A Mad Love - Charlotte M. Brame

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lady know."

      He had a dull, heavy presentiment that the boy who should have been the pride and delight of his life would be a drawback and a torment.

      "I must go," said the earl to himself, "I must make some excuse to satisfy my lady."

      It was typical of Lady Lanswell that her husband seldom spoke of her as my wife, the children more seldom still as "my mother;" every one alike called her "my lady." She might have been the only peeress in England, so entirely did every one agree in giving her that title. "My lady" was pleased, meant sunshine at Cawdor; "my lady" was angry, meant gloom. She regulated the moral and mental atmosphere of the house with a smile or a frown.

      Lord Lanswell knew that he dare not show the telegram to Lady Lanswell; she would have started off at once for Dunmore House, and there would have been war. He must deceive her. He carefully destroyed the telegram, in some queer fashion which he did not own even to himself he had a kind of sympathy with his son.

      He had been wild in his youth and made allowances for the same in others. His worst thought now was that his handsome young heir, with the frank blue eyes and sunny hair, had been gambling or betting.

      "A few thousand pounds would set him straight," he thought, "and after all, one must not be too hard on the follies of youth."

      No need to tell my lady; she looked on these exploits with a keen, cold eye. He went to the drawing-room, where my lady sat looking regally beautiful in black velvet and point lace.

      The countess of Lanswell was considered one of the handsomest women in England. She had married very young, and her beauty was still so well preserved that she took her place with the beauties of the day. Husband and children both felt in awe of the beautiful woman, with her queenly grace and bearing.

      "Lucia," said the earl, "I thought of running up to town this afternoon. I shall return to-morrow."

      "Indeed," said my lady, slowly. "Why this sudden resolution, Ross?"

      "There is some little business that no one can attend to but myself," he said. "I shall not be long absent."

      "Business of what nature?" asked my lady, her fine eyes fixed on his face.

      "Why, dear, it is surely not needful for me to explain my business to you? I have none of which you would not approve. I want to call on my bankers—I want to sell some shares. I have several little reasons for running up to town."

      "You remember, of course, that the Beauvoirs dine here to-day?" said my lady.

      "Yes, I have not forgotten, but with your usual tact you can apologize for me, Lucia."

      The compliment pleased her.

      "Certainly, I can, if your absence is really needful, Ross," said my lady.

      "It is needful, I assure you. I can tell you all I have done when I return; just now I must hurry off, or I shall not catch the train."

      As the earl quitted Cawdor, he regretted deeply that his son should have complicated the situation by enforcing silence as regarded his mother.

      He pondered a great deal on what he should say when he returned—above all, if the boy's trouble was, as he imagined, the loss of money.

      "I must not let his mother know," thought the earl. "Boys are boys; she would think he was lost altogether if she knew that he had betting and gambling debts. Whatever he owes, no matter what it is, I will give him a check for it, and make him promise me that it shall be the last time."

      He never thought of any other danger; that his son had fallen in love or wanted to marry never occurred to him. He was glad when he reached Dunmore House; the old housekeeper met him in the hall.

      "I have dinner ready, my lord," she said. "Lord Chandos told me you were coming."

      He looked round expectantly.

      "Is not Lord Chandos here?" he asked.

      It occurred to him that the housekeeper looked troubled and distressed.

      "No," she replied, "he is not staying here—they are staying in the Queen's Hotel, in Piccadilly."

      "They," he cried, "whom do you mean by they? Has Lord Chandos friends with him?"

      The woman's face grew pale. She shrunk perceptibly from the keen, gray eyes.

      "I understood his lordship that he was not alone," she replied. "I may have made a mistake. I understood him also that he should be with you by eight this evening, when you had finished dinner."

      "Why could he not dine with me?" he thought. "Sends a telegram for me, and then leaves me to dine alone. It is not like Lance."

      But thinking over it would not solve the mystery; the earl went to his room and dressed for dinner. He had ordered a bottle of his favorite Madeira, of which wonderful tales were told.

      Then he sat thinking about his son, and his heart softened toward him. He thought of the handsome, curly-headed young boy whose grand spirit no one but my lady could subdue. He laughed aloud as he remembered the struggles between himself and his heir—they had always ended in his defeat; but when my lady came on the scene it was quite another thing, the defeat was on the other side then, and my Lord Chandos was usually carried off defeated and conquered.

      He thought of the handsome stripling who used to wander about the grounds at Cawdor, trying to conceal from my lady the fact that he smoked cigars. He did not fear his father and smoked boldly before him, but at the first sound of my lady's rustling silk he flew rather than ran. Lord Lanswell laughed aloud as he thought of it all.

      "He is just as frightened at my lady now," he said to himself. "I cannot help feeling touched and flattered that he has sent for me in his trouble. I will help him and my lady shall never know."

      His heart warmed to his son and heir—no one knew how dearly he loved him, nor how completely his life was wrapped up in him. Then he heard a cab drive up to the door. Surely that must be Lance.

      He listened in impatient suspense—he heard whispering in the outer hall, as though some consultation were being held.

      "What in the world is the boy making a mystery over?" he asked himself.

      Then he started from his chair in unutterable amazement.

      Before him stood Lance, Lord Chandos, holding the hands of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.

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      "I am quite sure of one thing," Lord Chandos had said, as they drew near London, "and that is, Leone—if my father sees you before my mother has time to interfere, it will be all right. He can resist anything but a pretty face—that always conquers him."

      "I wish," said Leone, with a sigh, "that I were less proud. Do you know, Lance, that I cannot endure to hear you speak as though I were to be received as a great favor. I wonder why I am so proud? I am a farmer's niece, and you are the son of a powerful earl, yet I—please do not be offended; I cannot help it—I feel quite as good as you."

      He laughed aloud. There was nothing he enjoyed better than this proud frankness of hers, which would never yield to or worship rank or title.

      "I am glad to hear it, Leone," he replied. "For my own part, I think you very much better than myself. I have no fear, if my father sees you first, and that is why I have telegraphed to him to meet us at Dunmore House."

      "But," she insisted, "suppose that he does not like me—what shall we do then?"

      "Why,"

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