She was not startled. A passing wonder as to who it might be struck her. Perhaps it was one of the gamekeepers or gardeners, but she did not think much about it. A shadow in the moonlight did not frighten her.
Soon the cool, fresh air did its work; the bright, dark eyes grew tired in real earnest, and at length Beatrice retired to rest.
The sun was shining brightly when she awoke. By her side lay a fragrant bouquet of flowers, the dew-drops still glistening upon them, and in their midst a little note which said:
"Beatrice, will you come into the garden for a few minutes before breakfast, just to tell me all that happened last night was not a dream?"
She rose quickly. Over her pretty morning-dress she threw a light shawl, and went down to meet Lord Airlie.
"It was no dream," she said, simply, holding out her hand in greeting to him.
"Dear Beatrice, how very good of you!" replied Lord Airlie; adding presently: "we have twenty minutes before the breakfast bell will ring; let us make the best of them."
The morning was fresh, fair, and calm, a soft haze hanging round the trees.
"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "you see the sun shining there in the high heavens. Three weeks ago I should have thought it easier for that same sun to fall than for me to win you. I can scarcely believe that my highest ideal of woman is realized. It was always my ambition to marry some young girl who had never loved any one before me. You never have. No man ever held your hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed your face as I kissed it last night."
As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face. She remembered Hugh Fernely. He loved her better for the blush, thinking how pure and guileless she was.
"I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued. "I shall envy everything those beautiful eyes rest upon. Will you ride with me this morning? I want to talk to you about Lynnton--my home, you know. You will be Lady Airlie of Lynnton, and no king will be so proud as I shall."
The breakfast bell rang at last. When Beatrice entered the room, Lady Earle went up to her.
"Your papa has told me the news," she said. "Heaven bless you, and make you happy, dear child!"
Lionel Dacre guessed the state of affairs, and said but little.
The chief topic of conversation was the ball, interspersed by many conjectures on the part of Lord Earle as to why the post-bag was so late.
It did not arrive until breakfast was ended. Lord Earle distributed the letters; there were three for Lord Airlie, one to Lady Earle from Dora, two for Lionel, none for Lillian. Lord Earle held in his hand a large common blue envelope.
"Miss Beatrice Earle," he said; "from Brookfield. What large writing! The name was evidently intended to be seen."
Beatrice took the letter carelessly from him; the handwriting was quite unknown to her; she knew no one in Brookfield, which was the nearest post-town--it was probably some circular, some petition for charity, she thought. Lord Airlie crossed the room to speak to her, and she placed the letter carelessly in the pocket of her dress, and in a few minutes forgot all about it.
Lord Airlie was waiting; the horses had been ordered for an early hour. Beatrice ran upstairs to put on her riding habit, and never gave a thought to the letter.
It was a pleasant ride; in the after-days she looked back upon it as one of the brightest hours she had ever known. Lord Airlie told her all about Lynnton, his beautiful home--a grand old castle, where every room had a legend, every tree almost a tradition.
For he intended to work wonders; a new and magnificent wing should be built, and on one room therein art, skill, and money should be lavished without stint.
"Her boudoir" he said, "should be fit for a queen and for a fairy."
So they rode through the pleasant, sunlit air. A sudden thought struck Beatrice.
"I wonder," she said, "what mamma will think? You must go to see her, Hubert. She dreaded love and marriage so much. Poor mamma!"
She asked herself, with wondering love, what could have happened that her mother should dread what she found so pleasant? Lord Airlie entered warmly into all her plans and wishes. Near the grand suite of rooms that were to be prepared for his beautiful young wife, Lord Airlie spoke of rooms for Dora, if she would consent to live with them.
"I must write and tell mamma today," said Beatrice. "I should not like her to hear it from any one but myself."
"Perhaps you will allow me to inclose a note," suggested Lord Airlie, "asking her to tolerate me."
"I do not think that will be very difficult," laughingly replied his companion.
Their ride was a long one. On their return Beatrice was slightly tired, and went straight to her own room. She wrote a long letter to Dora, who must have smiled at her description of Lord Airlie. He was everything that was true, noble, chivalrous, and grand. The world did not hold such another. When the letter was finished it was time to dress for dinner.
"Which dress will you wear, miss?" asked the attentive maid.
"The prettiest I have," said the young girl, her bright face glowing with the words she had just written.
What dress could be pretty enough for him? One was found at last that pleased her--a rich, white crepe. But she would wear no jewels--nothing but crimson roses. One lay in the thick coils of her dark hair, another nestled against her white neck, others looped up the flowing skirt.
Beatrice's toilet satisfied her--this, too, with her lover's fastidious taste to please. She stood before the large mirror, and a pleased smile overspread her face as she saw herself reflected therein.
Suddenly she remembered the letter. The morning-dress still hung upon a chair. She took the envelope from the pocket.
"Shall you want me again, Miss Earle?" asked her maid.
"No," replied Beatrice, breaking the seal; "I am ready now."
The girl quitted the room, and Beatrice, standing before the mirror, drew out a long, closely written letter, turning presently, in amazement, to the signature, wondering who could be the writer.
