第90章

Lillian Earle was no tragedy queen. She never talked about sacrifice or dying, but there was in her calm, gentle nature a depth of endurance rarely equaled. She had never owned, even to herself, how dearly she loved Lionel Dacre--how completely every thought and hope was centered in him. Since she had first learned to care for him, she had never looked her life in the face and imagined what it would be without him.

It never entered her mind to save herself at the expense of her sister; the secret had been intrusted to her, and she could not conceive the idea of disclosing it. If the choice had been offered her between death and betraying Beatrice, she would have chosen death, with a simple consciousness that she was but doing her duty.

So, when Lionel uttered those terrible words--when she found that he had seen her--she never dreamed of freeing herself from blame, and telling the story of her sister's fault. His words were bitterly cruel; they stung her with sharp pain. She had never seen contempt or scorn before on that kindly, honest face; now, she read both. Yet, what could she do? Her sister's life lay in her hands, and she must guard it.

Therefore, she bore the cruel taunts, and only once when the fear of losing him tortured her, cried out for pity and trust. But he had no trust; he stabbed her gentle heart with his fierce words, he seared her with his hot anger; she might, at the expense of another, have explained all, and stood higher than ever in his esteem, but she would not do it.

She was almost stunned by the sorrow that had fallen upon her.

She saw him, with haughty, erect bearing, quit the drawing room, and she knew that unless Beatrice permitted her to tell the truth, she would never see his face again. She went straight to her sister's room and waited for her.

The pale face grew calm and still; her sister could not refuse her request when she had told her all; then she would write to Lionel and explain. He would not leave Earlescourt; he would only love her the better for her steadfast truth.

"Send Suzette away," she whispered to Beatrice, when she entered;

"I must see you alone at once."

Beatrice dismissed her maid, and then turned to her sister.

"What is it, Lily?" she asked. "Your face is deathly pale. What has happened?"

"Beatrice," said Lillian, "will you let me tell your secret to Lionel Dacre? It will be quite sacred with him."

"To Lionel Dacre!" she cried. "No, a thousand times over! How can you ask me, Lily? He is Lord Airlie's friend and could not keep it from him. Why do you ask me such an extraordinary question?"

"He saw me tonight," she replied; "he was out in the grounds, and saw me speaking to Hugh Fernely."

"Have you told him anything?" she asked; and for a moment Beatrice looked despairing.

"Not a word," said Lily. "How could I, when you trusted me?"

"That is right," returned her sister, a look of relief coming over her face; "his opinion does not matter much. What did he say?"

"He thought I had been to meet some one I knew," replied Lillian, her face growing crimson with shame.

"And was dreadfully shocked, no doubt," supplemented Beatrice.

"Well, never mind, darling. I am very sorry it happened, but it will not matter. I am so near freedom and happiness, I can not grieve over it. He will not surely tell? He is too honorable for that."

"No," said Lillian, dreamily, "he will not tell."

"Then do not look so scared, Lily; nothing else matters."

"You forget what he must think of me," said Lillian. "Knowing his upright, truthful character, what must he think of me?"

That view of the question had not struck Beatrice. She looked grave and anxious. It was not right for her sister to be misjudged.

"Oh, I am so sorry," she began, but Lillian interrupted her, she came close to her, and lowered her pale face over her sister's arm.

"Beatrice," she said, slowly, "you must let me tell him. He cares for me. He loves me; I promised to be his wife, and I love him--just as you do Lord Airlie."

Under the shock of those words Beatrice Earle sat silent and motionless.

"I love him," continued Lillian. "I did not tell you. He said it was not to be mentioned until you were married. I love him so dearly, Beatrice--and when he asked me who it was I had been to meet, I could not answer him. He was very angry; he said sharp, cruel words to me, and I could not tell him how false they were.

He will leave Earlescourt; he will never look upon my face again unless I tell him all. He has said so, and he will keep his word. Beatrice, must I lose my love?"

"It would be only for a time," she replied. "I hate myself for being so selfish, but I dare not trust Lionel Dacre. He is so impetuous, so hasty, he would betray me, as surely as he knew it.

Do you not remember his saying the other day that it was well for him he had no secrets, for he could not manage to keep them!"

"He would keep this," pleaded Lillian--"for your sake and mine."

"He would not," said Beatrice; "and I am so near freedom, so near happiness. Oh, Lily, you have saved me once--save me again! My darling, keep my secret until I am married; then I swear to you I will tell Lionel every word honorably myself, and he will love you doubly. Could you do this for me?"

"It is not fair to him--he has a right to my confidence--it is not fair to myself, Beatrice."

"One of us must be sacrificed," returned her sister. "If myself, the sacrifice will last my life--will cause my death; if you, it will last, at the most, only three or four weeks. I will write to Lionel on my wedding day."

"Why trust him then and not now?" asked Lillian.

"Because, once married to Lord Airlie, I shall have no fear.

Three or four weeks of happiness are not so much to give up for your own sister, Lily. I will say no more. I leave it for you to decide."

"Nay, do not do that," said Lillian, in great distress. "I could not clear myself at your expense"--a fact which Beatrice understood perfectly well.

"Then let the matter rest," said her sister; "some day I shall be able to thank you for all you have done for me--I can not now.