
inheritance by reckless extravagance. In return, he
treated her with good-natured contempt. Lady Alerton
herself was a nice, pretty girl without much mind, quite
content to pass through life worshiping her husband.
Lady Shafto, another invited guest, was an intri-
gante, suspected of knowing more than she ought of
political under currents, and even Cabinet secrets, a
brilliant and witty woman, whose mission in this
world seemed to be to amuse persons of the opposite
sex. She was very popular, and her bon mots were
repeated everywhere.
Miss Shafto had but one delight, and that was music.
She played and sung from morning until night, and
would even sing the night through were she permitted.
Sir Harry Dilke, the last invited guest, was a ponder-
ous, handsome Englishman who lived for sport, and
who seldom uttered a word on any other subject.
They were all just a little in awe of the beautiful,
stately mistress of Ronald's Court.
Court. Diana had no
smiles for the men, Lord Clanronald's friends, whom
she disliked instinctively. Lady Alerton had no spe-
cial characteristics; there was nothing in her either to
love or to hate. Her life was simply engrossed in that
of her husband; she had no interest away from him.
Lady Shafto was a most brilliant companion; but then
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she preferred the society of the other sex. Still, un-
congenial as these people were, they were better than
life a deux; and Lord Clanronald was quite in his el-
'ement. They were a new type to Diana, these men
who lived so entirely for their own amusement, whose
sole idea of life was simply to enjoy its pleasures.
She could not help feeling a kind of contempt for
them. Her father, even with three millions of money
at his command, had never been idle, but had always
found something useful and honorable; Sir Royal read
and studied: Richard was always hard at work; while
Sir Lisle filled his life with the highest and noblest
pursuits. She had never been thrown into the society
of idle men, and their habits surprised her. They did
not know what the sweetness and freshness of the morn-
ing air was like; it was doubtful whether any one of
them had ever cared to see the sun rise, or knew any-
thing of the beauty of the morning skies. Except
when "sport" was the order of the day, they rose late,
consumed vast quantities of "brandy and soda," lounged
about until luncheon-time, brightened up then, rode or
drove, dined well, and sat up until the early hours.
of the morning playing billiards. She, who loved
early rising, activity of mind and body, hardly un-
derstood such a profitless life. She said nothing; but
she looked at them at times with a gleam of scorn in
her flashing eyes, and in some vague way that look
acted upon them like the lash of a whịp.
>
}
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www
+
CHAPTER XLVI
THERE was nothing that Diana missed in her new
home more than the terrace at Ferness. At Ronald's
Court the drawing-room opened on to a well-kept
lawn, smooth as velvet, with a few grand old cedars
forming a somber background. A fountain stood in the
center of the lawn and threw its crystal jets into the
air, the sun's rays tinting the spray as it fell. 'Here
and there was a statue; chairs and garden-seats stood
at the base of the stately trees; on one side the sweet
syringa and the white acacia mingled their foliage.
The spot was picturesque enough, but it was not like
the terrace at Ferness.
In the evening the large glass doors were thrown
open, and the guests went in and out at their pleasure.
Miss Shafto seldom left the piano, and the music
sounded delightfully soothing as it was carried along
by the gentle breeze.
7
"Ronald," said Captain Egerton, "you ought to be
ashamed of yourself! Look at your wife sitting there
alone!"
"She likes to be alone," he answered. "I always
have an idea that she would rather be alone than with
me."
"Nonsense! Let us join her," urged the other.
He was an admirer of beautiful women, this hand-
some, worthless man; and Diana, as she sat apart, her
371
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
•
dress of light-blue brocade lying in graceful folds about
her, was striking enough to attract a less impression-
able man than Basil Egerton. He could not keep
away from her-and yet he was never quite at ease
when near her. His ignoble nature, recognizing the
purity of hers, almost quailed before her unsullied
goodness. She never uttered a word of rebuke-in-
deed she said little to him at any time-but the gleam
of her eyes, the haughty curl of her lips, were far more
eloquent than words. In her own mind she resented
with hot indignation the admiring glances that he gave
her. He never won from proud Diana a single smile
in return. She knew little of the lives of such men as
Basil Egerton; but her own innate sense of delicacy
made him repugnant to her. Now, as Ronald and he
came toward her, she did not raise her eyes, but
shrunk instinctively from her husband and his friend.
"A lovely night, Diana," said his lordship.
Diana was unhappy, and the loveliness around her
only intensified the misery she suffered. She deigned
no reply to her husband, and relapsed into the reverie.
in which she had been indulging.
"Where is Miss Shafto?" asked Lord Clanronald,
"Let us have some music. I should like something
more cheerful than the murmuring of the wind."
"I will find Miss Shafto, and ask her to sing for us,"
said the captain; and he went away, leaving husband
and wife alone.
"What a glorious face! But how proud she is! One
look from her eyes is enough to make a man shake in
his shoes," the captain thought.
He found Lady Shafto talking in her most entranc
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
373
ing style to Lord Alerton, and stopped for a few min-
utes to speak to her.
'Our hostess looks like a beautiful statue," she re-
marked, glancing toward Diana.
Basil Egerton turned his eyes in the same direction,
and then asked:
"Do you think, Lady Shafto, that any power on
earth could make that woman feel?"
"I do," she answered. "When my daughter was sing-
ing last night, I saw tears in her eyes."
"Tears in Lady Clanronald's eyes!" he cried. "Ex-
cuse me, Lady Shafto-I can never fancy such proud,
bewitching eyes softened by tears."
"I have seen them so," said Lady Shafto.
"She has the most lovely face I have ever seen," he
said; "but it has always been proud and cold to me.
I should like to see it as you say."
·
"You can, if you watch her while my daughter
sings," returned Lady Shafto.
"Just as I thought," he said to himself, as he saun-
tered away.
"She is full of romance and poetry, and
she beats it down with an iron hand. Why did she
marry poor Ronald? There never was such a mis-
taken marriage."
He found Miss Shafto, and told her that there was
a general request for some music; and then he re-
turned to his host and hostess, who still occupied the
seat under the syringa.
He stood near them, speak-
ing now and then to Lord Clanronald, while he
watched Diana's face. He was determined to find out
for himself whether this beautiful woman had a heart
to be moved, for he was interested in her.
.
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Presently there came floating over the lawn the pre-
lude of a melancholy song, soft, sad, and sweet. The
words fell clearly upon the ears of the trio:
"He was one man in the whole wide world,
Yet the whole wide world to me;
And I was a flow'r he stooped to take,
Because it bloomed on the lea.
1
"He held my life in his careless hand,
As God holds our souls, we hear;
I led his moods by a silken string
For the space of half a year.
“And he was a man as few men are,
Loyal and courteous and gay;
I hung on his pleasure night and day,
And worshiped him near or far.
"What does it matter how things go wrong
When there are a hundred ways?
What does it matter how it began?
11
It set both our hearts ablaze.
4
Could she feel? Did she feel? Basil Egerton could not
tell, for she rose suddenly and walked to a little dis-
tance, and did not return until the last chord had died
away. Was it because she was indifferent to the pa·
thos of the words, or because she could not bear them?
He must know. She interested him more than any-
one he had ever met and he was determined to fathom
her character, to see if there were in her any capabil-
ity for love, deep, passionate love. He was firmly rc-
solved to find out why she had married this man whom
he knew to be worthless; and then-well, even in his
boldest thoughts he had not decided what might fol
✔
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
375
*
low. As he stood watching her, he thought of Owen
Meredith's beautiful ballad, "La Marquise: "
"Could we find out her heart through that velvet and
lace?
Can it beat without ruffling her sumptuous dress?
She will show us her shoulders, her neck, and her face,
But what the heart's like we must guess.
"With live women and men to be found in the world—
Live with sorrow and sin, live with pain and pas-
sion-
Who could live with a doll, though its locks should be
curled,
And its petticoats trimmed in the fashion?
"Tis so fair; would my bite, if I bit it, draw blood?
Will it cry if I hurt it, or scold if I kiss?
Is it made in its beauty of wax or of blood?
Is it worth while to guess at all this?"
He laughed as he remembered the words; but the
loveliness on which he gazed was not like that of
Mme. la Marquise. There were life and fire and pas-
sion in it. He caught a glimpse of Lady Clanronald's
face as the notes of a martial ballad came pealing out;
it was alive with intensity of feeling and passion:
·
"So fresh and fair and dimpled,
But, oh, what a soul there lies,
Melting to liquid agate
K
Those tender womanly eyes!
"How it quickens under the music,
As if at a breath divine!
And the ripening lips departed,
Drink in the sound like wine."
Ah, yes, womanly feeling was there!
All the pride
•
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and coldness might try to hide it, but they did not;
there were poetry, romance, and passion in the lovely
face.
ما
Miss Shafto's melodious voice came floating across
the lawn again. This time she was singing a ballad
of autumn:
"All through the golden weather,
Until the autumn fell,
Our lives went by together,
So wildly and so well.
"But autumn's wind uncloses
The heart of all your flow'rs;
I think as with the roses
So hath it been with ours.
"Like some divided river
Your ways and mine will be
To drift apart forever-
Forever till the sea.
And yet for one word spoken,
One whisper of regret,
The dream had not been broken,
And love were with us yet.
Surely Diana grew paler! Surely that was a quiver
of pain on those perfect lips!
"The dream had not been broken,
And love were with us yet,’"
repeated Basil Egerton, as he drew near to her. "Life
is nothing but broken dreams. Ah, Lady Clanronald,
those are happiest who live neither in the past nor in
the future, neither in dreams nor in hopes, but in the
present!"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
377
Lady Clanronald did not wear her heart on her
sleeve for such as he, and was certainly not to be
caught by any clap-trap sentiment. He might try to
test her as he would, he could never sound the depths
of her character. He might as well have tried to
fathom the depth of the ocean with a six-foot line. She
seemed to know instinctively that he was watching
her, that he was endeavoring to discover the secret of
her life, and she closed more proudly and resolutely
the door of her heart against him.
"Have you solved your problem, Captain Egerton?"
asked Lady Shafto that evening.
"No; I am further from the solution than ever. You
might as well ask me if I could catch the shadows that
fall and shift by moonlight on the lake."
Lady Shafto smiled. She had a far clearer percep-
tion of what manner of woman Diana was than this
man of the world had.
"I have a faint idea," she said,
less for you to make any further
tion."
"that it will be use-
study in that direc-
"It is always allowable to study one's friends and to
discuss them," replied Egerton, in his careless manner.
"Ever since I have been here I have sought to find out
why a woman like her should have married my old
friend."
"And you cannot?" she said.
"I cannot," he confessed.
"I also have failed," said Lady Shafto; "but I am
certain of one thing-and that is, she did not marry
him for love."
"She did not want money, either; and I should say
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"
that she had a choice of titles.
some particular reason for her
There must have been
selecting Clanronald."
"I wonder," said Lady Shafto, "why you take such
an interest in the matter!"
"For my old friend's sake, to begin with," answered
the captain, "and, to end with, for my own."
The doubtful smile on Lady Shafto's face annoyed
him.
"You think it is time wasted?" he said.
"I do," she replied, significantly. "Lady Clanronald
is not a woman who will ever condescend to flirt; she
is far too proud and too stately.
"You may also add too cold," said the captain.
Lady Shafto smiled again.
"}
"I like speaking in allegories," she said. “The sun-
flower opens its heart to the sun, not to the moon or
the stars.
And Captain Basil Egerton had to unravel that riddle
as best he could.
CHAPTER XLVII
*
A
WHO could tell the story of Diana's repentance and
remorse? Who could describe her anguish, her shame,
and her despair? Before the honeymoon had termi-
nated, Diana, Lady Clanronald, admitted to herself that,
so far as she knew the world of men, there was in it
no character so despicable as that of the man she had
married. She felt that she could have respected him
more had his vices been greater. His faults were, she
realized bitterly, mean, ignoble. She had made at the
beginning some faint effort to check the display of
his vices.
If he said anything glaringly false, mean, or out of
place in her presence, she rebuked him; but, as the re-
buke led generally to a volley of bad language, she
soon learned to pass by such things in perfect silence.
When she came face to face with the deadly truth, and
recognized the fact that she was to spend the remain-
der of her life with this man, that there was no escape,
no reprieve, that her life, her interest, her duties must
be one with his, she became reckless and was filled
with despair, and the deepest pain was caused by the
remembrance that the result had been brought about
by herself, that the suffering she had intended for Lady
Cameron had been visited with tenfold severity upon
herself.
"I was at fault, and must bear it," she would say to
379
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
' herself, with despairing bitterness. "I have no one
else to blame."
The passionate heart beat in futile rebellion; her
whole nature jarred and was out of tone. There was
nothing for it but submission. So the Diana of Fer-
ness died inch by inch day by day-yet not without a
struggle. Some women who find themselves unhappily
married seek forgetfulness in restless, reckless excite.
ment; others endeavor to win admiration, flattery, and
distinction; while there are those who try to drown
their misery in a course of dissipation, drawing down
upon themselves shame and degradation beyond words,
and by a wretched life preparing for a still more
wretched death.
Diana tried various means of consolation, but found
none. She was proud, defiant, and imperious; she re-
fused openly to obey her husband's unreasonable de-
mands. She showed unreservedly her contempt for
his faults; she showed still more openly her want of
love or even respect for him.
But Lord Clanronald overcame her opposition by
mere brute force. He knew how she detested the idea
of their disputes and quarrels being known to the house-
hold, and his method of retaliation was to shout at
her loudly in the presence of her servants. Proud Di-
ana could not endure that; anything rather than looks
of sympathy and pity on faces that should wear noth-
ing but respect! Her husband had been quick-witted
enough to find out that, and it was one of what he
called his "methods of managing her." Diana, who
raised her head and looked at him defiantly when they
were alone, proud Diana, who would not have winced
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
381
had he held a knife
a knife to her breast, shuddered and
cowered when a volley of bitter, horrible words was
poured out in the presence of servants. It was a ter-
rible humiliation.
So, day after day, the weariness of her life increased.
It might have been so different, the days of "sunshine
and roses" might still have been with her, and life
made tenfold more joyous by the love of him she had
banished forever. She had thrown away her happiness
in order to be revenged on two women she disliked.
Lady Cameron did not suffer much. Evadne had suf-
fered more. But she herself had paid for her ques-
tionable triumph by the misery of her whole life.
When she reflected on the terrible mistake she had
made, that she was bound to a man whom she could
never esteem, like, or even respect, she felt stunned
and helpless under the crushing weight of her Own
misery. She grew thin, pale, and languid; the robust
health which had never failed her before could not with-
stand the constant and ever-increasing strain upon it.
What could she do-on which side seek comfort or
oblivion? She was too young to take life philosoph-
ically, too impetuous, too much in love with life, to be
able to forego all happiness in it at once. She had not
yet suffered enough to induce her to throw herself on
the mercy and pity of heaven.
When the honeymoon was ended and the visitors
had dispersed, she longed for the forgetfulness that
excitement brings. She thought that, if she could
only occupy herself both night and day, she could
deaden the pain that was wearing away her heart.
"I should like to go to Paris," she said to Lord
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
Clanronald, when the end of June found them once
more alone.
A terrible deadness had fallen over them, now that
the last of the guests had departed. Summer sun and
flowers, song of bird and rush of river, would never
more gladden Diana. The eyes that looked over the
landscape were wearied with weeping and dim with
sorrow. Lord Clanronald assented readily to his wife's
proposition; and to Paris they went; and there the
beautiful Lady Clanronald soon became the reigning
beauty. Men were intoxicated with her loveliness;
even women raved about it, and envied her.
She was
the most feted and popular woman in Paris, At first
Lord Clanronald was proud of the admiration excited
by his wife; he felt that the homage paid to her was
in part paid to him; but after a time he became jeal-
ous of it.
1
V
11
"In a short time I shall have no name and no station
of my own left," he said. "I shall be known only as
Lady Clanronald's husband,
It had been arranged that they should remain in
Paris until the London season began, and then they
were to go to Lord Clanronald's town residence, Rine
hill House, for the season.
The remainder of that year passed like a dream to
Diana. Husband and wife were rarely together. His
time was spent in drinking, in playing billiards, in any
kind of amusement or dissipation that came in his way;
hers in one round of gayety and pleasure. When they
met, it was to disagree and exchange hard and bitter
words.
"The fact is," Lord Clanronald would say, "you are
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
383
so flattered by what these foolish Frenchmen say about
your face that you want someone to speak a few rough
truths to you."
"If that be the case, no one can speak such truths
better than yourself," Diana, would answer.
With his denser intelligence, he could not always
follow Diana's scorn; but, with these angry feelings
growing on either side, it was plain that the gulf be-
tween them widened day by day. As love brings love,
so dislike creates dislike. A woman of inferior nature,
of meaner soul, of a lower type of character, would
have been much more suited to Lord Clanronald-
would, in all probability, have made a better man of
him.
1
A
There were times during that year when Diana would
clasp her hands in wondering despair at what she had
become. She dared not look back upon her past; she
dared not think of Sir Lisle. She tried to fill her nights
and her days with increasing gayeties. Letters came.
from her father and Richard; but they lay for days un-
opened-for she wished to forget Ferness and her sim-
ple, happy life there. The girl was dead and buried
who had sung of sunshine and roses, and had won-
dered how any living creature could find life dull.
Then, when April came, with its budding primroses
and delicately-perfumed violets, Lord Clanronald and
his wife arrived in London, where Lady Clanronald
soon became the leader in the most fashionable cote-
ries, as she had been in the gay French capital. Her
social success was all the greater because she cared so
little for it. Her proud independence made as many
conquests as her beauty; she was a queen who never
f
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}
stooped to win homage, yet to whom everyone paid
it. No ball, fete, or party was complete without her.
To know her was an honor; not to know her argued
one's self unknown. There was nothing in all London
so eagerly coveted as the entrée to Rinehill House.
During that season husband and wife drifted even
further apart. Lord Clanronald spent the greater part
of his time at his club; he took to drinking more deeply
and led a more openly depraved life; while his beauti-
ful wife, hating her galling chains more and more every
day, was engrossed in an unceasing round of gayeties.
In the month of May Mr. Cameron and Lady Cam-
eron came up to the house in Carlton Gardens; and
7
then indeed there was war to the knife. between Diana
and her step-mother. Lady Clanronald repaid in full
every slight that Lady Cameron had ever inflicted on
her.
Common courtesy made it impossible to avoid asking
her step-mother to her balls and state dinners; but she
was rigidly excluded from the charming and select
gatherings that were the delight of those who were
favored by being allowed to participate in them; she
was kept outside the sacred circle-and no punishment
could have been greater than that to the haughty Lady
Cameron. Evadne had not returned to England; Thea
had declined to accompany her mother, having no
great desire to leave the neighborhood where Richard
Marche resided; so that the two ladies fought out the
battle alone; and Lady Cameron, despite the vast
wealth of the man she had married, found that her
younger and more beautiful rival completely eclipsed
her.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
385
There was a painful moment when Peter Cameron
and his daughter met. He looked at the imperially
beautiful woman before him, hardly recognizing his
daughter.
"Diana," he cried, “my dear, how changed you are.
I hardly knew you."
She grew very pale as she approached him, and a
vivid vision of the happy past seemed to rise before.
her. Her lips quivered and her hands trembled; she
looked at him with a smile that could not hide the
desolation of her heart.
"I have forgotten Diana," she said. "It seems to me
long years since I knew Diana Cameron. I am Lady
Clanronald now."
And Peter Cameron knew then, when he looked into
his daughter's face, that, despite her beauty, her
wealth, her position, and what was thought to be her
brilliant marriage, she was a miserable woman.
CHAPTER XLVIII
THE season came to an end like a fevered dream.
No one had been more surprised at his daughter's
great social success than Peter Cameron; but, as he
said pathetically to his wife, there was nothing of the
old Diana left. Diana at Ferness had loved him, had
talked to him for hours together, had told him every
thought of her innocent heart, had put her arms lov-
ingly round his neck, while she spoke to him of all
that interested her. Lady Clanronald was quite a
different person. She was reticent and reserved with
him; she never spoke of herself or her affairs; she never
told him whether she was happy or unhappy; she
never alluded to her husband. There was a dismal
gulf between father and child which nothing could
bridge over.
↑
Several times it happened that Peter Cameron had
seen Lord Clanronald intoxicated, and he had spoken.
on the subject to his daughter, but she always evaded
it.
"It must be very unpleasant for you, Diana,” he said
She laughed at the word "unpleasant"-it was sc
weak, so inappropriate.
"People marry for better or worse, and it seems to
me that it is more frequently worse than better," she
replied.
"You should speak to him, Diana. Drinking is a
386
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387
habit that grows on a man, sometimes almost insen-
sibly. Talk to him, my dear," Mr. Cameron advised.
"I will do my best," she replied, turning away.
She told him nothing of the loathing and hatred with
which this vice filled her. She did not tell him that
she would far rather face a wild beast than her husband
when he had too much drink. Of what use to speak
or to complain? She had married for pride and for
spite, instead of love; what could she expect?
Lady Cameron, although she tried hard, did not
learn any of Diana's secrets. The world was shy of
saying anything against Lord Clanronald, a man with
such a house, such a fortune-above all, such a wife.
Lady Cameron had heard one or two whispers in so-
ciety about him. She knew that he had been purpose-
ly omitted from a dinner-party where a royal prince
was expected, lest he should forget himself and cause
annoyance. She alluded once or twice to the matter;
but Lady Clanronald would not even pretend to un-
derstand her.
Mr. Cameron, when the season was over, asked Di-
ana-indeed almost besought her to visit Ferness
with her husband. He promised that there should be
a large party to meet her, and that everything possi-
ble should be done to make her happy. She raised her
face to his; but there was no trace of pleasure at the
mention of the name that had once been so dear to
her.
