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Updated: May 25, 2025
There was something to occupy her mind; every day she must arrange for a long ramble, so that she might meet Hugh. So, while the corn grew ripe in the fields, and the blossoms died away while warm, luxurious summer ruled with his golden wand Ronald Earle's daughter went on to her fate. At length there came an interruption to Hugh Fernely's love dream. The time drew near when he must leave Seabay.
His love! Ah, if Hubert Airlie could have read those words! Fernely's love! She loathed him; she hated, with fierce, hot hatred, the very sound of his name. Why must this most wretched folly of her youth rise up against her now? What must she do? Where could she turn for help and counsel?
Look up, my darling; let me see your face once more before I say goodbye." She stood before him, and the thick dark shawl fell from her shoulders upon the grass; she did not miss it in the blinding joy that had fallen upon her. Hugh Fernely's gaze lingered upon the peerless features. "I can give you up," he said, gently; "for your own happiness, but not to another, Beatrice.
For a moment her thoughts flew to the sea shore at Knutsford. The present faded from her; she saw Hugh Fernely's face as it looked when he offered her the beautiful lily. The very remembrance of it made her shudder as though seized with deathly cold and Lord Airlie saw it. "You are cold," he said; "how careless I am to keep you standing here!"
Do not be angry with me if I say she is ill through anxiety and fear." "Has she sent you to excuse her?" he asked, gloomily. "It is of no use. Your sister is my promised wife, Miss Lillian, and see her I will." "You must wait at least until she is willing," said Lillian, and her calm, dignified manner influenced him even more than her words, as she looked earnestly into Hugh Fernely's face.
And as they floated over the water, her thoughts went back to that May morning when Lillian sat upon the cliffs and sketched the white far-off sails. How distant it seemed! She longed then for life. Now every sweet gift which life could bestow was here, crowned with love. Yet she sighed as Hugh Fernely's face rose before her. If she could but forget it!
Could it be possible that this man she hated so fiercely had touched her face and covered her hands with kisses and tears? She struck the little white hands which held the letter against the marble stand, and where Hugh Fernely's tears had fallen a dark bruise purpled the fair skin; white hard, fierce words came from the beautiful lips. "Was I blind, foolish, mad?" she cried.
Lady Helena, seeking him in the gloom of that solemn death chamber, found him weeping as strong men seldom weep. He did not give her the letter, nor tell her aught of Hugh Fernely's confession. He turned to her with as sad a face as man ever wore. "Mother," he said, "I want my kinsman, Lionel Dacre. Let him be sent for, and ask him to come without delay."
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