CHAPTER I. LOVE AGAINST THh WORLD

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 277, 30 June 1888, Page 9

CHAPTER I. LOVE AGAINST THh WORLD

/)^~~\ ifw^^tefii* consequences of *°^y seldom end with its originator, f^ said Lord Earlo to J upon it, Ronald, if ■X you were to take pr this moat foolish and unadvidablc step, you would bring misery upon yourself and everyone connected with you. Listen to reason " 'There is no reason in prejudice,' replied the youmr man, haughtily. 'You cannot bring forward one valid leason against my marriage.' Despite hi* annoyance, a smile broke over Lord Earlo's grave face. ' I can bring a thousand reasons if necessary,' he replied. • I grant everything you say. Dora Thorne is very pretty ; but, re member, she is quite a rustic and unformed beauty — and J almost doubt whether she can read or spell properly. She is modest and good, I grant, and I never heard one syllable against her ; but, Ronald -let me appeal to your better judgment — are a moderate amount of lustic prettiness and Bhy modesty sufficient qualifications for your wife, who will have to take your mother's place ?' ' They are quite sufficient to satisfy me,' replied the young man. 'You have others to consider,' said Lord Earle, quickly. ' 1 love her,' interrupted his son ; and •gain his father smiled. ' We know what it means,' he said, * when boys of nineteen talk about love. Believe me, Ronald, if I were to consent to your request, you would be the first in after years to reproach me for weak compliance with you youthful folly.' ' You would not call it folly,' retorted Ronald, his face flushing hotly, 'if Dora were an heiress, or the daughter of eorae ' ' Spare me a long discourse,' again interrupted Lord Earle. ' You are quite right ; if the young girl in question belonged to your own station, or even if she were near it, that would be quite a diilerent matter. I am not annoyed that you have, as you think, fallen in love, or that you wish to marry, although you are young. lam annoyed that you should dream of wishing to marry a simple rustic, the daughter of my lodge-keeper. It is so supremely ridiculous that I can hardly treat the matter seriously.' 'It is serious enough for me,' returned his son with a long, deep sigh. 'If I do not marry Dora Thorne, I shall never marry at all.' 'Better than a mesalliance,' said Lord Earle, shortly. ' She is good,' oried Ronald — • good and fair, modest and graceful. Her heart is pure as her face is fair. What mesalliance can there be, father ? I never have believed and never shall believe in the cruel laws of caste. In what is one man better than, or superior to another, save that he is more intelligent or more virtuous ?' ' I shall never interfere in your politics, Ronald,' sa ; d Lord Earle, laughing quietly. * Before you are twenty-one you will have fone through many stages of thai fever, outh is almost invariably liberal, age conservative. Adopt what line of politics you will, bub do not bring theory into practice in this instance. 1 1 1 should consider myself a hero,' continued the young man, 'if I could be the 6rst to break through the trammels of custom and the absurd laws of caste.' * You would not be the first,' said Lord Earle, quietly. ' Many before you have made unequal marriages ; many will do so after you ; but in every case 1 believe regret and disappointment) followed.' ' They would not in my case,' said Ronald, eagerly; ' and, jwifah Dora Thorne by my side, I could do anything ; without her, I can do nothing.' Lord Earle looked grieved at the pertinacity of his son. * • Most fathers would refuse to hear all this nonsense, Ronald,' he said gently. ' I listen, and try to convince you lay reasonable arguments that the step you seem bent Upon taking is one that will entail nothing