"I do not think I shall ever see Ferness again," she
said. "If I do, it will not be for many years."
"Why not, Diana?" he asked, dismayed and aston-
ished. "Ferness is your home; Ferness will be yours
some day. Why not?"
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"Because," she answered slowly, "every part of it
would be haunted by the ghost of my dead self; and I
am not strong enough to meet that dead self yet."
"Oh, Dian, what does that mean? Open your heart
to me; tell me about yourself."
She drew away from him proudly.
•
"I have nothing to tell, nothing to say, papa, ex-
cept that I cannot go to Ferness. You must excuse
me; I have an engagement. Good-bye."
He sighed heavily when she had gone.
"I would give anything in the world," he said to
himself, "for one glimpse of my daughter Diana, of
her old self. This stately woman is a stranger to me."
But he did not see her alone again, and the secret
of Diana's life remained with her.
Mr. Cameron was not very happy after that, and
whenever he spoke of his daughter to Lady Cameron it
was with a sigh and a shake of the head; her brilliant
triumph and great social success would never more in-
terest him.
There was no mention of going to Ronald's Court,
although just then, the end of June, it was at its fair-
est. Cowes, Ryde, anywhere where the fashionable
world congregated, where gayety prevailed, anywhere
away from solitude and thought, was to be infinitely
preferred, so far as Diana was concerned. In those
days she dreaded to be alone; all she studied was how
best to banish her troubles; and she believed that her
object would be achieved by surrounding herself by
people who could amuse her. Alonc, she could not
thrust back her thoughts, she could not keep them un-
der control; they would always revert to Ferness, to
·
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
389
the dearly loved rose-garden and conservatory, to Sir
Lisle.
Ah, heaven! if the time could but return-if she
could but begin again, even from that evening when
she had stood in the conservatory and overheard the
conversation that had changed the whole current of her
life. How mad she had been. Now that she had at-
tained her vengeance, how small a thing it seemed! It
was worthless.
So for many months after her luckless marriage Lady
Clanronald plunged into the very vortex of fashionable
gayety.
"I thought I was a rich man," her husband said to
her one day, "but you make an inroad into the Clan-
ronald revenues, Diana.
!
"
"I am glad to hear it," she answered.
"I wonder," he said, looking at her thoughtfully,
"when you will stop. When I knew you first, I ad-
mired your freedom from all the follies of fashion.
Now there is not a woman in England who goes ahead
When will you stop?"
So.
"When I am tired," she replied, briefly.
"I believe you," said Lord Clanronald. "It will not
be until then."
"Then," came sooner than either of them antici-
pated. It came, too, in the strangest place.
A gay party had gone down to Brighton for a few
weeks, and were staying at the Norfolk Hotel, just for
the sea-breezes and for one or two gatherings that had
been arranged in the neighborhood.
One evening Lady Clanronald, feeling symptoms of a
severe headache, avoided her companions, and went
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
on to the West Pier alone. The sea was as calm as a
lake; the tide was in, and the water washed languidly
against the iron pillars of the pier. Seeking one of
the loneliest spots, she watched the brilliant colors of
the evening sky reflected on the water, the white sails
of the little boats, the gentle rise and fall of the water,
the ripple that the wind left on the bosom of the sea.
The peace, the beauty, the poetry and grandeur of
the scene sunk into her heart. Her reckless gayety
fell from her like a worn-out garment. A sudden un-
utterable weariness of it all took possession of her, and
her soul sickened at the thought of it. Parties, balls,
fetes-all the frivolities she had so eagerly sought were
now less than nothing in her eyes.
How could such trifles have interested her? How
once thought to fill her life with
deeds-how could she have been
hours that should have been
could she, who had
lofty aims and noble
content to waste the
treasured?
Never again, she determined, should her time be
thus spent. There was no peace to be found in such an
empty, aimless existence. She could, in fact, never
more seek forgetfulness in gayety. There must be some
other method of making life more bearable, some high-
er and nobler resource, surely, than this.
But little time elapsed before those who surrounded
her observed that a marked change had come over her.
Her face had lost its restless brilliancy, her eyes were
calmer, and an air of peaceful resignation seemed to
take possession of her.
She endeavored to persuade her husband to go to
Ronald's Court. She had made a desperate resolve to
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
391
repair her past unhappy mistake. She would try to
make the best of her ill-assorted union-and it was
the first time in her unhappy married life that she had
found courage to entertain such a resolve-she would
try to interest herself in her tenants, in the duties con-
nected with the estate, in doing good, in an endeavor
to alleviate the sufferings of the poor. That was more
like her old ideal of happiness, more like the kind of
life she had once mapped out for herself.
Lord Clanronald was very unwilling to go to Ron-
ald's Court; but Diana told him, with a softening of
her proud face, that she wanted to be happier, that
she was tired of the perpetual round of gayeties, tired
of frivolity, tired of the faces around her. She wanted
to go home to Ronald's Court and see whether she
could not find something more congenial and profitable
to do there.
He sneered at first.
"You are going in for the quixotic, Diana," he said.
"It will not suit you; but you can try it."
"I should like to be a little happier," she answered,
with a wistful look in her eyes.
"I will give you carte blanche," said Lord Clanronald.
"I will fill the house with my own friends, and you
shall go your own way."
So it was agreed; and they went to Ronald's Court.
Diana tried to redeem her life by active and praise-
worthy work. Just as she had drowned her care and
remorse in a whirl of gayeties, so she now sought to
drown them in working for and serving others. She
soon knew everyone on the estate. She had a school
built for the children, a row of almshouses for the aged
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+
poor.
She was busied from morning until night with
plans for the good and the benefit of others. She was
now far less unhappy than she had been since her wed-
ding; and if Lord Clanronald had been different, their
marriage might not have been so disastrous as it was.
Always more or less addicted to drink, he now became
more confirmed in his evil habit, and that fact raised
an insuperable barrier between them.
There were times when Diana went in search of her
husband her mind full of some worthy enterprise, for
the carrying out of which she was compelled to ask
his consent or get his signature, only to find him
either angry at being disturbed, or asleep.
There was one relief came to her at Ronald's Court.
Lord Clanronald went away for weeks together, leav-
ing her alone. But for those periodical reprieves, it
seemed to her impossible that she could have lived.
CHAPTER XLIX
FIVE years had passed since Diana Cameron became
Lady Clanronald. They had brought many changes
to her, but few to Ferness. The most remarkable event
which had happened there was the marriage of Thea
Scarsdale and Richard Marche. At one time Lady
Cameron would have opposed such a marriage with all
her power-would have refused to hear a word about
it; but the years had softened her, and the chastening
influence of time was visible in the daily life of the
once proud and revengeful Lady Cameron.
She had however a sore trial in her daughter Evadne,
who returned from her visit to the duchess soured and
imbittered. She had really loved Lord Clanronald,
and she had so entirely set her mind on being mistress.
of all his wealth and of Ronald's Court, that the dis-
appointment was a terrible blow to her.
To Lady
Cameron's dismay, it had even affected her beauty.
"If you are not very careful, Evadne," said that wise
lady, "you will lose all your good looks."
"They have done but little for me," was the gloomy
rejoinder.
"There is still a bright future before you," said
Lady Cameron.
"I do not think so," replied Evadne. "I loved Lord
Clanronald; I shall never love another half so much."
393
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"If I were in your place, I should try to forget all
about him," said Lady Cameron.
$
"Even if I could forget him, I should never be hap-
py again while Diana enjoys her triumph," declared
Evadne. "It seems a wicked thing to say; but I really
believe that I should be happy if I thought she were
miserable."
"Then I think you may comfort yourself on that
score, Evadne," said Lady Cameron, with a significant
smile.
Evadne looked up eagerly.
"Do you not think Diana is happy, mamma?”
"I should say most certainly not," replied Lady
Cameron, impressively. "To tell you the truth, Evadne,
I am as much mystified now as ever to decide why
she married Lord Clanronald. There was not a single
element in the marriage to make it a happy one."
"It serves her right," said Evadne, vindictively. "I
shall always believe that she did not care for him her-
self, but that, seeing I did, she took him away pur-
posely from me.
"She has her reward, if that was the case," replied
Lady Cameron; "but I never understood the marriage
from the first, and I never shall."
It was not long after this that Lady Cameron began
to notice a great change in her other daughter. Thea,
who had always been proud, cold, engrossed rather
in herself than in others-Thea, whose abrupt and at
times almost brusque frankness had made her disagree-
able to those about her-by degrees became more gen-
tle, more amiable, more thoughtful; and all these good
qualities seemed to ripen under the cheerful, honest,
"}
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
395
sunny influence of Richard Marche, one of the most
simple and earnest of men. Miss Scarsdale had from
the first been struck by the upright, manly integrity
that was revealed in his every word and action; she
was impressed by his abhorrence and hatred of every-
thing mean, by his contempt for all the mere accidents
of birth and wealth, and by his sturdy, independent
spirit.
Two more opposite characters could hardly exist than
Thea Scarsdale and Richard Marche; but that very
fact perhaps attached them more to each other. Thea
could not realize the genuineness of her own thoughts.
when she owned to herself that she loved Richard,
and that she would rather marry him for love than wed
a peer of the realm for his money. It seemed incred-
ible to her that she, who had been reared in the very
atmosphere of worldly wisdom, should even think of
marrying for love.
But Richard returned her love and everything else was
a matter of indifference to Thea. Richard had soon
found out all the good qualities that lay hidden be-
neath the girl's proud and cold exterior. He did not.
seem to think that he was asking for anything un-
usual when he told Lady Cameron that
marry her daughter. She looked up at
wonder.
J
he wished to
him in blank
"Marry my daughter," she exclaimed-"my Thea?
How can you make such a request? If my daughters
marry at all, they will marry into the peerage.
"I do not think Thea will,” he said. "She loves
me, and will marry me, I hope."
"Not if I can prevent it!" she replied, with the full
assertion of her dignity.
")
4
396
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
}
Lady Cameron talked the matter over
evening with Mr. Cameron.
"It is too great a
have trained my
"I cannot think of it," she said.
disappointment to me. You see, I
daughters purposely to marry
marry well, and I expect
nothing less than a peerage for them. I cannot en-
tertain the idea for a moment."
that same
mg
"I cannot buy Rich a peerage, but I can give him a
fortune," remarked the millionaire; "and, if he marries.
Thea, I will do so. Barton Moss Manor-house is to be
sold," he continued, "and there is a large estate with
it. I was thinking only last week that, if I had some
one to put in it, I would purchase it. Richard Marche
of Barton Moss Manor-house will make his way in the
world, I feel certain."
"It is not a suitable match for Thea," said Lady
Cameron disconsolately. "I always thought she would
marry an earl at the least. She is not beautiful, like
Evadne; but there is an air of distinction about her
that almost surpasses beauty."
"You must think it over," counseled Mr. Cameron.
"The more I think of it," said her ladyship, frankly,
"the more I shall dislike it. I really could not sanc-
tion such a mesalliance. I shall take both girls to
London in the spring, and there Thea will find some-
one more worthy of her."
And in that fond delusion her ladyship remained for
some time.
When the season came, Thea enjoyed it with all her
heart. She lost no opportunity of enjoying the pleas-
ures and gayeties offered her, but she remained true to
Richard Marche. And Lady Cameron knew that her
1
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397
ambition was quite hopeless when her daughter said:
“Oh, mamma, I shall be glad to leave London and
go home to Ferness and Rich!"
Lady Cameron had hoped to find an ally in Evadne;
but, when she appealed to her, the girl said, simply:
"If she likes him, mamma, let her marry him. I wish
I had married Lord Clanronald!"-and she sighed as
she finished the sentence.
"It is such a poor match for Thea," Lady Cameron
continued, piteously.
"She will have plenty of money, mamma, and a good
husband; matters might be worse," replied her daugh-
ter.
"She will never be anything but Mrs. Marche all
her life. Think of that, Evadne!" Lady Cameron ob-
jected.
But, when her ladyship found that she was really
vanquished, she gave in with a good grace.
"It is not much of a choice, my dear," she said to
Thea; "but if you still persist in it, I will not refuse
my consent.
"1
When Richard heard this, he kissed Lady Cameron's
hand for the first time.
"Thank you," he said frankly. "I know that I have
not title and high birth; but I shall make a name for
myself, and I shall valuc it much more than a name that
might have been made for me. I intend to stand for
the county; and, if I live, and all goes well with me,
you shall yet be proud of your son-in-law, Lady Cam-
eron."
"I hope so," she returned, faintly. "Certainly enter-
ing Farliament gives a man a certain social status."
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were
So in due course of time Thea and Richard
married- and installed in the old Manor-house at Bar-
ton Moss, which Peter Cameron had furnished magnifi-
cently for them. And then Richard had his hands full
of business. He managed the whole of Peter Cam-
eron's estates as well as his own, and soon made himself
one of the leading men of the county. He told his
wife one day, with a smiling face, that the Duke of
Stone had actually sought his acquaintance, but that
he was not quite sure whether he could spare time to
cultivate his grace's or not-at which Thea opened her
eyes; but she liked her husband all the better for his
independence.
As time passed on, Mrs. Marche found herself one
of the magnates of the county; and Lady Cameron ad-
mitted to herself that her daughter could not have
made a better choice.
-
Many troubled and wearisome days had her lady-
ship with Evadne. The girl was never pleased, never
contented; a settled melancholy seemed to have taken
possession of her. She retained her fair, glittering
beauty, but she bore the traces of disappointment on
her face. It was strange that she should have cared so
much for Lord Clanronald, a man who was not hand-
some, and who was the reverse of brilliant in intellect.
True, she was not of a very refined or sensitive nature;
but if she had known him as he really was, if she had
understood his character, she could not have loved
him. She had many admirers, and received several
eligible offers of marriage; but the one man she had
cared for had passed out of her life, and she turned
away discontented from all others,
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
399
In time, however, there came a lover on whom she
seemed inclined to smile. The Marquis de Vere was
very wealthy, kind-hearted, and generous. He was of
good descent, was the happy possessor of two or three
extensive estates, was only forty years of age, and had
buried his first wife six months after their marriage.
He was tall, not good-looking, but with a kindly, well-
preserved face, keen, bright eyes, and a pleasant smile
-"the kind of man," Lady Cameron was fond of ob-
serving, "who would be quite sure to
quite sure to make a good
husband."
The Marquis de Vere laid his fortune and coronet at
Evadne's feet.
"You had better take him, my dear," counseled her
mother. "I do not know that you will do any better."
CHAPTER L
THE marriage was over, and the Marchioness de
Vere had left Ferness. She was as happy as she was
ever likely to be again in this world. Peter Cameron
treated her royally; he gave her a dowry that would
have befitted the daughter of a duchess, and Lady
Cameron's heart was at rest. Her two daughters were
now married, and, if the eldest had not made a very
brilliant match, she had secured many solid advan-
tages, while Evadne had taken one of the best prizes
in the matrimonial market. She always spoke of Mrs.
Marche, the wife of the popular member for the county,
with great satisfaction, and of the Marchioness de Vere
with unbounded pride and pleasure.
So at length Mr. Cameron and Lady Cameron were
left alone. By this time the friendship of the Duke
and Duchess of Stone had become a familiar and es-
tablished fact, and the happy owner of three millions
of money had now nothing left on earth to wish for.
The duke, who never did anything by halves, was not
merely a friend of Pcter Cameron's, he positively fra-
ternized with him. He no longer avoided him on
platforms and evaded him at the great county meet-
ings; the duke and the millionaire were frequently
seen together in the hunting-field and at public gather-
ings, while the duchess and Lady Cameron were known
to be fast and even confidential friends. The élite of
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401
the county visited Ferness now, and Peter Cameron
saw some of the first men in England willing to par-
take of his hospitality.
For some few years this seemed to be quite enough
for him, and he enjoyed his life completely and
thoroughly; then it rather palled upon him, and he
missed Diana--he missed the warm, unselfish love that
she had always lavished upon him, and he yearned to
be with the one who was, after all, his life's idol. A
really noble soul can never be satisfied with mean
aims and ends; and Peter Cameron, despite his love
for duke and earls, and his desire for their acquaint-
ance, had a noble soul. Even the friendship of the
duke did not satisfy him. When he had won it, when
he was on intimate terms with men whom he had never
dared to aspire to know, even then he found that there
was something wanting, that his heart and soul were
still filled with longing; and it was then that he turned
to Diana He wanted Diana, the only being on earth
for whom he had a great and lasting love, and he
wrote to her, urging her to come to Ferness. But
Diana had no wish to meet with the ghost of her
former self. She had grown so profoundly wretched
that she did not care to let her misery be seen or
known, so she declined all her father's invitations, and
it seemed to him that he could read heart-ache be-
tween every line of her letters.
Lady Cameron was, perhaps, the happiest of the
family. She had succeeded in nearly all her ambi-
tions; she had more money than she could spend; she
held a good position in society; she could dispense
patronage to those who had once patronized her;
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her daughters were well married, the Marchioness de
Vere being quite a leader of fashion. Her only regret
was the absence of Sir Lisle, her only annoyance that
Diana's fortune would never now be his.
So five years passed, and the girl who had sung of
sunshine and roses was now a superbly beautiful though
most miserable woman. She had gone through another
phase of emotional life.
"We have but one life," she would moan to herself,
"and mine is spoiled, ruined."
Young, beautiful, and gifted as she was, it was in-
deed hard to admit that life had nothing more for her
but blank despair. Had little children been given to
her, it might have softened the severity of her trouble.
When five years of her married life ended, it hap-
pened that Peter Cameron fell ill. There was no danger;
but he longed to see the daughter he had loved so
much, and from whom he had been separated for so
long. He was always thinking of her, talking of her,
asking if she would not come; and one day, when he
felt better, he wrote a letter telling her how he wished
to see her.
Diana told her husband of her father's ill health and
his desire to see her. He happened to be in an amia-
ble mood that morning.
"I am not surprised," he said. "You had better go,
Diana. When a man like your father falls ill, he does
not often recover."
Her heart seemed to cease beating at the words. It
was four years since she had seen him-and how she
once had loved him! A thought of all the love and
happiness of her girlhood at Ferness flashed through
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
403
her mind. She was deadly pale when she answered
him.
"I will go, Ronald," she said. "But, as papa is
ill, perhaps I had better go alone.'
If she had expressed a wish that he should accom-
pany her he would have found fifty reasons
to prove
that it was impossible for him to do so; as she uttered a
wish to the contrary, he at once decided that he would
go, and he declared his intention in pretty strong lan-
guage.
"
me.'
"
Diana looked at him.
"You know that it will be miserable for us both if
you come," she said. “It will not be pleasant for rela-
tives to witness our quarrels."
"A new view of matrimony for the beholders!"
sneered Lord Clanronald. "I shall go with you, you
may be sure of that. I cannot flatter myself that I am
much of a favorite with you; but I was certainly well
liked at Ferness. You may rely upon the pleasure of my
companionship, Lady Clanronald."
The fire from Diana's eyes neither shamed nor
troubled him.
"Come if you will," she said; "it matters little to
"I am well aware of it," he said; "but I shall be
glad to let your people see for themselves how little
you care for me."
"At least they will hear you shout and swear at me,"
she retorted.
"A grand exposé on both sides," laughed Lord Clan-
ronald. "I am quite willing. I should think that no
one who had ever seen us together could associate the
idea of happiness with us."
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Many times before, when he had said similar things,
she had gone to him and had spoken of trying to do
better and feeling sorry. He had invariably thrust her
away with a brutal word or a coarse oath, or something
even more painful, To-day she made no such effort;
she had long been tired of her endeavors. She mere-
ly turned away repeating:
"Come if you wish; it does not in the least matter to
me."
It was in the month of April then, and she had
a keen recollection of the beauty of Ferness in April
-of the odor of violets and the gleam of the yellow
primroses in the woods, of the budding chestnuts and
the springing grass. Standing before a long mirror
that reflected her stately form, she was conscious that
her beautiful eyes had lost their sweetness, and had
grown cold and proud. She looked into her own face
steadfastly.
"They will hardly know me," she said to herself;
"there is not even a trace of the old Diana
old Diana left. I
wonder whether they will guess what has changed my
appearance? What will Royal say? He will never be
able to call me the child Diana again. I am twenty-
three years old now, but my heart is fifty."
How those words haunted her-"the child Diana!"
how they brought that faithful, noble friend nearer to
her! How all the happy past came back to her! All
her misery had been caused by her father's marriage;
and he had married in order to secure the friendship
of a duke and duchess. How mean and small it all
looked now after the long lapse of years; and her own
conduct, how ignoble it appeared! To marry for spite
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
405
H
and vengeance, to make four lives miserable just for
the pleasure of inflicting pain on Lady Cameron, pain
that almost vanished with the blow!
She never bowed her head in humility or contrition
now, or she would have done so when this warm rush
of home-love came over her. She had proudly kept aloof
from all in her sorrowing despair, but now, at the
thought of her father and Richard-Richard, who had
loved her so much-and of Sir Royal-who had loved
her even more—her heart softened.
Lord Clanronald had taken it into his head to be what
his servants called "awkward" for the few days that had
to elapse before the journey. He knew that his mar-
riage had been a wretched failure; he knew that he had
treated his beautiful young wife in a most cruel and
heartless fashion; he knew that she had grown to hate
him, and that the fact of their unhappiness was pat-
ent to everyone who beheld them. He sometimes felt
a strange tinge of remorse for his conduct toward her,
and there were times when he was even ashamed of his
excessive drinking. Diana's profound contempt for his
debauched habits made him wince; but he never had
the moral courage to break his bonds, or make any
effort whatever to reform himself. He wished every-
thing had been different, and felt his conscience some-
what relieved when he blamed himself for having mar-
ried a "high-flown" woman.
The journey from Ronald's Court to Ferness was by
no means a pleasant one. Diana had made an earnest
appeal to her husband that he would keep perfectly
sober during their visit; and he was so angry with her
for presuming to insinuate that he was otherwise than
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in a state of sobriety that during the whole journey he
lavished abuse and foul words upon her. The tears
welled to her eyes, but she would not let them fall.
After five years of absence she would not re-enter
Ferness with a tear-stained face. But the effort to bear
his savage onslaught with patience lacerated her heart,
though her face bore no sign on it.
CHAPTER LI
ONCE more Lady Clanronald was at home in the
beautiful old mansion of Ferness; and the home-com-
ing had been like a dream to her. When she stood on
the noble terrace, it seemed to her as though she had
never left it. When she sauntered into the rose-garden
where the buds were forming on the trees, when she
went into the conservatory, delightful as of old with.
its wealth of exquisite flowers, the happy past returned
to her as a troubled dream. But she could never be
the Diana of old; she could never more feel the hap-
piness and the sense of freedom that had once been
hers.
The meeting between father and daughter had been
undemonstrative but full of deep emotion.
"Dian," said Peter Cameron, opening his arms to
her, "I had almost thought you had forgotten me.
And from her proud, aching heart a supplicating cry
went up to heaven, that she might forget all and die
with her head on his breast.
}
"
"You are so changed, my dear," he said, sadly, "that
I could almost think my daughter Diana dead."
In the bitterness of her heart she was inclined to tell
him that Diana had died on her wedding-day. The
ghost of her bright, happy young self seemed to rise
before her.
The Diana who had sung gayly through the rooms,
>
407
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who had filled the whole house with sunshine and
laughter was no more. In her place was a stately, grace-
ful woman—a woman on whose lovely face a story of
blighted love and shattered hopes was plainly written.
Lord Clanronald had recovered somewhat from his
ill-humor as they drove through the park, and by the
time they reached the house he was fairly good-tem-
pered again.
A
"This reminds me of our wedding-day," he said to
Diana, as they passed through the great entrance-hall;
and she turned from him with a shudder, weary and
sick at heart.
Peter Cameron was much better on the day of their
arrival, and able to join the family-party at dinner.
"It looks like old times, Diana," he said, "to see you
back again. How I have missed your face! The rooms
have never seemed the same to me since you left
them.
"
Lady Cameron did not feel pleased with this last re-
mark; but she looked at Diana with a smile.
"Notwithstanding I have done my best to make up
for your absence," she said.
Diana made no reply. Time was when she would
have taken up the cudgels, when she would have tri-
umphed because of her father's words; but now her
heart no longer delighted in the sweets of retaliation,
and Lady Cameron's remark passed unnoticed.
They dined in the large dining-room. Lady Cam-
cron looked very handsome in her dress of velvet and
point lace; while Diana was enchanting in a combina-
tion of pale-blue velvet and white silk, with which she
wore some of the famous Clanronald diamonds.
M.
!
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
409
A casual observer would have thought that a happy
family were seated round that dinner-table; but Peter
Cameron had mentally noted two disquieting facts.
The first was how deeply Lord Clanronald drank; the
second how sad was the habitual expression on his
daughter's fair face.
There was constant depression
of spirits, no sunny laughter was heard, there was
never a gleam of fun or amusement in the blue eyes;
when anyone spoke to Diana, she started like one
aroused from a dream.
After dinner Lady Cameron took
duty of amusing Lord Clanronald.
given him-nor was she ever likely to do so-for dis-
carding Evadne to marry Diana; but it would be worse
than useless to be disagreeable to him; so she invited
him to a game at écarte. He was not particularly gra-
cious, and murmured that he should prefer billiards;
but Lady Cameron smiled the peculiar smile which no
man could ever resist, and his lordship succumbed to
his wily hostess.
upon herself the
She had not for-
"We will leave Mr. Cameron and Lady Clanronald
to talk together," she said. "They have not seen each
other for so long."
Lady Cameron had not been an hour tete-a-tete with
Lord Clanronald before she had what she called "the
key to the position" in her hands. By his sneers at
marriage and at lofty-minded, high-flown women, she
knew that his marriage was a miserable failure, and
that he regretted having given up Evadne for Diana.
A few years before Lady Cameron might have felt some
degree of malicious pleasure in this knowledge; but it
was not so now. She was securely seated on her throne,
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she had no longer anything to fear from Diana. Some-
thing even of pity for the young wife stole into her
.heart when she saw how coarse and false the man's
nature was.
"He hid his true character well when he came woo-
ing," she said to herself. "If Evadne had seen him as
he is she would never have cared for him."
Meanwhile father and daughter had gone to the
great bay-window, and sat watching the April moon
rise over the trees. Though their conversation had
been of the most affectionate nature, no confidences had
been exchanged. Lady Clanronald did not allude to
her domestic life, to her husband, or to her troubles.
"I have missed you, Diana," Peter Cameron said;
"home was not home without you. But I never knew
how much I had missed you until I fell ill. I wish
you were never going away again."
"So do I, papa," she said.
They talked about old friends-about Richard and
Thea and Lady Colwyn-above all, Sir Royal; and
Diana's face grew soft and tender as she spoke of him
her eyes bright with unshed tears. Only a few years
ago she would not have been content to remain at
home without seeing Sir Royal. If he had not ridden
over to see her, she would have gone to Westwater;
but now, though she cared for him as much as ever,
she had no heart to meet one whose presence alone
would revive all the old and happy associations of her
past life.
Mr. Cameron shook his head gravely as he spoke of
Sir Royal.
"He has never been quite the same since your mar.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
411
riage. I have often thought that he admired you him-
self."
Diana knew only too well how truly he had loved
ner, and what he had suffered, but she made no com-
ment.
"Of course," continued Mr. Cameron, "you would
never have married him, I know; he was old enough to
be your father. But he seems to me to have changed
completely since then. I hear many rumors about
him," he went on; "he has acted very strangely once
or twice, I am told, and people have not been slow to
talk of his peculiarities."
"Poor Sir Royal!" sighed Lady Clanronald. "I should
very much like to see him.”
+
"He came every day to see me while I was ill.
When I told him that you were coming, he grew very
excited, and paced up and down my room, talking
most vehemently of you all the time-I might almost
say, raving about you. Were you happy? That was all
he wanted to know. He had heard rumors, and had
been told many things. Were you happy? he was con-
tinually asking. And he told me, Diana, that almost
every night he dreamed about you, and that you al-
ways came to him crying and wringing your hands, and
calling out, 'Help me, Royal, help me!""
She wondered how he could have imagined this, for
often in her heart that very cry had risen.
"I do not think that he is in good health,' conclud-
ed Mr. Cameron; and Diana remembered what Sir
Royal had told her.
"When will he come, papa?" she asked, anxiously
"He will be here to-morrow," was the answer.
did not invite him for to-day."
"I
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"I shall be glad to see him," she said. “And, oh,
papa, how strange it seems that Rich should have mar-
ried Thea. I was so pleased to hear of it.'
"
"It was a dreadful disappointment to him that you
did not come to his wedding," said Mr. Cameron.
"It was also to me," said Diana, in a low voice;
"but I could not; I-to tell you the truth, papa, I do
not care to attend weddings." She stopped abruptly,
then was silent for a time. "I will sing to you, papa,"
she added, presently. "You must have forgotten what
my voice is like."
She went to the piano, the moonlight shimmering
on her dress as she passed. The rich, sweet voice
floated through the room and died away over the moon-
lit terrace. Peter Cameron felt the tears rise to his
eyes as he listened to the words that his daughter sung:
"When the bells that called my love to rest were ringing the vesper
chime,
I wished their music could bear my soul away from the things of time;
And my spirit was heavy laden as I breathed an old, old prayer,
For the cross of care that I carried was greater than I could bear.
As I wept alone in my sorrow, the gleam of the dying day
Through the open lattice softly kissed the harp that she used to play,
And, sweet as an echo from heaven, I heard its music once more,
And the burden of life was uplifted and the pain of parting was o'er.
"Was it the breath of an angel's wing that passed o'er the golden wires?
Was it the sound of a long-lost voice that fell from the angel choirs?
Was it the touch of a spirit-hand that swept o'er each silent string
And hushed the sorrows of earth to rest with the words that the angels
sing?
I heard the sound of an old, old song once more in the mystic strain,
A song we sung in the by-gone years and shall some day sing again,
For it told me I should meet my love at the portals of the skies,
To sing once more as we used to sing in the land of Paradise.”
She rose from the piano and went back to the win-
dow, through which the moon was shining full and
bright, the light falling on her father's face.
"Do you often sing, Dian?" he asked.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
413
"No, "she replied. "I have almost given up sing-
ing."
"Why, my dear?" was her father's brief query.
"I have lost so much of my interest in music," she
said; but she did not tell him that it was because it
made her heart ache.
"How Sir Lisle admired your singing," her father
said, reflectively. Then he added, "Do you remember,
Diana, the concerts we used to have by moonlight?"
Did she remember? It was as though the words
pierced her heart. Could she ever forget? The moon-
lit terrace, the great bay-window, her father's face, all
vanished. She was sitting once more before the pict-
ure of the Magdalen. A dark, handsome face was
looking into hers; dark, beautiful eyes seemed to gaze
into her soul. How she had loved him! And she had
sacrificed him to her pride! This vision of the past,
with all its happiness and illusions, passed before her
as she sat looking out upon the familiar scenes of her
childhood.
"I wish," remarked Mr. Cameron, "that Lisle would
come home. What he is doing, wandering over the
world in such a strange manner I cannot think."
"Where is he?" she asked; and her voice was hoarse
and unnatural, even to her own ears, as she put the
question.
"No one knows exactly. Why he does not come
home and settle on his estate I cannot imagine."
And Diana went out onto the terrace, lest her father
should see the tears she could not restrain.
**
CHAPTER LII
LADY CLANRONALD fell quickly into her new place as
guest where she had once been mistress. There were
no collisions now between Lady Cameron and herself.
Everyone was delighted to see her, and the servants
could not show her sufficient respect and homage. She
was still the young mistress to them. Hughes, the gar-
dener, with whom she had so often quarreled, would
have sacrificed his finest flower to bring a smile to her
face; Mrs. Seldon, the housekeeper, could not show
her sufficient attention; the old butler never ceased
talking of the change in her, and shook his head gloom-
ily when matrimony was mentioned.
I
'
Lady Cameron was a most considerate and kind host-
ess, and Lord Clanronald a perfectly passive guest.
The mistress of Ferness agreed with him in everything;
but if she had been suddenly called upon to say why,
she must have owned that a tinge of the old hostility
to her step-daughter lay at the root of it.
Lady Clanronald enjoyed the peace of the first few
days at home. It was keenest pleasure, yet keenest
pain to her to revisit the old, familiar places, where
she had spent the happiest days of her life. Her old
friend, Lady Colwyn, was delighted to see her, and
gave her a genuinely warm welcome. She looked at
Diana steadfastly-for she, like others, was struck by
her altered appearance.
121
414
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
415
"You have changed from a beautiful girl into a beau-
tiful woman, my dear," she said, "but you do not look
like a happy one."
Lady Colwyn found a different Diana from the blithe
and gay girl she had known but a few years before.
She was most kind, loving, and affectionate to her
old friend; but she had nothing to tell her. Lady Col-
wyn tried to draw her into a conversation about Ron-
ald's Court, about her husband, about the ordinary
affairs of life, but Diana had nothing to say. She par-
ried every attack, she politely evaded all her questions.
She persisted in talking about Lady Colwyn, while
Lady Colwyn persisted in talking about her, so that
the interview was not altogether satisfactory. They
had, however, one theme in common-Sir Royal, for
whom Lady Colwyn had the greatest affection and re-
spect. She spoke of his failing health, and Lady Clan-
ronald was sorely troubled at the sad news.
"He is coming to dine with us to-night," she said;
"then I shall see him.”
"I find you so changed, Diana-I cannot think how
or why," Lady Colwyn remarked, presently. "You do
not seem one bit like the Diana who went away five
years ago. What is it, my dear? Can you not trust
an old friend such as I?"
"I do trust you, Lady Colwyn," said Diana-"I al-
ways did. You are my true friend, I know."
'Then tell me you are happy, Diana!" she pleaded.
"Everybody has a different standard of happiness,"
replied Diana, evasively. She could not say "Yes,"
and she would not say "No."
"I see," said Lady Colwyn, with a quiet sigh. "You
|
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will not trust me; but I understand." And though her
ladyship did not venture to speak on the subject again,
it was always uppermost in her mind, for she knew
that her young friend was unhappily married.
Diana's troubles were not long in abeyance. She had
had some faint hope that her husband would refrain
from excess while under her father's roof; but before
three days had passed that faint hope expired. He
had the grace to withdraw when he felt conscious of
having indulged too freely; but Diana had all the mis-
ery of knowing his condition, even though he was not
in sight. Lady Cameron saw it, Mr. Cameron soon
perceived it, and then they understood the sorrow and
the shame of Diana's life.
It was near the hour when Sir Royal was to arrive
at Ferness, and Diana looked forward with some im-
patience to the moment when she should see her kind,
true, dear old friend.
The light still lingering in the western sky rested
on the budding trees and the fragrant spring flowers.
Diana had dressed with unusual care She did not wish
her old friend to find her so greatly changed as her
father and Lady Colwyn had; she wanted to see in
his eyes, if in no other, a gleam of recognition of the
"child Diana." Her dress of pale-blue brocade em-
broidered with white flowers suited her fair, stately
loveliness. A feeling of delicacy forbade her wearing.
the Clanronald jewels. She wore a bunch of delicately
tinted geraniums in the bodice of her dress and one in
her hair. She wished to be young, fair, and charming
in the eyes of the man who had always lavished on
her such a wealth of honest affection—and yet she had
1
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417
but little heart even for this effort. She could wear
costly dresses and fair flowers, but she could not take
the shadow from her eyes, or the look of care from her
face. Lovely as she was, she glanced at herself de-
spondently.
"Royal will know," she said to herself "he will
know when he sees me. Even were I to laugh and talk
the whole time, I could not deceive him. He always
found out my childish troubles; he will not now fail to
detect my heavy load of sorrow."
16
Diana had dressed early, hoping to have a chat with
Sir Royal before dinner; but when she entered the
drawing-room it was empty. She threw a shawl over
her shoulders, and, opening the long glass doors, went
out on the terrace; and the sweet, soft dreams of her
early girlhood seemed to come back to her as she leaned
over the balustrade, the fair, glad dreams that had never
been realized.
"If I could but live my life over again!" she sighed.
"How cruelly have I wrecked my life and hopes!"
A few minutes later, Sir Royal, looking from the
open glass-door, beheld the face and form of the one
he loved so well. His heart beat fast; a fire flashed
in his eyes that had not shone there since he had last
seen her; his face crimsoned, then turned deadly pale.
He tried to realize it was Diana-Diana, who in
every childish trouble had sought him, who had wept
away her sorrows with her arm round his neck, who had
kissed him in her ecstasies of delight, who had confid-
ed to him her little anxieties and childish secrets.
He went toward her slowly. She did not hear him
approach until he uttered her name, and then she
turned to him with a cry of joy.
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"Oh, Royal, is it you?" she said. "I have been long-
ing to see you."
"And I to see you, Diana, "he responded. He took
both her hands in his and held them while he looked
into the lovely face. "Why have you gone out of my
life, Diana?" he asked. "Why have you never written
to me or sent any messages to me?" Then, with his
eyes still fixed on her face, he dropped her hands, say-
ing as he did so, “I see—I see it in your face. You are
not happy, Diana, and you would not let me know."
"Do not talk of me," she said. "Tell me about your,
self, Royal. You look ill; they tell me you are ill.
Is it true?”
"I have again suffered very severely with the old
pain and confusion in my head. But, Diana-raise
your face, dear, and let me see it—what have they done
to you? Who has taken the brightness and the hope
and the youth from your face? Who has done it?"
"Time," she replied, with an attempt to smile. ' “You
forget that I have been away five years."
"I do not forget," he cried. "How could I, Diana.
when I have counted the hours-every hour for five
years? Ah, no, I have not forgotten! But it is not
time that has obliterated all trace of the happiness that
once shone in your eyes. Time has done nothing to
you but made you more beautiful. Time has not writ-
ten the story I read on your face. Tell me what the
shadows mean that lie in your eyes. Tell me what the
pain and repression and sorrow mean," he asked hur-
riedly.
But, before she had time to answer, a thick hoarse
voice was heard shouting:
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419
"Diana, Diana, where are you?" She knew by her
husband's voice that something was amiss. Sir Royal
noticed how she started and turned pale as the words
fell upon her ears.
"Diana, where are you?" repeated the coarse voice.
"What do you mean by mooning out here? Why do
you not answer when I call?"
"I am here, Ronald.
Do you want me?" she re-
sponded.
“If I did not want you, should I take the trouble of
coming all this way to find you? I-" Then he stopped
abruptly, seeing Sir Royal for the first time. He
looked slightly confused, then turned to his wife with
an angry scowl.
'Ronald, this is my old friend, Sir Royal West of
Westwater," she said, anxious to avert a storm.
Lord Clanronald bowed, and murmured a few words
of what should have been acknowledgment and wel-
come, but which sounded more like an oath.
Sir Royal did not offer to shake hands with the man
he despised, nor did he say that he was pleased to see
him again, or inquire about his health. He simply
bowed. He wanted to know what had wrought the sad
change in the "child Diana."
Seeing that neither of the gentlemen was pleased at
the rencontre, Diana repeated her question:
"Do you want me, Ronald?"
The manner in which he answered her was almost
brutal.
"I have told you that, if I had not wanted you, I
should not have run after you. Where is the key to my
jewel-case?"
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"I do not know," she replied.
"You do know!" he cried, his anger increasing as he
went on. "Jules tells me that he saw you at my toilet
table yesterday, and now the key is gone.
"I assure you," she said, turning her pale, beautiful
face to him, "that I merely went there to replace a
solitaire of yours which I had found."
"It is a lie!" he shouted. "You went to spy among
my things, to search for love-letters, I suppose. You
want a divorce, do you? And you expect to find some-
thing among my papers which will help you? You
will be disappointed, my lady."
"You forget, Ronald," she said calmly, "that Sir
Royal is here."
"I do not forget," he retorted. "Sir Royal is welcome
to hear."
But Sir Royal interrupted him, with a polite bow.
"I pray you," he said, white with suppressed rage,
"do not mention my name. Lady Clanronald," he con-
tinued, turning to Diana, "this is no place for you.
Allow me to take you to the drawing-room. I will re-
turn and help this gentleman to find his key." There
was a quiet significance in his tone which subdued
Lord Clanronald, who walked away, muttering some
very unparliamentary remarks as he did so.
$
CHAPTER LIII
DIANA was unnerved. She had been touched to the
heart by her meeting with Sir Royal, and she had been
startled by her husband's violence; she had been afraid
also of a scene between the two. The result was that
she lost her presence of mind for a few moments.
"Let me sit down, Royal," she said, in a low voice.
He placed her on one of the garden chairs, and stood
for some time in silence by her side. Diana unnerved
was very different from Diana proud and independent;
the old imperiousness had for the moment given way
to suffering and submission. The beautiful face
drooped until it was hidden in her hands, and Sir Roy-
al trembled like a leaf when he heard the deep-drawn,
bitter sobs she could not restrain.
"Is it always like this, Diana?" he said, as he bent
over her.
"Do not fear to tell me. Does this often
happen? Does he treat you in this manner frequently?
Tell me, Diana.
"
But she only sobbed out:
"Oh, Royal, Royal, my heart will break!"
He knelt down by her side, and infinite pity filled
his heart. How should he, how could he comfort her?
The girl whom he had loved as the "child Diana," this
fair, this noblest type of womanhood, this most beauti-
ful woman-how could he offer her consolation? He
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1
#
drew her hands gently from her face, and saw the
tears falling from her eyes.
"Trust me, Diana. Tell me," he said-"are you
very unhappy? I can see he is horrible; and he is
cruel to you.
You must be wretched. Tell me all,
Diana."
She raised her despairing face to his.
"Oh, Royal," she cried, "I wish I were dead! I am
so unhappy, I do not care to live. I wish I could
die!"
His head dropped upon his breast with a groan as
these words fell from her lips. It was maddening for
him to know that his Diana-the fairest and best
of women-should be so crushed by trouble that she
prayed for death. to deliver her from it.
The eyes he raised to hers were full of pain.
"You should have told me before," he said. "I heard
you were not happy; but you never wrote, and I dared
not call upon you, lest I should lay violent hands up
on him. Ah, Diana, no one living shall touch one
hair of your head. Why did you not tell me? You
promised me that, if ever you were in trouble, you
would send to me, you would let me know.”
"How could I?" she replied. "Of what avail would.
it have been? No one could help me; and I did not
wish you to know the suffering I was enduring. I was
so willful, Royal, and so proud, I would not take advice.
when it was tendered and when alone it would have
been of service. I would have my own way; and now-"
"Are matters so bad, Diana?" he asked, with such
gentle kindness that her heart was touched and her
strength failed her yet more. "Are matters so bad?"
he repeated, taking her hands in his.
}
می
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
423
With a burst of passionate tears that he never for-
got, she cried:
"Oh, Royal, matters are as bad as they can be; and
I wish-oh, heaven, how I wish that I were dead."
He called her his dear Dian, his pretty Dian, the
motherless child who had had no one to guide her—
his beautiful Diana whom no one should ever injure,
and who was dearer to him than life. He watched
with pain and anger over the trembling woman, as her
grief was poured out and he learned the secret of her
home-life.