but misery. I have said no angry word to you, nor shall I do so. I tell you simply it cannot be. Dora Thorne, my lodgekeeper's daughter, i& no fitting wife for my son, the heir of Earlescourt Come with me. Ronald ; 1 will show you further what 1 mean.' They went together, the father and son, so like in face, yet so dissimilar in mind. They had been walking up and down the 1 bioad terrace, one of the chie f beauties of j Earlescourt. The park and pleasureI grounds, with flushed summer beauty, lay smiling around them The song of hundieds of birds thrilled through the sweet summer air, the water of many fountains rippled musically, rare flowers charmed the eye, and sent lorth sweet perfume j but neither song of birds not fragrance of flowers — neither sunshine nor music — brought any brightness to the grave faces of father and son. With slow steps they quitted the broad terrace, and entered the Hall. They passed through a long suite ot magnificent apartments, up the broad marble staircase, through long conidors, until they reached the picture gallery, one of the finest in England. Nearly every great master was represented there JMurillo, Guido, RaphaelClaude Lorraine, Salvator Rosa, Correggio, and Tintoretto. The Lords of Eatlescourt had all loved pictures, and each o ( these had added to the treasures of that nderful gallery. One portion of the gallery was set aside for the portraits of the family. Grim old warriors and fair ladies hung side by side ; faces of marvellous beauty, bearing the signs of noble descent, shone out clearly from their gilded frames. 1 Look, Ronald, 1 Lord Earle said, laying one hand upon his shoulder ; ' you stand before your ancestors now. Your 3 ia a grand old race. England knows and honours it. Look at these pictured faces of the wives our fathers chose. There is Lady Sybella Earle j when one of Cromwell's soldiers drew his dagger to slay her husband, the trueßt friend King Charles ever had, she flung herself before him, and received the blow in his stead. She died, and he lived — noble and beautiful, is she not ? Now look at the Lady Alicia —this fair j patrician lady smiling by the side of her grim lord ; she, at the risk of her life, helped him to fly from prison, where he lay condemned to death for some great political wrong. She saved him, and for her sake he leceived pardon. Here is the Lady Helena — she is not beautiful, but look at the intellect, the queenly brow, the soul-lit eyes ' She, 1 need not tell you, was a poetess. Wherever the English language was spoken, her verses were read — men wore nobler and better for reading them. The ladies of our race were such that brave men may be proud of them. Is it no so, Ronald f ' Yes,' he replied, calmly, • they were noblewomen.' Lord Earle then led his son to a large painting, upon which the western sunbeams lingered, brightening the fair face they shone upon, until it seemed living and smiling. A deep and tender x*everence stole into Lord Earle's voice as he spoko. ' No iairer or morenoble lady ever ruled at Earlescourb than your mother, Ronald, She is the daughter of ' a hundred earls,' highbred, beautiful, and refined. Now, let me ask you, in the name of common sense, do you wish to place my lodge-keeper's daughter by your mother's side? Admit that she is pretty and good — is it in the fitting order of things that she should be here / For the iirsb time, in the heedless fiery course of his love, Ronald E-*rle paused. He looked at, the serene and noble face before him, the broad brow, the sweet arched lips, the refined patrician features, and there came to him the memory of another face, charming, shy, and blushing, with a rustic graceful beauty, different from the one before him a? sunlight compared to moonlight. The words faltered upon h|s lips — instinctively he felt that pretty blushing Dora had no place there. Lord Earle looked relieved as he saw the I doubt upon his son's face. 'You see it Ronald,' he cried. ' Your idea of the * fusion ' of races is well enough i in theory, but it will not tlo hi ought into practice. I have been patient with you, I nave tried you— not as a school -boy whose head is half turned by his first love, but as a sensible man endowed with reason and thought. Now give me a reward. Promise me here that you will make a brave effort, give up all foolish thoughts of Dora Thorne, and not see her again. Go abroad for a

year or two— you will soon forget this boyish folly, and bless the good sense that saved you from it. Will you promise me, Ronald ?' • I cannot, father,' he replied, ' for I have promised Dora to make her my wife. I cannot break my word. You yourself could never counsel that.' 'In this case 1 can,' said Lord Earle, eagerly. ' That promise is not binding, even in honour ; the girl herself, if she has any reason, cannot and does not expect it.' 'She believed me,' said Ronald, Bimply. ' Besides, I love her, father. ' • Hu?h,' replied Lord Earl angrily, 'I will listen to no more nonsen a e. There is a limit to my patience. Once and for all, Ronald, I tell you that I decidedly forbid any mention of such a marriage ; it is degrading and ridiculous. I forbid you fco ' marry Dora Thorne ; if you disobey me you must bear the penalty.' 1 And what would the penalty be ?' asked the heir of Earlescourt, with a coolness and calmness that irritated his father. " ' • One you would hardly wish to pay/ replied the earl. 'If, In spite of my prayers, entreaties, and commands, you persist in marrying the girl, I will never look upon your face again. My home shall be no longer your home. You will lose my love, my esteem, and what perhaps those who have lured you to ruin may value still more, my wealth. 1 cannot disinherit you ; you will some day be Lord Earle, of Earlescourt ; bnt, if you persist in this folly, I will not allow you one farthing. You shall be to me as one dead until I die myself. ' ' I ha-ve three hundred a year,' said Ronald, calmly, 'that my godfather left me.' Lord Earle's face now grew white with anger. 'Yes,' he replied, 'you have that; it would not find you in gloves and cigars now. But, Ronald, you cannot be serious, my boy. I have loved you — I have been so proud of you — you cannot mean to defy and wound me.' Hie voice faltered, and his son looked up quickly, touched to the heart by his father's emotion. 4 Give me your consent, father,' he cried, passionately. ' You know I love you, and I love Dora"; I cannot give up Dora. 5 4 Enough,' said Lord Earle ; * words seem useless. You hear my final resolve ; I shall never change it — no after repentance, no entreaties, will move me. Choose between your parents, your home, your position, and the love cf this tfair, foolish giri, of whom in a few months, you will be tired and weary. Choose between us. I ask for no promise ; yotu have refused to give it. I appeal no more to your affection ; I leave you to decade for yourself. I might coerce and force you, but I will not do so. Obey me, and I will make your happiness my study. _ Dofy me, and marry the girl— then, in life, I will never look upon your face again. Henceforth ] will have no son ; you will not be worthy of the name. There is no ap peal. I leave you now to make your choice ; this is my final resolve. ' With firm, proud steps Lord Earle quitted the gallery, leaving his *>on to reflect on what he bad,said.