"Is he always cruel, Diana?" he asked, as the pas-
sionate sobs were stilled and the trembling hands grew
quiet.
"Yes, always," she replied.
"And is he often like that-inebriated?" he asked
again.
And her answer was a low moan, as her head
drooped upon her breast.
"Diana, be of good heart; he shall not injure you. I
who love you best in the world-I will take care of
you." His face flushed; there was a dangerous light
in his eyes.
"I-I am almost glad that I did not
know," he said; "I should have killed him, Diana."
5
She rose with a shudder.
"We must go, Royal," she said; "that was the din-
ner-bell." She raised her lovely face to his. "Could
anyone tell that I have been crying, Royal?" she
asked.
"Those who love you could," he replied. "I know
every look of those dear eyes; they are strained, piti-
ful, and woe-begone--shadowed, instead of bright."
}
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"No one will see me who loves me," she said, bit-
terly; "and, if anyone does notice my looks, I can but
say that I am tired and not well.
"But, Diana, your father loves you!" urged Sir
Royal.
"Yes, "she answered mournfully, "he loves me; but
he sacrificed me to make the acquaintance of the Duke
of Stone. Let us go in. It is useless to think or
speak of what we cannot now alter."
"Diana," cried her husband, at this point again,
"where are you? Why do you not come in?"
Once more she clung to Sir Royal's arm, once more,
in a low voice, she whispered, clutching his hand the
while:
"Oh, Royal, I wish I were dead!"
"He ought to die, not you," was the almost savage
response.
Lord Clanronald came up to them, looking some-
what embarrassed.
"I am afraid I was in a towering rage about that
key, Diana; but it is so vexing, just when you want a
thing, to know that it is lost!" Then, turning with an
air of awkward apology to Sir Royal, he added: "You
have not yet found out how tiresome and aggravating
wives can be."
"No," rejoined Sir Royal; "if I had a wife I should
treat her as a lady."
"Do you mean to insinuate that I do not treat my
wife as one?" cried the other, fiercely.
"I am quite sure that you do not," replied Sir Royal,
undauntedly; "but in my presence you shall."
Lord Clanronald laughed, but the laugh was unnai
ural and uneasy.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
425
"If your wife were my sister, or if I had the right to
avenge her wrongs, I would lash you like a cur every
time you shouted
shouted or swore at her,"
swore at her," continued Sir
Royal.
“You would?” laughed Lord Clanronald, again.
"I would!" replied Sir Royal; and he looked a for-
midable foe as his dark eyes flashed fire.
Diana slowly led the way to the dining-room. She
was right; no one there noticed the trace of tears. Her
father was engrossed in his dinner, Lady Cameron with
her guests, Lord Clanronald in keeping his glass
well filled. Five years before if she had shed a tear
the whole household would have been alarmed; now
her grief passed unnoticed.
From that night a great change took place in Sir
Royal's demeanor. He grew more silent, more re-
served, though exhibiting a warmer devotion than ever
to Diana. Every day saw him at Ferness, until Lord
Clanronald cried out in a rage that the man haunted
the house like a shadow. But he had taken the bar-
onet's lesson to heart; he neither swore nor shouted at
his wife in Sir Royal's presence again.
One day he was more intolerable than usual. Every-
thing had gone wrong. One of his favorite horses had
fallen lame; his valet had again mislaid something that
he wanted; the butler had looked what he called im-
pertinent when he asked for a third supply of "brandy
and soda;" the Times was lost, and he had not read it;
one of his favorite dishes had been on the table at
luncheon, and he had not been asked to partake of it;
several other contretemps, all of the same slight impor-
tance, had passed, and he had worked himself into a
<
J
426
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furious temper. He strolled onto the terrace with a
faint idea of seeing what the fresh air would do for him;
and there, sitting among the shrubs that surrounded
the statue of Flora, he saw his wife.
She was buried in thought; her attitude was one of
utter despondency and weariness; her head was thrown
back, and her hands lay idly folded on her knees.
There was something in the pathos of her face that
might have touched the hardest heart; but it did not
touch his. The only idea that occurred to him was that
he could now give vent to his irritation.
"Diana," he cried, "why are you sitting in that
absurd fashion, looking as melancholy as Niobe? You
want everyone to know that you are unhappy."
She at once perceived his mood. Long, bitter ex-
perience had taught her that in such circumstances si-
lence was best; therefore she made no answer.
*
“I suppose," he continued, "that is how we pose for
the benefit of our admirers-an air of patient resigna-
tion, pensive contemplation, no doubt is exceedingly
attractive! The sooner you give up such nonsense the
better."
There were times when she shrunk in fear from his
flashing eyes, his angry face and upraised hand. She
shrunk now, and he saw it.
"Get up!" he cried, "and behave like a rational,
sensible woman!"
"I am going back to the house," said Diana, trying
to speak calmly. "Will you let me pass, Lord Clan-
ronald?"
"No, madam, I will not let you pass," he answered
furiously. "I can remember how often on this very ter-
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
427
race you slighted me, sneered at me, and gloried in
your lofty assumptions over me. It is my turn now.
I shall speak my mind, and you shall listen;" and he
gave vent to such a shower of abuse, such a volley of
oaths, such a violent display of anger, that Diana.
shuddered.
1
She had the good sense not to
was silent from sheer exhaustion.
"I wonder," said Diana, as she looked her husband
in the face, "what my father would say to you, Lord
Clanronald, if he heard you using such lanugage to
me."
answer him until he
He did not know and he did not care. She was his
wife. The law of the land had made her his, and nei
ther her father nor anyone else could interfere.
"I know that," she said, raising her lovely eyes t
his face, "only too well. Sometimes I am sorry for
you, as I am for myself. We can neither of us dis-
solve the tie that binds us.
give us relief."
Nothing but death can
"No," he assented sullenly; "that is true-nothing,
but death. Still," he added, "I have no idea of dying to
relieve or please you. On that point you may set your
mind at rest."
"I will pass, if you please, Lord Clanronald," said
Diana-for he stood before her so that she could not
advance.
"Not until you have heard the last word," he de
clared.
And then the torrent of abuse recommenced. He
knew how utterly repulsive such language was to Di-
ana, for she had told him many a time t she would
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1
J
far rather he should lash her with a whip than distress
her with such dreadful words.
words. For this reason he
took particular pleasure in it.
She shuddered, and her very
horrible language fell on her ear.
exhausted his whole vocabulary, when his passion had
abated and his anger cooled, he went away suddenly,
leaving his wife standing half dazed. And it was thus.
that Sir Royal found her, white, shuddering, and de-
spairing, her face colorless, her hands trembling.
went up to her.
He
"You are in trouble again, Diana?" he said.
There were no tears, no sobs
tears, no sobs this time.
nothing in her face but absolute despair.
"I am always in trouble," she answered. "Oh, Royal,
does heaven never send death to the unhappy?"
11
1
soul revolted as his
Then when he had
"No," he replied. "But heaven often sends an
avenger where death is not sent.
not sent. Diana, that pale,
troubled face of yours is driving me mad!"
He saw
!
}
CHAPTER LIV
THE twentieth of May was Lady Cameron's birth-
day, and Peter Cameron had determined to have a
family reunion and a grand ball in her honor. He men-
tioned the project to his wife, and she professed to be
delighted with it.
"I should certainly like to see the girls and their
husbands at Ferness," she said; "it would be a great
pleasure to me."
"Then they shall come," he declared; "Lady Came-
ron's birthday ought to be a day of rejoicing."
As he grew older Peter Cameron certainly grew
prouder of his money, of his position, of his wife—of
everything, in fact, belonging to him. Lady Cameron
in his eyes was a person of the greatest importance.
He consulted Diana on this all important subject-not
that, after his wife's approval, Diana's objecting would
matter at all; but she was there, and it was natural for
him to consult her. Would she like to see the girls
again? No, she had no desire whatever to see them.
"But," cried her father, "you will surely be pleased
to see Rich?”
"Ah, yes; that is quite another thing!"
The thought of seeing Richard was delightful to her
and the prospect helped to compensate for the pres-
ence of the girls who had done their best to render her
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life miserable by their petty meannesses and taunting
words.
Lord Clanronald grumbled when he heard of the
forthcoming gathering. He had not come prepared to
meet a family party, he said; but in his heart he was
not displeased at the thought of seeing Lady de Vere.
"I wish to heaven I had married her!" he said to
himself. "She is not so high and mighty as my wife;
she has not such fantastic and absurd ideas and stand-
ards as Diana; and, besides, she was very fond of me.
That was the real charm in Evadne; she had been
fond of him.
C
91
The Marquis and Marchioness de Vere, Mr. and Mrs.
Marche, Sir Royal West, Diana and Lord Clanronald,
formed part of the house party. A few other guests
were invited.
I w
Diana when she came to reflect upon the coming
family gathering, did not like the idea of it.
She was
sure the girls would find out the unhappiness-nay, the
abject misery-of her married life, and she did not at
all relish the idea. But she was growing inert in her
misery, and had not courage to protest, even if it
would have availed her, so she resigned herself to the
inevitable.
Great preparations were made for the approaching
entertainments. Mr. Cameron grew quite excited over
them, and declared that they should rival those of roy-
alty itself in their splendor and sumptuousness. The
first arrivals at Ferness were Richard and Thea, and
there was nothing but rejoicing. Thea, marvelously
changed and softened by her married happiness, was
hardly to be recognized as the once stiff and cynical
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>
F
Miss Scarsdale; and she brought with her a beautiful
baby boy, so like the Scarsdales that she had called
him Lisle. Lady Cameron was very proud of the boy;
but she did not like to be spoken of as "grandman-
ma.”
She was still a fine, handsome woman, looking
wonderfully young for her age and did not wish to be
thought older than she really appeared. As for Mr.
Cameron, little Lisle being the first baby that had come
under his notice since Diana's infancy he absolutely
worshiped him.
It was some comfort to Diana, in the midst of her
nisery, to see Richard's honest, genial, kindly face.
His quick eyes at once discerned the real state of
things; but he said little. He knew that on such a
subject the less said the better. But one afternoon,
when Lord Clanronald had distinguished himself by
getting intoxicated and then fighting with a groom
who would not allow him to ride a valuable horse of
Mr. Cameron's, there had been a great scandal and
disturbance. Mr. Cameron was much annoyed; Lady
Cameron was contemptuously angry.
"How glad I am, after all, that he did not marry
Evadne!" she said to herself. "Diana has all the dis-
grace."
It was the first exhibition of the kind that Richard
had seen, and he was utterly disgusted with the con-
duct of Diana's husband. That she, the proud beauty,
should be the wife of such a man seemed terrible to
him. He knew it was useless to condole; yet he could
not refrain from seeking her. He found her in the con-
servatory, whither she had gone to escape notice. She
was ashamed to meet the eyes even of the servants,
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for the sounds of the disturbance had filled the whole
house.
He went up to her in the old familiar manner.
"Heaven help you, Diana!" he said. "I understand
it all. Heaven help you, for no man can!"
"Do not speak of it, Rich," she answered, gently.
"No one can help me; and I deserve it all." The
beautiful head dropped and the blue eyes filled with
tears. "Never refer to the subject again, Rich. If you
see me suffer, remember that I deserve it, and that I
must bear it. I can bear anything but pity."
"Then you shall never have it from me," said Rich-
ard. "Oh, Diana, I am so happy myself I cannot-"
She checked him with a gesture of the hand.
"Not another word, Rich, about me!" she cried. "I
am glad that you are happy. There was always some-
thing frank about Thea. She was a fair foe; Evadne
was not."
"And what do you think of our little Lisle?" asked
Richard, all a father's love and pride shining in his
face.
Hers grew pale at the mention of the name.
"He is a beautiful boy," she said gently. "I envy
a child of yours, Rich, the tenderness it will receive
from you."
She asked some few questions about Lady de Vere,
who was expected that evening, and Rich answered
them laughingly.
“She is quite the grande dame," he said; "Marchioness
de Vere, stately and patronizing. Thea has visited her;
but she has never been to the Manor-house. I do not
believe a marchioness could breathe there."
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433
And Diana smiled as she remembered Richard's
deep-rooted disdain for titles.
The expected visitors arrived. Lord Clanronald was
awed into silence and sobriety by the stately presence
of the Marquis de Vere, and for some hours Diana was
free from the haunting fear that her husband might
compromise himself and her.
Lady de Vere had improved in appearance. The glit-
ter of her loveliness was greater, her eyes had a bright-
er light, her hair a more golden sheen; the rose-tints
had deepened on her fair face. But she did not look
like one who had much heart, or soul, or sentiment.
She might have been a lovely tinted statue.
She was
desirous of making a favorable impression on her old
lover, and she came down to dinner in a superb dress.
of blue velvet, with pearls round her shapely throat
and in her hair.
Two more lovely women probably never met than
Lady de Vere and Lady Clanronald, and yet no two
could have been more different in style; the one was
pretty and artificial, the other beautiful and artless, her
loveliness being enhanced by her perfect freedom from
affectation.
Lady Cameron watched with some anxiety the meet-
ing between her daughter and Lord Clanronald. He
paid Lady de Vere some very pronounced compliments,
at which she did not seem too well pleased; he him-
self was rather excited.
The Marchioness and Lady Clanronald exchanged
but very few words; nothing could ever remove the
hatred for Diana that lived in the heart of Lady de
Vere.
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I
Love is proverbially blind; but it must have been
blinder than usual in the case of one so keen-witted
as Lady de Vere, who still idolized Lord Clanronald,
although she knew his real character. The marquis, a
tall, pleasant-looking man, had but little attraction for
his young wife.
That first evening which they passed together was
slightly embarrassing. The Marchioness de Vere sat
where the light of the great chandelier fell full upon
her. She knew that she had secured the best position
in which to display her charms, her lily-and-rose-like
complexion, fresh as a young May morning.
With a wave of her plumed fan she motioned Lord
Clanronald to her side. She chatted with him gayly
and freely, watching the while if any trace of jealousy
came over Diana's face, flirting with him in most co-
quettish fashion, little dreaming that she was giving
Diana a pleasant and welcome taste of freedom. The
Marquis de Vere devoted himself to Thea, whom he
considered a remarkably sensible young woman, al-
though not by any means to be compared to her sister.
J
Sir Royal, looking on, frowned heavily when he saw
Lord Clanronald's undisguised devotion to his old love.
He went up to Diana and took a seat beside her.
"Diana," he said in a low tone, "do you mind that?"
She understood at once to what he referred, and
smiled.
"No,"she replied-"not in the least, Royal."
"You do not feel grieved or disturbed at seeing your
→
husband flirt with Lady de Vere?" he said vehemently.
"Not in the least," she replied.
"Then heaven help you! You would be a happier
woman if you did," he declared.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
435
But she calmed him, and would not let him say
more.
That evening Lady Clanronald felt anxious concern-
ing her old friend, for his manner was entirely changed
from that of the Sir Royal of old. He seemed moody
and fitful, and at times his eyes flashed fire and his
face flushed; then the flush faded and the light died
from his eyes.
He would, too, occasionally grow si-
lent and strange. She could see also that his ideas
were not clear or connected.
N
"Royal," she said, “I am sure you are not well.
"I have never been well since you left home, Diana,"
he answered. "I have a terrible fear at times with re-
gard to myself-a terrible fear!"
"What is it?" asked Diana, kindly.
"I dare not shape it," he replied. "It hangs over
me like a cloud. I could not put it into words. But
never mind that, Diana. I long to talk to you to
speak of you, not of myself. You are quite sure, he
added, nodding his head in the direction of Lord
Clanronald, "that you are not annoyed?"
"Why should I be, dear friend?" she asked, with a
shrug of her beautiful shoulders.
"If you were my wife, Diana," he cried, suddenly, "I
should never leave you for one moment.'
She tried to laugh gayly, although the tears were well-
ing into her eyes.
"Perhaps you would be very much in the way at
times," she said, smilingly.
"That is the old Diana, saucy and bright!" he de-
clared. "I like to hear that. You are always so grave
now," he continued, sadly-"so terribly grave! I long
""
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to hear you talk and laugh as you used to do.
Do you remember how you used to lecture us all, Di
ana?"
"I remember everything that took place in the old,
happy days," she answered.
"And you," he said, "will never be happy again. Oh,
Diana, how is it-why is it? Your face has never been
like the face of another girl; it always had a story in
it."
Just then Lady Cameron came up to them, looking
very handsome in rich amber satin, with black lace
and diamonds.
棗
​"Diana, will you sing for us?" she asked; and even
she started back when she saw the emotion in her
face.
"What have you been talking about-you and Sir
Royal-that you both look so sad?"
"About old times," answered Diana. "I will not sing
to-night, Lady Cameron; I am tired, and it will be a
pleasure to hear others."
But she did not think so when Thea sat down to the
piano, and these sweet, sad words fell on her ears:
"If I am cruel, though you are kind,
If I taunt and tease you with passionate words,
If I feel no faith in the vows that bind,
And deem your love as the birds',
བ་་
"Bear with me, and say, 'Men are oft forsworn;
She may lead by the light of some phantom flame,
Showing mournful mothers and maids forlorn,
And "lover" the lightest name.
And for this-for this doth she turn to err,
And dream forever that men betray;
+
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
437
$
Since how should she know that my love for her
Was never the love of a day?'"
1
•
CHAPTER LV
THE anniversary of the birth of Lady Cameron was to
le celebrated on the morrow, and the servants at Fer-
ness had good reason to remember it, for never had
the millionaire made such provision for a party. Diana
however, took but a languid interest in the elaborate
preparations, for her own affairs more than sufficed to
absorb all her attention. When she awoke this morn-
ing, the birds were singing outside her window in a
perfect rapture of delight, flitting from bough to bough,
calling in sweet, shrill notes one to another. She list-
ened to them for a few minutes, and, wife of a wealthy
peer, mistress of magnificent estates, heiress of Ferness,
and certain of two millions of money, as she was, she
envied them. She would have given all that she pos-
sessed to be as free as they. She dreaded the morrow
with all its gayeties, and the more than probable hu-
miliations that her husband would inflict upon her and
her father by his excess and his furious outbursts of
temper.
It was cruel that Diana, one of the proudest of girls,
who had never known humiliation, who had resented
every word that failed to accord with her ideas of what
was due to her, should now be subjected to almost
every conceivable mortification and humiliation.
Mrs. Marche was an idolized wife. Honest Richard
Marche loved her with his whole heart and was one of
438
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439
the kindest and most indulgent of husbands. Thea was
. a stranger to care, and blissful contentment shone in
her eyes. They were thoroughly happy. "A model
pair," Lady Cameron called them. The Marchioness de
Vere was treated with the greatest deference and con-
sideration by her husband.
He-a model of courtly
grace-never for one moment forgot the homage due
to his wife. Lady de Vere had never even heard him
raise his voice in anger. It was proud, beautiful Diana,
the heiress, who was the neglected wife; it was she
who trembled at the sound of her husband's voice or
footstep; it was she who was obliged, if she wished to
preserve appearances, to submit to every imaginable
insult.
"A strange retribution!" And she acknowledged to
herself that it was such. She could not fail to see that
her fair foes treated her with a kindness and consider-
ation they would never have shown to her had she been
happy. Thea was kindness itself, Lady Cameron gen-
tle and careful in refraining from all show of suprem-
acy. If she had always been thus considerate, Diana's
story might have been very different; but her heart,
worldly and vain as it was, relented when she saw the
young wife's struggle to hide her misery and keep a
brave face to the world. She was earnestly honestly
sorry for her, and as time in passing showed more
clearly the evil and vicious character of Lord Clan-
ronald, she grew more and more thankful that he had
not married her daughter.
Lady de Vere had her own
own theories regarding this
ill-assorted union. She had a certain compassion for
Diana, but her vanity and hate distorted facts. She
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could not help admitting that Lord Clanronald had
many and great faults, but she accounted for them by
saying that he was not happily married, that Diana
was not suited to him, that, if his marriage had been
different, he would have been a different man. She felt
quite confident that he drank in order to drown his
disappointment, and that his bad temper was owing to
drink.
"He would never have been like this if he had mar.
ried me, mamma, she said one day. "Diana has
brought out all the bad points of his character. I liked
him well enough once to have been willing to take the
trouble to bring out the good ones.
"You had a merciful escape, my dear, "said Lady
Cameron, "and you may be thankful for it.'
But to that Lady de Vere would never agree. In her
way she was kind to Diana; she could not, however,
refrain now and then from a little satire, a little tri-
umph, a shot at the weakest part of Diana's armor
--she could not forbear showing her how well and
how easily she could manage Lord Clanronald.
Diana well recalled how she had resented the com-
ing of these two girls to her home, what struggles she
had had with them, how she had resisted them. And
now they were the witnesses of her humiliation and
mortification. A retribution indeed!
"1
"1
Lord Clanronald happened to be in one of his worst.
humors on this morning-the day preceding the great
event at Ferness. His unfortunate valet, Jules, had
done something which had greatly irritated him, and
the only person upon whom he could vent his wrath
was his wife. He was very gracious to Lady de Vere,
•
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441
who had given him a beautiful white narcissus for his
coat, which she affected to have saved for him. He
was delighted with this attention from his quondam
lady-love; but he thought to himself, "My wife would
not have taken that trouble."
The party were gathered around the table in the
breakfast-room-a pretty apartment that opened into a
quaint and old-fashioned garden, a room that seemed
to be all white lace and rose-buds-but, instead of com-
ing at once to the breakfast-table, Diana loitered for a
few minutes in the garden, and gathered some lilies of
the valley.
The warm, sunlit air tempted her, and she remained
a few minutes longer than she should have done. Then
remembering suddenly that the breakfast-hour was past
she hastened into the room. Quite unconscious that
her husband was in an angry mood, she passed him
with a courteous "good morning." Seeing her father
looking at her with a pleasant smile, she
him; put her arms round his neck, and
then she laid the lilies by the side of his plate.
went up to
kissed him;
"I know you like lilies, papa," she said. "I have
brought you these."
"Thank you, my darling," he answered.
Lord Clanronald looked up, his face like a thunder-
cloud.
"You would not have taken the trouble to gather
flowers for me," he said.
"I did not know that you cared for them," she re-
plied, coldly.
"Others know that I do," he said, pointing to the
white narcissus.
ว
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
The scene delighted Lady de Vere.
"I always knew that you liked flowers," she declared
"your button-holes' were chosen with such good
taste."
Diana, anxious to avert a scene, took her seat by
her father's side, saying a few pleasant words to him
about the garden.
Her husband rudely interrupted her.
1
"I should like to know, Diana," he began; "why you
are late-why you cannot come down to breakfast in
time, like other people?"
His voice was loud and harsh, and anger flashed
from his eyes.
Mr. Cameron looked up in surprise;
the ladies appeared distressed; the Marquis de Vere
frowned.
"I am sorry for being late," Diana answered, anx-
ious to keep the peace. "It was thoughtless of me, but
I forgot how time was passing. I will be more punct
ual for the future.'
""
No one but herself knew how great was the effort she
made to speak humbly and submissively, in the hope
of preventing an outburst of her husband's temper.
Discipline had taught her much, suffering more. Her
pride was dying under the pressure of heavy sorrow.
Anything was better than that he should shout at her
before the whole family-before these women who had
been her foes, before her father and Richard. No one
there had ever seen Diana so humble before.
0
Lord Clanronald muttered angrily. No one heard
him plainly; but a hot flush arose to his wife's face.
Richard saw that she took no breakfast, and that she
was really alarmed.
"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
443
"I can quite understand," he said, to himself, "that
this kind of thing would soon break the spirit of any
woman. The chances are that Diana cares little enough
as to what passes when they are alone, but cannot en-
dure that her friends should be witnesses of such
scenes."
In his opinion he was right.
Obviously the kindest thing was to distract his atten-
tion; and that Richard did by at once speaking to him
upon a subject that interested him, an impending
swimming-match. Lady de Vere was sufficiently peni-
tent for her share in the storm to come to the rescue.
But they all saw how Lord Clanronald's face darkened
when he looked at his wife, and they knew by in-
stinct that, if he should see her alone, his furious tem-
per would burst upon her again. Richard asked him
if he would walk with him as far as the Knoll Farm,
where there was a wonderful little spaniel for sale;
and when they had gone Diana quickly left the room.
The ladies gathered into a little group and discussed
the affair in whispers. Thea said it was all very well
when they surrounded Lady Clanronald and shielded
her; but what must it be for her when she was with
him alone?
Lady de Vere alone took his lordship's part.
"Diana does not know how to manage him," she de-
clared. 'I could have lived with him forever, without
an angry word."
"I do not like to hear you speak in that manner,
Evadne," said Lady Cameron. "You are always so
unreasonably prejudiced respecting Lady Clanronald."
"No, I am not," retorted the beautiful marchioness.
}
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"I am sorry for her, and you know that I am, mam-
ma; but I say what I have always said, that it is her
own fault; and as she has sown so she must reap.
And Lady Cameron never succeeded in bringing her
daughter to any other frame of mind.
CHAPTER LVI
"ANYWHERE-anywhere out of the world!' thought
Diana, as she hastened from the breakfast-room, fol-
lowed by the sympathizing looks of the ladies. "Any
fate rather than this-any trouble, any sorrow!"
She could not breathe indoors: the rooms seemed to
stifle her. She threw a black lace shawl over her head
and shoulders, and went out on to the terrace, hoping
thus to be able to avoid the pitying glances of the
ladies, and possibly her father's commiseration.
The sun shone in golden splendor on the terrace, on
the statuary and the trees. In the grounds below the
laburnum and lilac mingled sweetly. How fair and
sweet the world was, marred only by the sorrows and
sins of men!
Diana went to her favorite spot, where the roses
climbed, and stood there, quite unconscious how fair a
picture she made in her dress of pale blue and her
black lace.
A weariness that was akin to despair came over her.
She was afraid of the feeling of hatred toward her
husband that was growing in her heart. His constant
ill-temper, incivility, and indulgence in offensive lan-
guage to her had imbittered her against him. She could
see no way of relief but leaving her husband and com-
ing home-coming to live under the sway of Lady Cam-
eron-coming like a penitent, troubled sinner, to the
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*
scene of her former pride and glory. She could never
endure that; nor could she bear the thought that pub-
lic attention should be drawn to her misery. Even if
she could leave him to-morrow, it would be of no use;
she must until death remain his wife.
"If once and for all I could resign myself," she said,
"if I could cease to struggle for happiness, if I could
forget that there is any other state than this, if I could
do as thousands of women in my place do—take the
good and leave the rest-if I could live for fashion
gayety, excitement, it would be less miserable for me.
Why does my heart yearn for something higher,
nobler, better? Why should my soul be filled with.
yearning when life has nothing more to give me?”
"
As she stood musing, she heard the sound of car-
riage wheels; and looking down the long avenue of
chestnuts that led to the house, she saw a closed car·
riage with luggage on the top. She was but little inter
ested, for visitors came and went at Ferness without
having much to do with Diana. The carriage passed
and drove into the court-yard. She forgot all about it
in the melancholy of her thoughts. She fancied once
or twice that she heard the sound of voices of surprise;
but no surprise on earth could now hold any pleasure
for her.
J
Then, after some time, she heard footsteps on the
terrace. Surely it was not her husband! She under-
stood his character better than others did; she knew
that he would never rest until he had vented his ill-
temper upon her. She trembled a little; then drew
herself up proudly. "As well now as at any other time;
the sooner it is over the better," she thought.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
447
Dear heaven, what was that? A voice cried "Diana"
-a voice that stirred her every pulse, that made every
nerve thrill, that sent a crimson flush to her face, then
left it deadly pale-a voice she had never expected to
hear on earth again.
"Diana!"
She could not turn round. She was dazed, giddy,
bewildered. It was as though a ray of sunlight had
fallen at her feet, as though the whole world had sud-
denly changed for her, as though her wretched life had
burst the cruel bonds that had brought her so much
unhappiness.
"Diana"-and this time the voice had a caressing
tone-"do not let me startle you. Your father told me
you were here; will you not let me look at you? Raise
your face and speak to me."
"I cannot!" she cried, as she bowed her head on her
trembling hands.
"You must," said Sir Lisle. "I did not know you were
at Ferness, Diana, or-forgive me for saying so-I
should not have come. I would not have distressed
either you or myself."
"I am glad to meet you," she said. "It is a pleasure,
a gleam of happiness that I did not expect. I am so
glad." But her hands trembled. "I have often prayed
that I might see you once before I died." She gasped
rather than spoke the words, and he saw the great
emotion that they covered.
"Look at me, Diana!" he requested, gently. "I have
carried the memory of your dear face with me all over
the world. It has been with me night and day. I have
seen nothing else by light of sun, moon, or stars.
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
Now that I am here-and I promise to go away again
at once-let me gaze upon the face I love."
Slowly, and almost as one unveils a ruined shrine,
Diana removed her hands from her face and glanced
up at him. She saw him start and look for a moment
as though suddenly shocked. Then he cried out as Sir
Royal had done before him:
"Diana, what has happened to you?"
For in the pale, sorrowful, beautiful face before him
he saw little trace of the brilliant, proud Diana. He
placed his hand beneath her chin and raised the color-
less, tear-stained face to the light; then he saw more
plainly the ravages that grief and pain had left there-
he read more plainly the story of a life of misery with-
out hope.
2
"My poor Diana!" he said; and she, looking at him
saw tears in his eyes. "Who has done it?" he cried.
"Tell me. Do not fear to tell me who has broken
your heart, Diana; for if ever I saw the signs of a
broken heart in any woman's face, they are in yours.
Who has done it?"
"I have done it myself," she answered, in a low
voice. "My own pride and folly have done it."
"There is something more than that, Diana!" he
cried. "You look, my dear, as though your heart had
been wrung; you look as though the best and brightest
part of your life had been crushed out, as though all the
light of your beautiful eyes had been dimmed by weep-
ing, as though the bright, fresh young loveliness that
I remember so well had been washed away by bitter
tears. Oh, Diana, my dear, lost love, who has caused
this?"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
449
!
She made no answer. From her heart there rose a
despairing cry-that before he knew the complete story
of her wretched married life she might die-fall on the
ground there at his feet, and die! Let shame kill her!
She had destroyed the life of this man who loved her,
she had ruined her own life, all for the mere gratifi-
cation of her pride and vengeance. Let shame kill her!
But for her own mad folly, this man whose least word
thrilled her heart would have been her husband, and
she the happiest woman on the face of the earth.
Sir Lisle's dark face flushed with anger and sorrow
as he watched her.
"You are but the ghost of yourself, Diana," he said.
"You look as though for long years you had been
subjected to cruel torture. I can see fear in your eyes
-repressed but none the less terrible fear. Who has
broken the dauntless spirit as well as the loving heart?"
She flung up her arms with a low cry.
"Hush!" she said. "I cannot bear it! If I am
wretched it is my own fault."
"Then you acknowledge that you are miserable? Tell
me who makes you so, Diana, tell me who is making
you wretched that I may avenge you."
He raised his strong right arm, always ready to de-
fend the weak and punish the wrong-doer, and Diana
felt that where that right arm fell there would be little
hope. Sir Lisle's usual calmness had deserted him,
and strong passion now swayed him.
"You made your own choice, Diana," he said mourn-
fully. "Heaven only knows why you chose as you did;
there seemed to be no earthly excuse for it. But no
man shall wrong you while I live!"
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{
$
!
He longed to gather her in his arms, and hold her
to his breast, to kiss away the quickly falling tears, to
comfort her with loving words. That she, this bright,
beautiful Diana, his first and only love, should be
cruelly treated filled him with pain and wrath.
"It may be no business of mine," he continued, with
a proud movement of his handsome head; "I would
never interfere between man and wife; but I solemnly
swear that, if he ill-uses you, Diana, if he ill-treats
you, as surely as the sun shines in the heavens above,
he shall suffer for it! If a death of horrible torture at
the stake were the penalty, I would avenge you if I
knew that he ill-treated you."
"He does not! Oh, Sir Lisle, you frighten me! He
does not! It is my own fault that I am not happy.”
She clung to him, trembling, pale, breathless, fright-
ened, lest there should be danger for him, terrified
lest there should be a quarrel between him and her
husband.
"I detest a coward," said Sir Lisle, hotly; "and the
man who raises hand or voice against a woman is a
coward-he richly deserves shooting. Heaven meant
men to take care of women, not to tyrannize over
them."
He looked so brave, so noble, so handsome, that Di-
ana's heart went out to him. If she had but married
him, instead of the man who had humiliated her in the
presence of her servants and friends! And then a great
wave of pity for herself swept over her that the man
she loved should threaten the man she had married.
Sir Lisle's voice trembled with emotion.
"Pray for me, Diana," he said, "that I may not be
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
45I
led into temptation; for so surely as I see or know
that he ill-uses you, that he hurts even one hair of your
dear head, I shall slay him as I would a poisonous
reptile or a wild beast. Do
Do not tremble. When I
think of your case, it drives me mad. Oh, my dear,
lost love, why did you commit so rash an act?”
But she answered him only with tears. After a time,
she said to him, shudderingly:
"You must not stay here, Lisle; you must go."
"I will go, "he answered sorrowfully. "I did not
know that you were at Ferness, or I should not have
come. My wanderings over the world in search of rest
have left me now as I started. The void in my life
you caused is still there. I came back to England to
attend to some business in connection with my prop-
erty which required urgent attention, and en passant I
called to see Lady Cameron, hoping to hear of you
but never dreaming of seeing you."
"You must go!" reiterated Diana, little imagining
how much those words told him-what a confession
they were of love, of weakness, and of fear. "I have
enough to bear. You must not stay here."
"I will not. One who has to live his whole life in
cold and darkness is none the better for a sudden
glimpse of light and warmth. I will obey you, Diana,
I dare not trust myself near you. Oh, Diana," he cried
passionately as he took her hands in his, "these sweet
white hands of yours are dyed with my heart's blood!
And yet, though you have wronged me so bitterly, I
cannot endure to know that you suffer pain, that you
are unhappy. I would give my life for you even now.
To know that you suffer is the very bitterness of
death to me!"
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"You were always kind to me," she said gently; "to
kindness now add patience. And, oh, Lisle, if you
have ever loved me, go, and go soon!"
She turned away as she spoke, for her heart was
torn by the words that fell from the lips of the man
she had so cruelly treated. She could not trust herself
to utter another word; and he watched her in silence
as she re-entered the house.
CHAPTER LVII
THE arrival of Sir Lisle was a source of universal
surprise, and to Lady Cameron-who remarked that the
only thing she had needed to make her perfectly happy
was the presence of Sir Lisle-one of infinite pleasure.
Imperative business alone had induced Sir Lisle to
return home; as his love for Diana had not diminished
he had resolved that he would not see her. He decided
that, after their terrible parting, it would be cruel to
seek her; but passing by Ferness, he could not resist
the temptation to call. He longed to hear news of
Diana, but he was utterly astonished when Mr. Cam-
eron told him that his daughter was staying in the
house. As he felt he could not avoid meeting her, it
was better, he thought, to see her at once. Then he
would go away forever.
When he went onto the terrace to seek her, he re-
called the bright, beautiful Diana who had bewitched
him, whose very faults had a charm in his eyes that
the virtues of others did not possess. He expected to
find the same lovely face and the same imperious
manner; but he found a heart-broken, despairing wo-
man, whose beauty was dimmed with grief, and whose
queenly head was bowed in sorrow and shame.
When Sir Lisle met the members of the household
later, it was evident that he had received a great shock.
For her sake, he would not ask any questions, much
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
as he longed to do so; but he had not been at Fer-
ness many hours before he gathered from the remarks
he heard that Diana was a miserable woman, that her
marriage was a terrible failure, and that Lord Clan-
ronald had proved one of the most despicable of men.
He listened with a beating heart and pale face. If,
returning, he had found her happy, even carelessly and
indifferently happy, he would have been content; but
to see Diana with her freshness and beauty dimmed by
tears, Diana with her once proud, dauntless spirit brok-
en, was more than he could endure.
Lady Cameron talked freely to him, quite uncon-
scious of the torture she was inflicting. She was de-
voutly thankful that Lord Clanronald had not married
her daughter, and was grieved to find how sadly he had
deteriorated. She told Sir Lisle of his evil habits, of
the stormy scenes between husband and wife, and, as
he listened, he bit his lip and clinched his strong
hands in uncontrollable rage.
"Do you think that he positively ill-uses her?" he
asked, and the suppressed passion in his voice might
have warned Lady Cameron.
"I call it ill-usage," she replied-"at least I suppose
scolding and swearing and shouting at her constitute
ill-usage."
A quiver of pain and anger passed over his face.
"Does he do that?" he asked.
"He does little else," replied Lady Cameron. "Di-
ana has much more sense and self-control than I im-
agined her to possess. She likes to hide from her fa-
ther much of what passes, it distresses him so, and she
wisely keeps away from us as much as possible when he
is with us.
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
455
$
!
"What does Mr. Cameron really think and say of it?"
asked Sir Lisle.
'He says nothing," she answered, "but I am sure he
thinks a great deal. He has looked thoroughly unhappy
since they have been here. If he were young and
strong, he would-Well, something terrible would hap-
pen. It is certainly a sad fate for a bright, beautiful
girl like Diana."
"It is horrible," cried Sir Lisle.
>
w
They were interrupted by the entrance of several of
the guests, and could say no more. But Sir Lisle found
that all he had heard was perfectly true. Lord Clan-
ronald joined them at luncheon; Diana sent an ex-
cuse. He soon noticed that, whenever it was possible,
Diana avoided meeting her husband in the presence of
friends.
After dinner, when the whole party were in the draw-
ing-room, Peter Cameron asked his daughter to sing,
but she declined, making excuse that she was tired.
Lord Clanronald walked over to where his wife was
sitting. Sir Lisle, standing near, could not fail to
hear the almost brutal tone in which he addressed her.
"Why do you not sing when you are asked?" he
said. "What do you mean by refusing?"
"I presume I am at liberty to please myself?" she
asnwered, quietly.
"You are not; you are bound to please me," he re-
torted, “and noone else. I insist upon your singing."
"I cannot," she replied; "I am tired."
"You shall!" he said fiercely.
"You shall sing when
I bid you."
She made no reply; but Sir Lisle saw that her face
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grew pale, as though she was almost afraid to resist
his brutal demand.
Lord Clanronald muttered savagely between his
teeth, and Diana, knowing that, if she offered any fur-
ther resistance, there would, in all probability, be a
"scene," rose at once and went to the piano.
"What do you wish me to sing, papa?" she asked;
and Sir Lisle heard the tears in her voice.
"Anything you like, my darling. Hearing you sing
is always a delight to me," said Mr. Cameron.
So she sat down to the piano, and sung a ballad
which could bring no sad reminiscences to herself or
her listeners:
"A sweet, still night in the vintage time,
Where the Rhone goes down to the sea;
The distant sound of a midnight chime
Comes over the waves to me.
Only the hills and the stars o'erhead
Bring back the dreams of the days long dead,
While the Rhone goes down to the sea.
"The years are long and the world is wide,
And we all went down to the sea;
The ripples splash as we onward glide,
•
And I dream they are here with me-
All lost friends whom we all loved so,
In the old mad life of long ago,
Who all went down to the sea.
"So we passed in the golden days
With the summer down to the sea;
They wander still over weary ways,
And come not again to me.
Prod
I am here alone with the night-wind's sigh,
The fading stars, and a dream gone by,
And the Rhone going down to the sea.
"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
457
She could see that Sir Lisle had withdrawn from the
brilliantly lighted room into the shadow of one of the
great bay-windows; and she was glad that she had sung
no sweet, weak love-words that could bring him pain.
She was going back to her place when, half way across
the room, Sir Lisle met her.
"Diana-Lady Clanronald, come with me," he said
in a low voice. "I wish to speak to you."
She walked to the window with him, and when they
had sat down, his sad eyes looked into her own.
"I must speak to you," he said. “I
"I could not help
overhearing what your husband said to you, and I could
not help noticing the manner in which it was said.
How can you bear it, Diana?"
"I must bear it," she replied. Her voice was low
and full of pain, her face pale, her eyes were shadowed
with grief.
"But I cannot bear to witness the treatment you re-
ceive," he declared passionately. "I could go away
at once, if you were happy; as it is, I cannot leave
you to the tender mercies of such a man."
"But, Lisle, there is no remedy. You cannot inter-
fere-no one can!"
"I am very much afraid that I shall," he said; and
his white, set face alarmed Diana.
. "Lisle," she half-whispered, "I am frightened when
I think of you and of him. Promise me that you will
be patient-that no matter what you hear, you will say
nothing."
But Sir Lisle raised his head.
"My dear Lady Clanronald," he said, "no gentleman
can remain passive while a man ill-uses a woman.
It
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is not possible; I am only mortal, and you expect too
much from me.
"You will do no good," she pleaded. "It will be
all the worse for me, for I shall have to bear the con-
sequences of your interference.
Do you not under-
stand that?”
"I know not what I understand," he said; “but, if
ever I see his coward hand raised against you, I will
crush the life out of him as I would out of a poisonous
snake!"
1
"Hush!" she said, her upraised finger enjoining si-
lence. "Listen to me. I have as much as I can bear.
My-my husband is constantly angry with me. No one
has ever taught him to control his temper. If ire
abuses me, and you resent it, think how doubly miser
able I shall be. Oh, Lisle, go-go; I cannot bear it!'
•
"I will go," he answered slowly. "I see it is the on-
ly thing to be done. I will go when the fete of to-
morrow is over. And, Diana, I go far more miserable
than I came. I would give my whole life to see you
happy!"
"I know you would," she answered him; "but I have
voluntarily cut myself adrift from happiness forever."
2
}
}
=
7
1
CHAPTER LVIII
THE day of the fete, May the twentieth, Lady Cam-
eron's birthday, dawned bright and beautiful.
"Queen's weather!" declared Peter Cameron. "The
very day for our purpose.
How little did anyone who saw the sun rise dream
what would happen ere it set!
The day was to be celebrated by a large garden-
party, to be followed by a ball, to which all the peo-
ple of distinction in the county had been invited.
The Duke and Duchess of Stone had promised to be
down at Stonedale for a few days, in order to be pres-
ent at the fete. No trouble or expense had been spared
to promote the enjoyment of the guests. For those
whom tennis and archery had no attractions, two mili-
tary bands supplied in succession a ceaseless flow of
charming music. There was nothing wanting that
taste and luxury could suggest, that money could buy,
or that ingenuity could invent.
The house was filled with guests and the day prom-
ised to be a perfect success.
Lord Clanronald for once woke in a good temper.
He had made up his mind for a day's pleasure.
At breakfast-time everyone brought some offering to
Lady Cameron. There were innumerable necklaces and
bracelets, rings and lockets, elegantly bound books,
and flowers. As the family gathered round her, con-
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gratulations and kind wishes passing from one and an-
other, with birthday greeting from husband and chil-
dren, it would have been difficult for a stranger to
realize what a skeleton stood in their midst, or how
dark a shadow hung over them.
Dow
Of Lady Cameron, as the heroine of the day, the
master of Ferness was naturally proud. Mrs. Marche
looked very distinguished and elegant, the Marchioness
de Vere exquisitely lovely; but Diana was the queen-
as she always was-beautiful, stately, charming.
The visitors were delighted with the fairy-like scene;
the music was entrancing, the dresses were exquisite,
and with glorious weather, the fete was eminently suc-
cessful. The ladies looked radiantly smiling and hap-
py.
By mutual consent, Diana and Sir Lisle kept far
apart from each other. It was understood that he was
to leave Ferness on the morrow, that he was staying
only for Lady Cameron's fete. Diana was wise enough
to keep away from Lord Clanronald, who was carrying
on a vigorous flirtation with the marchioness.
So she hoped and believed the day would pass over
without any esclandre. On the morrow Sir Lisle would
depart, and then she would fall back into the old life
of misery and wretchedness, finding it all the darker
for the one transient gleam of light.
Sir Royal was there, and Lady Clanronald thought
him looking better that day than, he had looked for
some time.
"Come and sit under the trees with me, Diana," he
said. "It will be like olden times. Do you remember
our strawberry parties-Lady Colwyn and you, Rich
and myself?"
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
461
<
"What quantities we ate!" she said, laughingly, as
she left the terrace with Sir Royal for the shelter of
the ample branches of the chestnut trees. She was al-
most surprised at the sound of her own laughter; but
thanks to the bright day, the happy faces, the fact of
being with Sir Royal, she was for a few minutes in
better spirits than she had been for some time. Her
troubles were forgotten for the moment in the gayety
of the scene; and the respite, brief as it was, was wel-
come to a mind so racked with anguish.
Sir Royal found a seat for her under the trees.
"I will bring you some strawberries," he said, "and
we will enjoy them together in memory of the happy
past." He was back with a glass dish filled with the
luscious fruit, and sat down by her side. "These are
very fine fruit," he continued; "but, Diana, they are
not so sweet as the strawberries we used to gather our-
selves."
Still it was a pleasant half-hour, and both enjoyed it
heartily. The music came floating to them across the
lawn; they could see the gay dresses of the ladies be-
tween the trees; the voices of the players, the sound
of laughter reached them; Diana's face was brighter
than Sir Royal had seen it since she came home. He
thought how beautiful and how young she looked, de-
spite her troubles.
"Diana, you look more like your old self," he said.
"How I wish that you were happier! Do you know
that, if by the sacrifice of my life I could secure your
happiness I would give it freely?"
"I believe it," she said, gently. "You have always
loved me, and you have been so good to me."
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While they were talking they observed Mr. Cameron
walking toward them with a very distressed expression.
"Here is papa," cried Lady Clanronald.
"And very unhappy he looks," added Sir Royal.
Diana glanced at him, and saw at once there was
something the matter.
"Come and join us, papa; we have some delicious
strawberries."
Mr. Cameron sat down by her side; but he did not
touch the fruit, nor did he return his daughter's
smiles.
•
"Are you ill or tired, papa?" she said, becoming
anxious and puzzled at his strange silence.
"No, my dear, I am distressed. I am grieved to in-
terrupt this pleasant little tete-a-tete, but I am com-
pelled to do so."
"It is something about Clanronald," she cried in-
stinctively "something wrong."
"Do not be alarmed, my dear," he said; "do not dis-
tress yourself. It is merely this-that, as a matter of
course, you have more influence over Clanronald than
any one else, and I want you to speak to him. There
is really nothing the matter; but he has had a little
more champagne than is good for him, and I thought
that perhaps if you spoke to him-said a word or two,
just gave him a little hint-he might be more careful.
The duke mentioned the matter to me. I-I should
not like to be disgraced, you know."
Diana rose at once. Sir Royal saw the light die from
her eyes and the color from her cheeks, whilst a quiver
of pain passed over her face.
"Where is he, papa?" she asked; and it scemed to
•
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
462
Sir Royal that she was nerving herself for a great ef-
fort.
Mr. Cameron looked rather confused.
"He is down the chestnut walk; he is sitting half
asleep, on the bench there. I thought perhaps if he
slept off the effect of the champagne, he might be bet-
ter, and then you could just speak to him."
"I hope he has not annoyed you," she said, anxiously.
"No. He had a few words with Captain Bates, and
then I saw that he had taken too much wine. Do not
distress yourself, Diana."
She looked at him without uttering a word. How
could she be anything but distressed!
"I had forgotten all for a few moments," she said.
"Was it possible, Royal, that I sat here enjoying our
quiet tete-a-tete unmindful of everything?"
"Shall I go with you, Diana?" asked Sir Royal.
"No, thank you," she replied; "I shall manage him
better alone."
She walked away slowly, the two men watching her
until she was lost to sight among the trees. The one
looked after her with wistful sadness, the other with
passionate regret.
"What a fate!" cried Peter Cameron. "What could
have possessed the poor child to marry such a man as
that?"
"I cannot understand," said Sir Royal. "It has al-
ways been a mystery to me.
"She will never know one moment's peace or happi-
ness while he lives," declared Mr. Cameron. "I could
almost wish that she had not come home. Before I saw
her, I thought it was love of life, gayety and the world,
11
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that kept her from us; now I understand. She would
not come home with him lest we should see what he
really is and what she suffers. My poor Diana!"
"She ought to be separated from him," said Sir
Royal.
But Peter Cameron shook his head.
"No, that would not do," he said.
And then Sir Lisle joined them.
After a few minutes Mr. Cameron returned to his
other guests, and the two men who loved Diana stood
talking of her. They conversed long and gravely, Sir
Lisle noticing that his companion seemed to be under
the influence of extreme emotion. His face was very
white and his lips twitched nervously. Sir Lisle
asked him once if he was ill.
"No," he answered; "but when I think of Diana and
her miserable lot it almost drives me mad."
And Sir Lisle guessed from the expression of his face
and the tone of his voice how intensely he loved her.
"Let us go to the chestnut walk," said Sir Royal
presently.
The chestnut walk, as it was called, lay on the
south side of the house. With its well-kept turf and
overhanging boughs, it was one of the most lovely,
picturesque glades for which Ferness was so famous-
cool, shady, and beautiful. At the end stood a statue
of a heathen goddess, beneath which was a bench,
whereon Lord Clanronald had fallen asleep.
Diana walked up to him and gazed upon his sleep-
ing form. In her mind's eye she saw the kindly, lov-
ing face of Sir Royal, the dark, handsome visage of
Sir Lisle, and a low cry of unutterable bitterness came
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
465
from her lips, as she watched the swollen, sullen coun-
tenance of the man she was bound to love, honor, and
obey.
CHAPTER LIX
LADY CLANRONALD stood for some minutes in silence
watching her sleeping husband. She was glad after-
ward that no thought of hatred toward him came to
her. Only infinite pity filled her heart. If he had been
dying before her eyes of some terrible malady, she
could not have felt more sorry for him.
At length he opened his eyes and turned with fury
upon his wife.
"What are you standing there for, watching me?" he
said, angrily.
"I came to speak to you, and found you asleep; I
was merely waiting until you awoke," she answered,
quietly.
"Now that I am awake, what do you want?" Then
his tone changed suddenly, as he added-"Diana, do
be good for once. Come down off your pedestal, and
act like an ordinary mortal. "
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"Why, go and send some one to me with a brandy
and soda or a tumbler of champagne. I am so thirsty
and am thoroughly tired. Fetes and such nonsense as
this do not suit me. Go; there's a good girl."
Then she realized what an unpleasant task lay before
her, and that she would have to exercise great tact if
she wished to succeed in her mission. In her heart she
gave a despairing thought to the two who loved her.
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467
She would have given much that one might stand by
her side now.
"Ronald," she began hesitatingly, "I came to ask
of you a great favor."
A heart of stone might have been moved at the
sight of that beautiful, wistful face; but his lordship
was deaf to the eloquent appeal.
"Ask me any favor you will," he said, "when you
have complied with my request
I must have some-
thing to drink.”
{
She drew nearer to him, and bent over him.
"Ronald," she said, pleadingly, "do not have more
brandy. I come to beg you to be careful."
"What do you mean?" he shouted.
what?"
"Careful about
"About drinking. There are so many people here,
and, if it should be noticed, my father would be so
distressed, so angry."
"What in the world do I care for your father's an-
ger? What is it to me? As for drink, I have had
I want some. I am as thirsty as a man can be.
Go now, and do what I ask. You ought to know by
experience that I will not listen to your preaching."
none.
"Oh, Ronald, do let me persuade you this once! Do
be careful. Come to the house with me and rest until
dinner."
"I will not be careful, I shall not go back to the
house, and I will have what I have asked for," he said
savagely.
Then Diana's heart sunk within her, and she foresaw
the probability of her husband humiliating all con-
nected with him. Still she would make one more effort
+
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to dissuade him from his purpose.
She bent over him
and tried to smile into his face, but her lips trembled.
"Ronald," she said, in a sweet, wistful voice. "Ron-
ald, let me persuade you this once. Do-"
He rose in a violent passion, and Diana, hastily
retreating from the cruel, upraised arm, stumbled and
fell. To one looking on, it would have seemed that
he had knocked her down; but in reality he had only
roughly pushed her away.
He seemed shocked and sobered for a few moments.
"Why do you hover about me like this?" he asked,
more quietly.
Diana rose hastily, her face deathly pale.
"I will send some one to you," she said.
He laughed maliciously, triumphantly, as she went
away.
"The goddess off her pedestal!" he cried. "She
came to preach, and retired in search of brandy and
soda!"
Diana did not stay to listen, but hurried away down
the long, shady path, her heart beating violently, her
face pale, her eyes filled with tears; and then she met
Sir Lisle. He was walking quickly toward her, strong
emotion visible on his face.
"Are you hurt, Diana?" he cried. "I saw him strike
you. Are you hurt?" He looked at her anxiously, as
her pallid face was raised entreatingly to his. "I was
just coming to you when I saw it." He spoke hur-
riedly, gaspingly, as he trembled with excitement.
A new and terrible fear took possession of Diana.
She remembered that Sir Lisle had said, "If ever
he hurts one hair of your dear head, I shall slay him!"
}
F
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
46g
The words sounded in her ears now, and she grew
pallid with fear.
"I am not hurt. You are wrong, Lisle! He did not
strike me; he pushed me away, and I fell."
"He shall never push you again," said Sir Lisle
with decision; and Diana knew that he was at the very
white heat of passion. He seemed to hiss rather than
speak his words.
She clung to his arm.
"I am not hurt; I am ill," she said. "Oh Lisle, take
me to the house-I am ill!"
The faint, trembling voice arrested his anger. He
laid her hand on his arm.
"I will take you to the house, Diana," he said. "I
will settle accounts with him afterwards. He shall
never treat you thus again."
"Let us pass through the conservatory," Diana urged;
"we shall be less likely to meet anyone there." Her
object was to gain time to ask Sir Lisle to forget all
about the matter.
"Why, Diana," he cried, "you are trembling like a
leaf!"
"Listen to me," she answered. "You are going to-
morrow, Lisle; let me beg you not to say anything
about-about what you saw. If you do, he will resent
it, and then-I dare not think of it!" She hid her face
with her hands.
'Diana," he said, gravely and sadly, "do you think
that while my heart beats in my breast I can go away
and leave you in the power of a man like that?”
"I put myself in his power, and no man can free
me," she said
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!
"I will!" he cried.
"I"
The words died on his lips, for several guests en
tered the conservatory, and he could say no more.
"Stay with me!" pleaded Diana, in a low voice.
"Do not let anyone come near me or see me.
And for some minutes he stood in silence
by her
side; but by and by, turning to make a remark to him,
she found that he was gone. She did not feel especial-
ly anxious then, for she knew that her wishes always
influenced him. Glad to be able to rest before dress-
ing for dinner, she went to her room.
Dinner was to be served in the banqueting-hall.
Meanwhile the ladies had retired to snatch a little
rest, and many of the gentlemen were solacing them-
selves with cigars.
Lady Cameron
was in high good humor; so far,
everything had gone off most satisfactorily, and she
proudly remarked that the day was one that would
long be remembered in the annals of the county.
When Diana descended, almost the first person she
net was Sir Lisle. She saw his start of admiration,
the rapture of love, the passion of despair depicted on
his countenance, but he made no effort to come near
her or to speak to her.
"He is going to-morrow," she thought, "and he has
done what I wish. He will say no more to me except
'good-bye.
,"
Further off she observed Sir Royal, talking to Mrs.
Marche. He looked very ill, with a strange expression
in his eyes. Her husband, she supposed, would be by
the side of the Marchioness de Vere; he generally took
her down to dinner. But, to her surprise, he was not
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471
1
here. She looked round the large salon, but could
not see him. He was evidently not present.
At first she felt some little alarm. Where could he
be? Dinner was a meal he never missed. Then she
felt relieved that he was not present. Evidently his
better sense had prevailed, and he was sleeping off the
effects of his dissipation. He would come to the ball-
room later on, and all would be well. Nothing, she
vowed to herself, should ever induce her to visit any-
where with him again-nothing. She would go back
to Ronald's Court, and shut herself up there until she
died. Never while she lived would she go through
such humiliation again.
Long before the dinner ended, the sound of carriage
wheels was heard, and dance-music echoed through the
house. Then, when she was free, Diana went in search
of her husband-to their rooms first; but there was no
sign of him. Then she rung for Jules, the valet, and
asked him where his master was.
The man answered that he did not know-that his
lordship had told him not to come near his room again
until he rang for him.
"I shall find him in the ball-room," she thought.
While on her way thither, she met the Duchess of
Stone, who commenced an animated conversation.
1 Some time was thus passed, for the duchess had a
great deal to say, and Diana, in patiently and politely
listening to her, forgot her own anxieties and fears.
Presently there was an influx of guests, and the duke,
approaching the two ladies, declared that his wife was
doing wrong in monopolizing the queen of the fete.
He begged permission to escort her to the ball-room
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himself; and, in the excitement of the scene, Diana
momentarily forgot that she was in search of her miss-
ing husband.
CHAPTER LX
As the strains of the 'Estudiantina" echoed through
the ball-room, Diana thought she had never gazed on
a fairer scene. The graceful ferns, the slender, shapely
palms, the masses of exquisite flowers. the little rip-
pling fountains gave her the idea of a miniature fairy-
land. She never dreamed that she herself was the most
beautiful object in that room, as the light fell full on
her lovely face, on the dead-white silk and gleaming
rubies.
The duke had asked her to waltz with him, but Di-
ana had excused herself. She was obliged to talk to
him, to smile at his insipid remarks, but she would
not dance with him. She could not forget the misery
her father's desire to know him had caused. But for
the Duke of Stone and his own miserable pride, her
father would never have married again, and she would
not have been Lady Clanronald.
She was looking indifferently round the room, on the
faces of fair women, on rich jewels, waving plumes,
costly dresses, exquisite flowers, when she noticed Sir
Lisle talking to a fair-haired girl who looked admiring-
ly into his handsome face, and a quick, sharp spasm
of pain shot through her heart. She saw Sir Royal
chatting to Richard, and again she was struck by her
old friend's care-worn appearance and vacant stare.
Her eyes wandered on carelessly, the duke still talk-
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ing to her. They rested on Lady Cameron, her hand-
some face glowing with pride and delight; then they
lingered on her father. He was talking to the duchess,
and she knew by his expression how glad and happy
he felt.
In after life the scene was like a dream to her. She
´could never realize what had happened. Her father
was evidently explaining something to the duchess,
for she was looking up with an air of inquiry, when
their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the ap-
pearance of a footman with a message for his master.
Diana's eyes seemed riveted on the man's face, for it
was perfectly white with the pallor of fear. Watching
intently, a strange conviction came over her that the
message deeply concerned her. Her father's face grew
white as that of the man who spoke to him, and she
saw what seemed like a shudder of horror pass over
him. Then he bowed to the duchess and went away.
Diana was cogitating upon what had just occurred,
when the footman returned, went up to Richard
Marche, and a similar scene was enacted. She could
neither move nor speak, she was momentarily para-
lyzed by some great impending fear. She was conscious.
that the duke was still talking to her; but she had no
idea what he was saying.
music, she heard a cry of distress
Some of the dancers heard it, and
A sense of indefinable awe came
over the guests, one face paling after another.
Then above the
outside the house.
stopped abruptly
"What is it?" was heard on all sides. "What is the
matter?"
Again outside the house a cry arose, and still Lady
Clanronald stood paralyzed with fear.
1
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
475
"You are ill, Lady Clanronald," the duke remarked.
She looked up at him, and her white lips parted;
but she was unable to speak.
86%100
There was a dread silence for some moments, when
a perfect babble of voices arose. In the midst of it
someone came to Lady Clanronald, and, gently taking
her hand, led her away. She knew afterward it was
She wondered vaguely why people.
made way for her, why they looked at her so strangely
and pityingly. What had happened?
Richard Marche.
Richard led her from the ballroom, and, when they
reached the door, she clutched his arm.
"Rich," she cried, "what is it?"
Once outside the ball-room, she knew that the whole
house was in confusion. She heard the sounds of
hushed voices, of hurried footsteps; and she looked at
him again, her strength failing her.
"What has happened, Rich?" she asked.
"You shall know soon, Diana," he replied. "Your
father wants to see you."
He opened the door of a retiring-room, and she en-
tered. There she saw Lady Cameron lying on the sofa
in violent hysterics, and her father, who was standing
by the table, trembling in every limb, so white and
weak that. he looked as though he too must fall.
"We are disgraced forever!" cried her ladyship. "I
shall leave the place-leave England! I shall-"
Peter Cameron turned to her with more dignity than
he had ever shown in his life before.
"Forget yourself," he said, "and think of her! What
disgrace will touch us? It will be hers-poor child!—
if disgrace there be."
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Then Diana approached her father, and he looked
into her face with sad, loving eyes.
"Have I trouble to bear?" she asked, slowly.
"Terrible trouble!" he replied.
"Then let me bear it here," she said; and she threw
her arms around her father's neck, her head on his
breast. She felt his strong frame tremble; she knew
that tears were falling from his eyes. She heard the
smothered weeping of Lady Cameron. "Tell me quick-
ly, papa," she said, "or I shall die here."
He laid his hand on the fair head so dear to him.
Did his thoughts go back in that moment to the time
when he had married against this beloved daughter's
will, merely to gratify his own pride?
"My darling Diana," he said, "a terrible affair has
happened. Lord Clanronald has been found-dead!"
"Dead!" she cried, clinging to him with tightening
clasp-"dead?"
"Yes, dead-murdered, we are afraid.
"Murdered!" she repeated, vaguely.
"Yes; shot through the heart."
At those words Diana fell, with a stifled groan, at
his feet, as though she herself were dead. Peter Cam-
eron thought it was the shock of her husband's death;
but that which had felled her to the ground, white,
mute, and senseless, was the sudden and vivid memory
of Sir Lisle's words-"He richly deserves shooting!"
They laid her on the couch, sprinkled water on her
forehead, and brought her back to the world, of
which she was so weary. When she opened her eyes
again, her father read a new fear there.
"Tell me," she said, faintly, "how it happened."
11
-
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
477
Sup
"We do not know, my dear. We hope to discover;
but at present it is all enveloped in mystery. You saw
him lying on the bench in the chestnut walk?"
"Yes, I found him sleeping there," she replied. Ah,
heaven, did anyone know or guess who else had been
with her?
"He did not come in to dinner, and in the bustle no
one seems to have gone out to look for him. I thought
he was purposely staying away to sleep.
"So did I," moaned Diana.
"It seems that he had told Jules not to go to his
room again until he rang," Mr. Cameron went on;
"but, after dinner, finding that his master did not come
or send, Jules went out to look for him, but without
success. On making inquiries, he learned that he had
been seen asleep on the bench in the chestnut walk.
Jules hastened there, and found him dead-shot through
the heart. You left him there, Diana?"
Why, he wondered, did that expression of more than
mortal anguish pass over the white face raised to his?
"Yes," she replied. "But he was not asleep when I
left him; he was awake and angry. He wanted me to
send him some brandy, and I would not consent. I
asked him to come to the house, but he would not. I
-I did not think I should never see him alive again."
"He must have fallen asleep after you left him," said
Mr. Cameron.
Diana raised her tear-stained face.
"Papa," she whispered, slowly, "who has done it?"
"I cannot think who, or the reason that prompted the
deed," he replied. "It cannot have been for robbery;
nothing upon him has been touched. It cannot have
478
}
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
been suicide, for the weapon has disappeared. He
must have been shot in his sleep, for there is no sign
of a struggle; and his death must have been instanta-
neous, for his face is calm as that of a sleeping child."
Another cry rang through the house. Diana knew
the voice; it was that of the Marchioness de Vere, who
had just been told what had happened. That aroused
Lady Cameron.
I
12
"that is Evadne!
1
"Oh, Mr. Cameron," she cried,
must go to her or send for her. What will the mar-
quis say, if he finds she is so distressed because of
Lord Clanronald's death? He will think there is some"
thing wrong."
"He will attribute it to the shock, my dear," said
Mr. Cameron, feeling slightly bewildered.
His daughter drew his head down to her lips.
"Papa," she whispered, "who did it? Who is sus
pected?"
"No one, my dear," he replied, wondering what the
awful fear was that he read in her eyes. "There is no
one to suspect. We have sent for the local superin-
tendent of police, and we have telegraphed to Scotland
Yard for a skilled detective. Rich thought of all that."
"Had he any enemies?" she whispered; and her very
soul seemed to be in the words.
"I think not, my dear.
He was not a great favorite,
poor fellow; but I do not think he had any enemies."
She closed her eyes for a few minutes, then opened
them suddenly.
"Are you sure, quite sure that he is dead, papa? I
will go to him. There may be some mistake; he may
have swooned."
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"There can be no mistake, my dear," he answered;
"and you shall see him soon-not just now. The doc-
tor must see him first. Poor fellow; I would not have
had it happen for the whole world!"
Then Diana lay back with a deadly pallor upon her
countenance, and Mr. Cameron stood watching anx-
iously by her side.
Lady Cameron rapidly recovered from her hysterics,
and withdrew to attend her inconsolable daughter.
Diana's heart was racked by an awful fear, a terrible
dread, the words ringing through her brain-"If ever
he injures one hair of your head, I will kill him!" To
her it seemed clear as the day that Sir Lisle had killed
her husband because he had seen the blow given to her
that afternoon. But did anyone else know it? Would
anyone find it out? How could she best screen him?
She did not doubt for one moment that her suspicions
were true, and she was utterly unable to face the hor-
ror of them. She closed her eyes with a prayer on her
lips that she might never open them again.
CHAPTER LXI
In less than two hours every visitor had left Ferness.
That a murder, and one so terrible, should take place
in the midst of a brilliant fete, cast an appalling gloom
over the assembled guests, and they drove away in si-
lent horror. The musicians were dismissed, the lights
extinguished. For one long hour there was a contin-
uous roll of carriage-wheels, a low, subdued murmur of
conversation, at times there was a stifled cry, and then
the silence of death fell over that vast mansion.
Mr. and Lady Cameron saw no one. Sir Lisle and
Richard did the honors to the parting guests. Sir Lisle,
seeing that Sir Royal looked tired and ill, asked him
to remain; but the master of Westwater declined.
"I could not sleep under that roof," he said; adding,
as he shook hands with Sir Lisle: "It is a terrible
affair, a horrible affair-but Diana is free."
"She will scarcely care for freedom purchased in such
a manner," replied Sir Lisle.
But, in spite of himself, he could not forget those
words, "Diana is free!" It was not her fault that her
freedom had been accomplished by a barbarous crime.
The two doctors from the neighboring town had
come over and had returned They had little to say.
So far as they could judge, Lord Clanronald must have
been dead for more than three hours. It was after
nine when he was found. As no guest, no servant,
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had been missed, and no one had heard a shot fired,
the whole affair was shrouded in mystery. The doc-
tors were of opinion that he had been shot by a re-
volver, that it had been held close to his breast, and
that his death had been instantaneous. They could
say no more.
When Lady Cameron was informed that there must
be an inquest, her face was a study.
With the dawn, quiet and order were in a measure
restored. Diana had been taken to her room, and re-
mained there. Lady Cameron was sitting with Evadne,
trying to reason with her, and show her how foolish it
was to attract attention to herself by her inordinate
display of grief; but the girl turned from her mother
and buried her face in the pillows.
"If he had married me, he would not have died that
horrible death!" she moaned.
The marquis, who had a great horror of "scenes,"
had accepted an invitation from the Duke of Stone,
and had returned with him to Stonedale, consoling
himself by saying that the fewer people there were in
the house the better it was at such a time.
They had placed the body of the unfortunate man in
the state bed-chamber. In' death his face, robbed of all
that was mean and ignoble, was as chiseled marble.
Ronald, Lord Clanronald, lying there dead, was invested
with a dignity that was never his in life. They draped
the room in black, tall wax tapers were kept burning
around him; fresh, fragrant flowers were strewn over
him.
Again the birds' singing awoke Diana, again the
May sun shone brightly into her room, and for the
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first few moments she hardly remembered the hideous
tragedy of the previous night. All the horrible details,
however, came back to her with a shock--all the haunt-
ing fears that turned the brightest day into darkest
night.
1
It was true that she had not loved her husband. She
had often prayed that she might die and be freed from
him; but she had never desired his death. She re-
pelled the thought that this tragedy, so terrible in it-
self, brought freedom to her. She was too genuinely
shocked to feel that relief had been brought to her by
so atrocious an act.
She had not loved him; but she could not bear to
see the sun shine and hear the birds sing, remember-
ing that he lay dead-victim of a cruel murder. In
that first hour of her bereavement, she would honestly
have given her life to have that terrible deed undone.
And then she thought of Sir Lisle.
Could it be pos-
sible that he had been guilty of this crime-that he,
noblest, bravest, most honorable of men, had taken the
life of another?
Yet she had seen such hot, bitter resentment, such
passion in his face, such anger in his eyes. It might
be-oh, heaven, it might be!-it must be that he had
returned to remonstrate with him, and-she could not,
dared not even to herself, picture the rest. Yet the
doctors said there had been no struggle, that he must
have been shot dead in his sleep.
No one else had any ground for enmity toward him;
no one else had threatened him; no one else in the
whole wide world loved her well enough to have risked
his life to avenge her. It could be no one else. But
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483
as yet, thank heaven, no suspicion of Sir Lisle had en-
tered anybody's mind! She would not betray him; but
he must go from her presence, and never in this world
would she look upon his face again.
As she stood thinking of the tragedy that had hap-
pened, there came to her the words, "As a man sows,
so shall he reap.” She had sown pride, obstinacy,
willfulness; she was reaping bitterness, tears, death.
In that hour of regret, remorse, and repentance, Di-
ana realized the sins and follies of her youth. From
her pride and defiance had sprung this fearful crime.
While the tears were still wet upon her face, a knock
came at the door, and Lady Cameron entered.
"You are crying, Diana," she said. "Well, I am not
surprised. I shall never be myself again. What a
finish to a brilliant day! Certainly poor Lord Clanron
ald was in many respects a most unpleasant compan.
ion; but his death is too horrible! Diana," she added,
looking searchingly into the beautiful, colorless face,
"have you any idea who did it?"
Though she did not
expect the question, Diana's
heart almost ceased to beat when she heard it. She
knew that one moment's hesitation would be fatal.
"Certainly not!" she forced herself to say, with
supreme effort.
"It is most mysterious to me," Lady Cameron con-
tinued. "I cannot imagine any motive for such a bar-
barous murder; can you?"
"I cannot," she replied, inwardly praying heaven to
shorten her ordeal.
•
"Nothing has been stolen from him, and he cannot
have killed himself," Lady Cameron went on. "The
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<
marvel is who has killed him. The police are sure to
find it out. What is the matter, Diana?"—for a low
groan of irrepressible anguish broke from the girl's
white lips.
"I cannot bear to speak of it!" she cried
"I shall ask your father to leave the country for a
time," resumed Lady Cameron. "Of all things to hap-
pen in a house, a murder is the most horrible. Diana,
you will like to-to see your unfortunate husband?
Shall I go with you? Poor child, you look almost dead
yourself!"
There was no trace of the brilliant Diana in the pale,
sad woman who seemed to have hardly sufficient strength
to walk upstairs. Diana never forgot the shock of en-
tering that darkened room-the black draperies, the
burning tapers, the silent figure covered with flowers.
She could not realize that this was the husband with
whom she had lived so unhappily, who had been so
coarse and cruel to her, and who, only the previous
day, had pushed her from him. Peaceful and calm in
his last sleep, he bore no trace of the characteristics
which were his in life. Inexpressibly awed, for she
had never been face to face with death before, Diana
fell on her knees with a passionate outburst of tears.
Lady Cameron stood by the bedside, her face. pale
with emotion.
“Oh, Diana," she said, "if he could speak, if he
could open those dumb lips to speak one word to tell
us who did this horrible deed!"
Ana Diana, shuddering, buried her face in her
hands. If the dumb lips could open, she believed the
name they would utter would be that of the man she
loved best in the world.
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?
Then the door opened, and the Marchioness de Vere
entered. She heeded neither her own mother nor the
'dead man's wife. She went up to the calm, motion-
less figure, and stood mutely gazing upon it.
CHAPTER LXII
SUCH a tragedy was not on record in the annals of
the county. It was extraordinary that a nobleman of
wealth and position should be found dead, shot through
the heart, without there being the slightest clew as to
who had done the deed or why it had been done. The
favorite theory of the detectives was that a burglar had
found admittance to the grounds, and in the crowd
had escaped notice; that, finding an easy prey in Lord
Clanronald, he had attempted to rob him; and that the
unfortunate man, awaking, had been shot, after which
the would-be thief had taken alarm and fled. That
was the only theory they could advance, and many im.
plicitly accepted it.
Of all the numerous guests present, not one could be
dreamed of as having any feeling of revenge against the
deceased. Lord Clanronald was known in that part of
the world only as the man who had married Peter Cam-
eron's daughter. Another, and, to the detectives, most
singular thing was that no weapon could be found.
The grounds were searched, the lakes were dragged,
but without success. So the wonder grew. Eventually
the police adopted one theory after another, each in its
turn being abandoned, until it was evident that they
were baffled and unable to solve the Ferness Court
mystery.
Lady Clanronald did not leave her room from the
436
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487
day of the murder until the inquest. She was in a
state of nervous exhaustion, utterly overcome by horror,
and prostrate with the dread that racked her heart.
She lived in a state of constant dread, and with but
one cry on her lips, "Have they found out who did it?”
The answer was always "No;" and then for a few
minutes she was less unhappy.
"Who did it?" The question was
The question was never out o. her
mind; and Peter Cameron, seeing the mental agony
she could not conceal, suffered almost as much as his
daughter did.
Lady Cameron had begged Sir Lisle to stay for the
inquest and the funeral. She felt quite unequal to any
exertion herself.
The Marquis de Vere had taken his wife home. She
seemed ill and miserable; and he, not knowing any-
thing of her love for Lord Clanronald, thought the
horror of the tragedy too much for her, and insisted
upon her leaving Ferness at once. She was unwilling
at first; but Lady Cameron earnestly urged the desira-
bility of the change suggested by the marquis.
"You had better go, my dear," she urged. "I wish
I had the chance. I would not stay here one moment
longer, if I could help it. I shall never like Ferness
again, now that the shadow of death and murder rests
over it."
Evadne stood up before her mother, with more feel-
ing and dignity than she had ever shown before.
"I know why you wish me
to go.
You are afraid
lest I should do or say something imprudent; but
there is no fear. Lord Clanronald was the only man I
ever loved or cared for; but he is dead now, and I am
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not likely to forget myself. I will go, since everyone
wishes it. Mother, I loved that man-I loved him!
Let me once more gaze upon him; let me bid him
good-bye, and let me go alone to the chamber of death."
Lady Cameron consented, thankful for even such a
compromise.
The marchioness went to take her last look at the
face of the man she had truly loved. She stood for
a long time at the foot of the coffin, watching the face
that would never smile on her again.
"You would have been so happy with me, dear," she
said with a great, tearless sob. "You loved me, and I
in return, loved you. She came between us; she took
you from me; but I should have made you a better
wife than she did. I loved you and she did not. I
should have borne with your faults, and have loved
you in spite of them; she did not. I have a sure in-
stinct that you would not have come to your death had
you married me.” As the tapers flickered, the face of
the dead seemed to her to smile. "They say you were
brutal and cruel to others; you would have been kind
and gentle to me, because I loved you-I loved you!"
she repeated, with a passionate cry. "They say you
were coarse and vulgar; but I never thought so."
She bent over the placid countenance of the man
she had loved in life, and kissed his face.
"Good-bye, my love," she said. "You are going to
your cold, dark grave; I am going back to the world-
the cold, cruel, heartless world. But leave my heart
with you; it will be with you in your grave. Good-
bye!"
It was a relief to Lady Cameron when her daughter
he
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489
and her husband had gone. Then came the horror of
the inquest.
Sir Lisle had remained at Ferness at Lady Camer-
on's urgent request. He had never seen Diana since
the fatal night. On the day preceding the inquest, her
maid Susanne brought him a note folded and sealed.
He opened it and read:
"I have but one request to make that I may never
look upon your face again. If I do-if you force your-
self into my presence-it will kill me. Remember that;
I cannot endure it and live. I say nothing; I leave all
to a Higher Power. You know and I know. The only
course for you to pursue is to leave Ferness-and at
once. Oh, would to heaven you had gone before! And
in this world I pray that we may never meet again.'
Sir Lisle read and re-read, bewildered, dismayed,
shocked. He could not understand the reference to a
Higher Power, nor why his presence should, at the
present time, be so distasteful to her. All that was
clear to him was that she wanted him to go-whether
because she still cared for him, but had made up her
mind to live without him, or whether because she
thought he loved her, and she would not accept his
love, he could not tell.
In any case, if she wished it,
he must go; he could not remain there against her
wish. Yet he would have given ten years of his life
to be able to stay with her, to comfort her, to help
her. However, for some reason known only to herself,
she was sending him out a second time into darkness
and exile. He could not understand it. Yet one thing
was clear-he must humor her and go, but certainly
not for life. He would return when she had recovered
1
90
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狰
​from the shock, for it must be the shock which had be-
wildered her. He answered her request in these words:
"Your wish is a cruel one. I would fain have re-
mained here to comfort you; but since you wish it, I
go."
When Diana read them she felt that her worst fore-
bodings were realized, that her worst suspicions were
true, and from that hour she was a changed woman.
All interest in life seemed to have left her.
The inquest was held in due course, but nothing was
elicited which threw any light on the mystery. The
first witness examined was Captain Bates, with whom
Lord Clanronald had had a few words. It was proved
that the captain had not seen him again. He had played
at lawn-tennis until nearly dinner-time, and more than
twenty people could swear that he had never left the
ball-room. The next was Peter Cameron, who deposed
to having seen Lord Clanronald go to the chestnut
walk, and to asking his daughter to go there to him.
The interest centered in Lady Clanronald. Her beau-
tiful face was colorless, her eyes shadowy, as from weep-
ing; in her sweeping black draperies she was but the
ghost of the once brilliant Diana Cameron. She looked
neither to the right nor to the left. She saw neither
coroner, jury, nor witnesses; she never knew whether
Sir Lisle was present or not. Her whole mind was
concentrated on one point-so to answer the questions
addressed to her as to avoid directing any suspicion to
the man whom she believed to have done the deed.
She had of course, little to say. Her father had wished
her to go to the chestnut walk, where her husband
was sleeping. She stood by his side until he awoke,
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491
and then he asked her to send a servant to him with
some brandy and soda-water. She had left him sitting
there, and never saw him again alive.
In answer to various questions-Had she seen any-
one else near him?-Did she know if he were on bad
terms with anyone?-Had anyone any interest in his
death?―her sole reply was—“No.”
Had she ever heard anyone threaten him? Her face,
white already as death, seemed to grow whiter; but
she answered clearly-"No."
The young widow was questioned no further. Noth-
ing that she had said threw the least light upon the
mystery.
The next witness was the valet, who had found his
master dead. He was examined at great length. He
declared that he saw no sign of any person near, nor
was there any indication of a struggle having taken
place. Lord Clanronald was lying on the bench as
though asleep; the witness thought he was asleep until,
trying to rouse him, he discovered that he was dead,
when he had gone at once in search of aid.
This was all the evidence, and the coroner, having
drawn the attention of the jury to the whole of the
facts as deposed to, thought there was but one conclu-
sion at which they could arrive-that the deceased had
been foully murdered.
This was the view the jury held, and they returned
a verdict of "Willful Murder" against some person or
persons unknown, adding the hope that a substantial
reward would be offered for the apprehension of the
murderer.
}
❤
CHAPTER LXIII
LORD CLANRONALD was laid in the family vault at
Rinehill, and the new lord, who had just left Oxford,
reigned in his stead. The funeral was one long to be
remembered. Hundreds of people were present-many
out of respect for the family, many from curiosity.
Peter Cameron, Richard Marche. and the Marquis de
Vere were among the mourners.
There was little legal business to follow. The title
and entailed estates passed to the next heir male; but
Lord Clanronald had left a large income to his wife,
which, at her death, was to return to his family.
"I do not want money," said Diana, with a sigh,
when she was told of it. "I would give all the money
I possess for what I shall never have again-a gleam
of happiness."
She never mentioned Sir Lisle's name. With a white,
set face she listened to Lady Cameron's lamentations
over his absence; but she never spoke of him. It
seemed to her as though her heart had turned to stone
when she realized, that the man whom she had loved
had stained his hands with the blood of her husband.
"It was so selfish of Lisle to leave us!" moaned
Lady Cameron. "There was no reason for it, no sense
in it; and, if I knew his whereabouts, I should write
to him. I am afraid he has gone abroad again."
After a time, when her strength returned, Diana had
492
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493
but one longing, and it was to get away from Ferness.
Never, so long as she lived, would she see it again. It
was darkened forever to her by the stain of murder
and by the shadow of death.
She never again went onto her favorite terrace, she
never entered the conservatory-the scene of her great-
est joy and her greatest sorrow-she never went near
the chestnut walk. Indeed, Peter Cameron, unable to
bear the sight of it, had the trees destroyed and the
walk dug up, so that nothing should remain to remind
them of the fatal tragedy which had been enacted
there.
For Diana, Lady Clanronald, the time of her disci-
pline was come. When she left Ferness, she gave one
lingering farewell look toward the once-beloved home.
She saw it in all its glory and beauty, and she owned
to herself that it was her own pride that had darkened
it and brought the shadow of death there.
The penalty she must pay was
to leave it and sur-
render all hope of earthly happiness. She departed one
bright afternoon, when the sun was shining full upon
the house and the wind stirred the foliage and flowers,
when the waters of the fountains glittered in the sun-
light and the sweet song of birds filled the air with
music.
She bade farewell to none of her friends. She did
He was still ill
he wrote to her,
better days would
not see Lady Colwyn or Sir Royal.
and unable to leave the house; but
expressing the hope that brighter,
dawn for her. And Diana wept as she read the letter
for she felt that neither day nor night could ever bring
happiness to her again.
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She stood aloof, as it were, from the highways of life
and suffered in silence. She sorrowed over Sir Lisle
with a grief that knew no bounds. He was one of the
noblest and bravest men on earth, but, to avenge her,
he had stained his hands with blood. She could not
bear to think of it. There were times when it almost
drove her mad, when she paced the room through the
longest nights, when she knelt with her hands clinched
in tearless agony, when she tried to pray for him, and
the words died on her lips. If she had sinned, she
suffered; and this suffering was to be her discipline.
She retired to a quaint old manor-house called Hampt
Wood. The place belonged to her father, and stood
on the Kentish coast; and here she lived through the
time of her discipline. At first she was too much
engrossed by her own sorrows to think of the trials of
others; but, after a time, her naturally noble heart re-
asserted itself.
While at HamptWood she came into contact with one
who had suffered and had come forth from the furnace
unscathed, whose heart had been riven by sorrow, and
who thus had learned to feel for the sorrows of others.
The Reverend Maurice Biddulph was Rector of St.
Mary Magdalene's, Shenstone, near which village Lady
Clanronald resided. For some weeks she did not care
to go near the church, but her thoughts were drawn to
it by reading that it was one of the oldest churches in
England, and was dedicated to Mary Magdalene.
As she read the words, the picture in the National
Gallery flashed before her mind's eye, and she won-
dered if there was a stained glass window in the old
church in any way resembling it. Even to herself she
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495
hardly acknowledged that this simple link drew her
thither.
Wandering one day along the village street, she saw
the green hill on which the church stood, and decided to
visit it. Never was old church more picturesque and
beautiful, with square Norman tower and ivy-covered
windows. And Diana saw what she had hoped to see,
an exquisite window of stained glass, on which was
told pictorially the story of the Magdalene. It was
almost the same figure, with the same beautiful, pas-
sionate, sorrowful face, the same veil of golden hair
Calling over the shoulders, the same clasped hands and
upraised eyes.
Round the window ran the words, "Many sins were
forgiven her because she loved much;" and Lady Clan-
ronald read and re-read those words uutil they sunk
deep into her heart. Well-nigh every day found her
standing before the window; for she had a vague feel-
ing that it brought her nearer to Sir Lisle.
And so she came to know the Reverend Maurice Bid-
dulph. He had noticed her frequent visits, and how she
spent hours in the old church, and he called upon her.
He soon became a valued friend, and in time she told
him the story of her life.
"You have not told me all," he said to her one day.
"You have a deeper trouble of which you have said
nothing."
"You are right," she answered. "It is a trouble so
great, so bitter, I dare not put it into words. It is like
a cancer eating away my heart; but I can never tell it
to anyone."
"Can you forget it?" he asked.
<
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"No," she replied, sadly, "I can never forget it."
"Is it wise," he asked, "to let this trouble darken
your life? Is it wise to waste a life like yours in mor-
bid brooding?"
"It is not wise; but I cannot help it," she answered.
"The only remedy seems to be to fill your life with
other interests, to crush this sorrow down."
And then he opened another world to her. He took
her where the poor, the sick, and the suffering, led
such lives as she had never dreamed of. She learned
under his tuition to look on life with tolerant kind-
ness, not to expect perfection from others, not to be
dismayed by the crimes, the sins, the follies, and the
short-comings of poor humanity-to take a generous,
broad-minded view of the mysteries that make up hu-
man life, to forget herself, to trample self-love and
pride under foot.
When a year had passed, Lady Clanronald was a
different woman-her character, ennobled and refined
by suffering, her heart purified as though it were by
fire. She had no wish to re-enter the great world of
fashion; she enjoyed her sweet, pure country life filled
with good deeds and with charity. She grew more con-
tent, and some of the beauty of her youth came back
to her.
One morning-it was in the
she was tending some roses that
a telegram was put in her hands:
"From Sir Royal West, Westwater, to Lady Clan-
ronald, Hampt Wood.-Will you come to me, Diana?
The doctors say I am dying, and I desire to see you.
middle of June, and
grew on the lawn-
18
CHAPTER LXIV
ONCE more Lady Clanronald traveled over the old
familiar ground, but she did not go near Ferness. The
mansion was closed, Mr. Cameron and Lady Cameron
having gone abroad. Much as the master of Ferness
disliked it, he was compelled to go. Lady Cameron
had declared that Ferness was haunted, that she saw
Lord Clanronald's face at unearthly hours, that she
heard his voice; and she grew so pale, thin and spirit-
less that Mr. Cameron saw that something must be
done. It was his wife who suggested that they should
go abroad, hoping that the dreadful tragedy attached
to Ferness would be forgotten when they returned. So
they went; and the magnificent mansion with its noble
terrace and conservatory, its spacious and lofty rooms,
all darkened by the shadow of murder and death, was
left in the charge of servants.
Lady Clanronald reached Westwater, and found that
Sir Royal was no worse, though anxiously expecting
her.
The old housekeeper, Mrs. Caton, received her with
tears in her eyes. She remembered the days when the
impetuous child Diana came galloping over from Fer-
ness, in search of Sir Royal, with a long list of sorrows
and joys, and a demand for immediate sympathy. Mrs.
Caton remembered it all too well! And now the kina,
indulgent master, who had never spoken one harsh word
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to a creature under his roof, lay dying, and the bright,
impetuous girl had given place to a stately woman on
whose lovely face sorrow and content seemed to strug-
gle for mastery.
"He is longing to see you, my lady," said the weep-
ing woman. "Every time the door opens he looks
toward it as though he were expecting you; and he
talks about you so much. If you will pardon the
liberty, my lady, even in his sleep, it is always 'Di
ana, Diana!''
""
V
"Is he so very ill?" she asked, earnestly.
"I am sorely afraid he will never recover," she an-
swered. "He has been getting slowly worse for the last
five years, always complaining of the pain in his head.
Indeed, my lady," she added, piteously, "I am not sure
but that death is best for him. He has been very
strange lately, more strange than I like to see him. He
has fancied that people who are nowhere near were in
the room, and has talked to them always of you, my
lady. You seem," she concluded, with unconscious
pathos, "to fill his mind."
"Yet I have not
Lady Clanronald.
seen him for a long time," said
"It seems very strange.'
She went to the room prepared for her. How often
she had been there before. She took off her traveling
attire, drank the tea that Mrs. Caton brought for her,
and then went to Sir Royal. How the pale face bright-
ened. What a tender, sunny smile overspread Sir
Royal's countenance when he saw her! He held out
his white, thin hands to her cagerly.
"Diana!" he cried. "Oh, my dear, it does my heart
good to see you again!"
#1
}
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3
#
She went up to him, and knelt down by his bedside.
She kissed the white, trembling hands that lay in
hers, and her whole heart went out in loving pity to
this old friend of her youth.
"I knew you would come if I sent," he said. "I could
not die until I had seen you, Diana.”
"My dearest Royal, you will not die, I hope. I
shall stay with you and nurse you."
"And be my child Diana, over again?" he said, try-
ing to smile.
"Ah, no; that can never be, never again!"
"I ought to die, Diana, and
you hear all that I have to tell.
and let me see what the years
my mind I see the happy child
eyes and on her lips, the laughing
quarrel with me and make it up, and fling her arms
around my neck in raptures of joy-the child who
managed us strong men as adroitly as any grown wo-
man could have done. Do you remember, Diana?"
you will say so when
Now, stand up, dear,
have done to you. In
with sunshine in her
child who used to
"Yes," she replied, with a faint smile. "I remember.
It seems so long ago-ah, so long ago—Royal."
"And next," he continued, "I see the tall, slender
girl with the exquisite face whom we called Queen
Diana. Do you remember Queen Diana, dear?" he
asked.
And Lady Clanronald answered, "Yes."
"Then comes a Diana who puzzles me," he contin-
ued-"Diana with love in her eyes and scorn on her
lips-Diana whose looks tells one story and her lips
another, who is bewitchingly beautiful in her caprices,
who seems to have given the worship of her soul to one
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man and marries another.
Then comes a blank. The
Diana who married that unfortunate man was never
known to me. Now stand up, dear, and let me see
Diana as she is."
She rose at his command, and stood before him in
all her stately loveliness, one of the fairest of women,
her beauty refined by sorrow and suffering, patience al-
most divine shining in her clear blue eyes.
-
"You are just what I thought you would be," he said,
slowly. "I-I do homage to you, Diana, my queen.
She knelt down again by his bedside.
**
"Nay," she said, gently, "rather let me do homage
to you, Royal."
He took her hands in his own and held them tightly
clasped.
"You will speak frankly to me, Diana," he said-
"soul to soul?"
"Yes, I promise you," she replied.
"Tell me first, then, whether you are happy."
"I am happy as I can ever be in this world," she
said. "I try to devote my life to good works, and I
find my happiness in them."
"Tell me," he paused-"are you happier now-hap-
pier as a widow than you were as a wife?"
The question seemed to pain her.
"Must I answer your question, Royal?" she asked.
"Yes," he cried, "tell me the whole truth, nothing
but the truth. It was to hear the truth that I wished
to see you."
There came a quiver of pain over her beautiful face.
"I am happier now, Royal" she answered, "although
it seems cruel to say so.
•
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
501
"Thank heaven!" he said. "Tell me another thing.
You are young; all your bitter experience of life.
has not aged you. How is it you do not love and mar-
ry some brave, good man, who will make up to you for
all you have suffered?"
"I shall never love, and I shall never marry," she
said, earnestly.
"Diana," whispered Sir Royal, "tell me-where is
Sir Lisle Scarsdale?"
The name seemed to pierce her heart. Her face grew
deadly pale, then a burning flush covered it.
"Where is he? I am sure he loved you," Sir Royal
continued. "Why does he not seek you, now that you
are free?"
"I should never marry him, Royal," she answered.
"But why not, my dear? You are free; I am sure
that he loves you; and, if ever I saw love in a woman's
eyes, I saw it in yours for him.'
"Yes," she replied, calmly; "I loved him well."
"Then why not marry him and be happy? We can-
not know what the next world may be like; but, if we
who have lived in this take with us thoughts of those
we have loved, and are enabled to remember our loved
ones, I shall long to know that you are happy.
"I shall never marry him, Royal," she said; "I shall
never even see him again."
11
"But why? Tell me why," requested Sir Royal.
"There is a gulf between us," she said, “deeper,
darker, and wider than the grave.
"What has made it? You tell me everything, Diana
tell me that."
"I cannot," she replied. "I have never even shaped
19
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
the words in my
thoughts into words.
Let us talk of you."
"My dearest Diana, I have not much longer to live.
One doctor gives me days, another hours-I think it
will be hours-and you are my greatest-indeed my
only care on earth. Tell me what is this yawning gulf
between you and Sir Lisle?"
"I cannot. I shall try to be happy; but it will never
be with him-never!"
own mind; I could not put my
Oh, Royal, do not speak of it.
"Yet you love him. What has parted you? Diana,"
he added, as a sudden light flashed in his eyes, "tell
ne the truth. I heard that he had gone from Ferness,
and that you had not spoken of him since.
Tell me,
Diana-did you ever think, ever suspect that he had
anything to do with your husband's death?"
3
Sir Royal's words startled her beyond expression.
But she made no answer to his question. She had suffi-
cient self-control to hide the emotion that his words
called into life.
"Answer me, Diana," he urged.
"I cannot answer you, Royal."
"I call to you," he said, "from the very threshold of
eternity; will you not hear me?"
"No," she replied kindly, but firmly. "1 could not,
would not hear you if you called to me from another
world."
L
He was silent for a few moments; then he said
slowly:
"I am answered, Diana. I now know all I want to
know. If you had never suspected him, you would be
indignant with me; you would hate me even for har-
boring the thought. I am answered."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
503
<
Diana made no reply, for she knew that Sir Royal
had fathomed her suspicion. She saw
a gray shadow
pass over his face, a strange dimness steal into his
eyes; he clung more closely to her hands.
"Diana," he said, "I have something to tell you. If
I could have avoided it, I would never have communi-
cated it to a living soul." He paused for a moment.
"Kiss me, dear, before I speak, and ask heaven's
blessing on me."
Wondering at his strange manner she bent down
and kissed him.
"Heaven bless you, dear Royal," she said.
"Perhaps you will never speak kindly of me or to me
again," he said. "I dare hardly hope you will. Diana--
put your ear close to my lips, dear, so that no one
may hear what I say-Diana, I killed your husband!
Hush! You must not scream or cry. No one must
know. Be silent, Diana."
For a heart-rending cry had risen to her lips, a
deathly pallor spread over her face. It seemed to her,
when she heard those words, that life for her had lost
even its last illusion. Her dearest friend a murderer!
chopped
“I killed him," went on Sir Royal, "and I want to
tell you all about it. It has been lying here"--and he
pointed to his breast-"a dead weight ever since. But
I do not think I did wrong."
"Oh, Royal, Royal!" she cried, in irrepressible an-
guish.
"It was not wrong," he said. "He made your life
miserable. You told me that you were unhappy-you
looked ill and weary of life. I wanted you to be hap-
Dv and free-to be like the Diana who sung of 'sun-
shine and roses;' so I killed him!"
1
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
"Oh, Royal!" she sobbed again.
And again he said:
"Hush! Be silent, Diana. No one must know. Not
that I fear, for I am going to meet the Great Judge,
and the judgment of men will not reach me.
"You could not have done it, Royal," she sobbed.
"It is impossible! You are dreaming!"
"No; it is quite true. And, Diana, together with the
fact that I killed him, remember this always-that 1
did it for love of you. Oh, hush, my dear, hush."
For Diana had broken down, horror-stricken, and
was sobbing as though her heart would break. Of all
that had fallen to her lot, this blow seemed the hard-
est to bear.
"1
"I will tell you all about it," said Sir Royal, faintly,
"if you will listen, Diana, without weeping. You
ought to know the whole truth. Is the door closed? I
have kept my secret so long, I need not let it be known
now."
Į
ቆ
CHAPTER LXV
THE sick man wiped the beads of perspiration from
his brow, and, after a few moments' pause, gave the
following account of his crime to Lady Clanronald, as
she sat with her face buried in her hands, endeavoring
to repress her sobs-
"I am quite sure that in acting as I did I was not
wrong. Ah, Diana, you do not know, my dear, what
thrilling voices urged me to do it-voices that never
ceased! They called to me night and day. In the si-
lence of night they seemed to break upon the air. I
heard them in the daylight, when the sun was shin-
ing, and their message was always the same-'Kill him
and set Diana free!' I could not control them. Some
unseen power must have sent them to me.
KÝ
""
Diana's passionate sobs were stilled. She was listen-
ing intently, and her heart beat with a sensation of re-
lief.
"I knew you did not love him, Diana, I also knew
that you were not happy. I thought and thought of
you, until I believe there were times when I went mad
—quite mad—although I should not like anyone to
know it. I tried hard to hide the feeling that took
possession of me; but I saw people look strangely at
me. It seemed to me that I awoke from my dreams at
times, when I found I had been talking and laughing,
fancying my room was filled with people when in real-
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SUNSHINE AND ROSES
ity no one was there. Waking or dreaming, the voices.
were always calling to me. While you were mixing in
the gayest of London society, I was forever haunted
by those voices urging-Kill him, and set Diana free!'
"Suddenly one morning, when they had driven me
nearly mad, I bethought myself that I would answer
them. I turned round like a man at bay. 'To kill is
to murder, and murder is a crime,' I said.
}
"Then there was a chorus of laughter-oh, such
laughter, Diana!-and above it sounded a voice, clear,
grave, and sweet-'It is no crime to kill him. He has
wrecked Diana's life; set her free!' And in the whirl
and the chaos those were the only words which I re-
membered 'It is no crime to kill him. He has
wrecked Diana's life.""
"When I looked at you, I used to wonder whether
you knew of those voices. Once on that fete day I was
going to tell you about them.
about them. I knew that he was
cruel to you-not merely wicked, but cruel; and I saw
my chance that day. It never seemed to me that I was
going to commit murder-indeed, I did not look at it
in that light. My mission was to set you free, and 1
cared very little whether I lost my own life or not; I
wanted you to be happy.
+
'On that day I saw your husband intoxicated and
quarrelsome. I forgot everything but two things. I saw
you and Sir Lisle walking to the house together, and
knew he was in the chestnut walk alone. Now is the
time!' shouted the voices; and the chorus was louder
than ever-Kill him, and set Diana free! Now is the
time!' Why, Diana, do you know that every leaf on the
trees, every blade of grass, every flower that bloomed
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
507
cried out too, 'Now is your time. Kill him, and set Di-
ana free! It is no crime to kill him; he spoils Diana's
life.' They shouted at me, they urged me, they drove
me mad with their impetuous demand.
"I went to look at him-the man it was my mission.
to kill. He had fallen asleep, his coarse, red face hide-
ous with drink. I thought of you. 'It is no sin to kill
him,' sounded with a roar in my ears. 'Look at him!
Set Diana free from such a man!'
"I would have killed him in that moment but there
was nothing to slay him with. I went to the gun-room
-you remember the old gun-room near the stables,
Diana? Looking round, I saw a small revolver-one
that I could carry easily in the pocket of my coat.
From the fact that it was never missed, I should im-
agine that it was left by some visitor. It was loaded.
Oh, Diana, what a hideous din there was in my ears
when I took it up and put it into my pocket!
"As I passed through the grounds, I met many peo-
ple whom I knew, and who spoke to me. They little
dreamed what I had in my pocket, or what my mission.
was. No one saw me as I went down the chestnut walk.
The band nearest to me was playing 'Partant pour la
Syrie,' and the voices were crying to me on all sides
-There is no time to lose! Now is your chance! Kill
him, and set Diana free!'
P
S
"I went up to him, placed the mouth of the revolver
over his heart, drew the trigger, and he was dead in a
moment. He did not suffer, he did not cry out; he
only raised one arm, which quickly fell again. The
voices changed, and the air resounded with the joyful
y Diana is free-Diana is free!'
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"I put the revolver back into my pocket, and went
away. No one had seen me. I went to the tennis
court, and spoke to several gentlemen there. No one
guessed; no one pointed his finger at me, and said,
'This man has just taken the life of another;' while I
heard nothing but exultant cries of 'Diana is free!'
"I looked at your face, oh, love of my heart, when I
had done the deed, wondering what you would say
when you knew. That you would weep and lament I
was sure; but I thought that after a time you would be
happy-you would be free, and marry Sir Lisle. You
see, there was no selfish thought in it; I never cher-
ished the idea that you would be free to marry me.
"I do not remember much of the night that followed;
the events seem confused. I was amongst those who
searched the grounds for traces of the murderer,
amongst those who sought to comfort Lady Cameron,
amongst those who sent for the police; yet no one
turned to me, saying, 'Thou art the man!' I do not
remember how I reached home; but-strangest thing
of all-when I found myself in my room again the
voices had ceased, and I never heard them afterward.
I have had that secret continually weighing me down;
but I did not mind. Men would say that I committed
murder; I know that I freed the earth from a cruel ty
rant, and set Diana free. What have you to say to
(55)
me?"
"Oh, Royal, what can I say," sobbed Lady Clanron-
ald, “save that I am grieved beyond expression?"
"Do you think that I did wrong?" he asked inno-
cently.
"Yes, a cruel, terrible wrong," she answered—"one
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
509
}
you must repent of with your whole heart, if you de-
sire that eternal rest which is promised.'
""
"But, Diana, if I had seen a reptile coiling his
deadly form around you, I should have crushed him!”
"That is quite another thing," she answered. "No
man has a right to take the life of another; and, oh,
Royal, that you, of all men, should have stained your
hands with blood!"
He looked at her piteously.
"It was no wrong, Diana, to kill him. My dear, I am
sure of it! I tested the justice of it in every way. The
voices bade me do it; how could I disobey them? I
have never heard those same voices since I did what
they urged me to do; that alone is a proof that I did
right. Oh, Diana, my dear, I am not afraid that my
act will be condemned!"
She talked to him long and earnestly; but she failed
to make him understand; she could not clear from his
disordered mind the cobwebs that had gathered there.
At length she ceased, for she saw that he was not
responsible that the evil she had so long dreaded,
and which he had dreaded himself, had at last fallen
upon him. That brave, loyal, honest Sir Royal, who
would not have injured the meanest worm on the face
of the earth, had killed a fellow-man while under the
influence of mania, and could not be brought to under-
stand that he had done wrong, seemed very strange to
Diana. The blow that he had received in days gone
by had affected his brain. The longer he talked to
Diana the more clearly she perceived the state of his
mind. He was sensible on every other point, except
this; and his delusions were harmless enough, not ex-
+
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}
tending beyond talking to people whom he supposed
to be present.
The decay of the once noble mind had been slow but
sure. No one liked to notice it; and of late Sir Royal
had remained almost entirely at home. He had sel-
dom visited any of his neighbors. His housekeeper,
Mrs. Caton, best knew how matters were with him-
how he suffered continually from pain in the head-
how he grew confused and rambled; and at last he
confided to her that he feared the day would come when
he should lose his senses entirely. And now the end
was come. With the approach of death his mind be-
came more and more a blank; and Diana, who loved
him, left him to the mercy of heaven. She knew that
the Judge before whom he must appear was just and
merciful; she knew that the error of a wandering
mind, the deed' dictated by a disordered brain, would
not be visited with the punishment due to a deed of
willful, cold-blooded murder.
Even in her own mind she could not deem him guilty.
He had evidently suffered during the best part of his
life from the consequences of the blow he had received
when shielding a defenseless woman from the murder-
ous attack of a brutal man. The injury had affected
his reason, and had finally shown itself in this pecul-
iar form of mania; and he believed that his mission in
life was to kill Lord Clanronald and set Diana free.
It was insanity undoubtedly; and after a few hours.
Diana recognized it as such.
"You will stay with me until I die?" he asked her.
And she answered "Yes."
She did so; and, strangely enough, after he had
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
511
'
told Diana his story, it passed completely from his
mind. No one watching by his death-bed could have
guessed that he had ever committed a crime.
He was gentle, patient, and resigned; he never mur-
mured, and his greatest comfort was when Diana knelt
by his side and read to him words that told of pardon
for sinners and rest for the weary.
He died one morning at sunrise, with Diana's hands
clasped in his; and his last prayer was that he might
see again in heaven the face he had loved so well on
earth.
Diana never disclosed his secret. She could not hold
him guilty, in the common acceptation of the term, be-
cause he had not been accountable for his actions; and
she felt that, after the lapse of so long a time, no good
would be done by dragging the forgotten mystery of
Ferness again before the world.
་
On the same day that she heard Sir Royal's story,
before the sun set, she wrote a letter which contained
these words-
"DEAR SIR LISLE:-I have made a terrible mistake.
Come and see me as soon as you can. I wish to ex-
plain, and ask your pardon. Do not delay, as I shall
have no peace until I see you.'
She gave not a thought to love or marriage when
she wrote that letter; but after it reached Sir Lisle he
thought of nothing else.
*
*
DD
*
*
On the lawn at Ling, the residence of Sir Lisle Scars-
dale, stands a beautiful woman, no longer in the first
fresh loveliness of her girlhood—a woman in whose face
one can read a story-a story that has left its traces in
*
"
*
512
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
the expression of patience, sweetness, and dignity. She
is no longer the bright, brilliant girl who sung of sun-
shine and roses; but she is a woman so lovely in face
and form and of such nobility of soul that men pay
homage to her as they would to a queen She is known
throughout the land, not only for her surpassing beauty,
but for her loftiness of mind and for her unbounded
charity There is no good work in which she is not
prominent, no worthy cause she does not advocate.
She prefers living at her husband's home at Ling,.
where she is beloved by all about her, and where she
has done all the good within her power-where she has
taught the poor to be self-reliant and industrious,
where she has built a noble church, has erected schools
and almshouses, and where she is looked upon as an
angel of love and mercy.
She stands on the lawn, looking far away over the
winding river, her lovely eyes full of unclouded happi-
ness.
Sir Lisle comes up to her with an open telegram in
his hand.
"Listen, Diana darling," he says. "They are all
coming. What a houseful we shall have!"
Sir Lisle has organized a party in honor of the tenth
anniversary of his wedding-day He has invited Peter
Cameron and Lady Cameron, the Marquis and Mar-
chioness de Vere, Richard Marche and his wife, with
their children, Lady Colwyn, now grown old and fee-
ble; they are all coming.
"I shudder at the association of names, for it re-
minds me of that terrible tragedy," Sir Lisle says;
"and that mystery has never been unraveled yet, Di-
ana."
SUNSHINE AND ROSES
513
"No," she answers.
The only secret she has from her husband is the
story which Sir Royal told her.
Sir Lisle wonders much at one thing. He knows
how attached his wife had been to Sir Royal, and how
she had been with him when he died. When his little
son and heir was born, he begged Diana to call him
"Royal;" but she would not, and he cannot understand
that refusal.
How he loves and worships his beautiful and noble.
wife no words can tell. He thinks there is no one like
her, and she is equally proud of her handsome hus-
band.
No proud or passionate word is ever heard now from
the lips of Lady Scarsdale of Ling. If her girlhood's
friends could see her gather her fair children round
her knee and talk to them of the evil of pride and the
grace of humility, they would better understand the
force and the benefit of Diana's discipline.
THE END

PLAAS A •••
***
בום:
Osu
8253731
..
OFFERNORS NOR, nes tail, bestela mala marqu
ms on a gến vậy matge de

UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
wils
825B731 OSu
Brame, Charlotte M., 1836-1884.
Sunshine and roses / by Bertha M. Clay
3 1951 002 096 841 3