Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 35

And in his earnestness his hand, quite unconsciously, closed tightly on her white, warm palm.

Lady Bell dropped back into her seat, a warm flush spreading over her face; and Mrs. Fellowes, awakened by the stopping of the brougham, exclaimed, with a yawn:

"Home at last!"

"No, miles away," said Lady Bell. "Go to sleep again, my dear."

Leonard took Jack's arm within his, though there was no occasion for it, for Jack was sober enough now, and led him upstairs.

"My dear Jack," he exclaimed, reproachfully, "what have you been doing?"

"Falling under a cab," said Jack, gravely.

"A cab!" retorted Leonard; "a lady's brougham, you mean!"

And he took the card to the light.

"Why!" he exclaimed, with an expression of amazement. "Lady Isabel Earlsley! Good Heaven! that's the heiress."

"Eh?" said Jack, indifferently. "What's her name? She's a brick, if ever there was one. Oh, Jupiter, I wish I was in bed!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

It was Una's first night in London. Weary as she was she could not find sleep; the dull roar of the great city--which those who are used to take no heed of--rang in her ears and kept her awake. Her brain was busy, too; and even as she closed her eyes the endless questions, which the strange events of the day had given birth to, pursued and tormented her.

She could scarcely realize that she had left Warden Forest, that she was here in London, the place of her most ardent dreams! And then how singular, how mysterious was that coincidence which had brought it about.

Until Jack Newcombe, the young stranger, had come to Warden, she had never heard the name of Davenant, and now she was actually living under the roof of Stephen Davenant's mother.

With half-closed eyes she recalled all that Jack had said about Stephen Davenant, and it did not require much effort to recall anything Jack had said, for every word was graven on her heart, and it had seemed to her as if he had spoken disparagingly of this Stephen, and had implied that he was not as good as he was supposed to be.

She herself, as she lay, her beautiful head pillowed on her round white arm, was conscious of a strange feeling which had taken possession of her in Stephen's presence--not of dislike, but something of doubt, something also of a vague fear.

And yet he could not but be good and generous, for was it not to him that she owed all that had happened to her? And did not his mother, the timid, gentle woman who had already won Una's heart, speak of him as great and good?

Alas! and a faint flush stole over her cheek, and a long sigh stole from her lips--alas! it was that other--Jack Newcombe--who was bad; it was he whom she was to avoid.

And so, notwithstanding that she was in the very city of her dreams, she fell asleep with a vague sadness in her heart.

Quiet as Walmington Square is, the noise of the market carts pa.s.sing to Covent Garden awoke her soon after dawn.

She looked round with a stare of amazement as her eyes fell upon the dainty room, with its costly furniture and rich hangings, and listened for a moment, as if expecting to hear the rustle of the great oaks which surrounded the cottage at Warden; then she remembered the change that had befallen her, and springing out of bed, ran to the window.

All the square was asleep; the blinds were closely drawn in all the houses, and only the birds on the trees seemed thoroughly awake.

She could hear the market carts rumbling in the great thoroughfare beyond, and as she had gone asleep with the rattle of wheels in her ears, she asked herself, wonderingly:

"Does London never rest?"

She remembered that Mrs. Davenant had showed her a bathroom communicating by a door from her own room, and then--with her cold water was as necessary as air--went and had her bath; then she dressed herself, and, opening her door, went downstairs.

To her amazement, all the house seemed wrapped in slumber.

At home, at the cottage at Warden, Gideon and all of them were up with the lark, and life began with the morning sun.

She stole into the drawing-room, and, unfastening the shutters with some little difficulty, opened the window and leaned out to breathe the fresh air; but it seemed as if the air was asleep, too, or, in its journey from the country, had lost itself in the maze of houses, and failed to reach Walmington Square.

Una looked out dreamily, wondering who and what sort of people lived in the huge blocks of dwellings that surrounded her, and wondered, faintly, whether she could be looking at the spot where Jack Newcombe dwelt.

She could not guess that Jack had not come back from Hurst Leigh yet, but was waiting for the squire's funeral.

Instinctively she turned to the table and took up the alb.u.m and went back to the window with the book open at the page which contained Jack's portrait.

How beautiful the face was! And yet, she thought, with a warm glow in her eyes, that she had seen it look still more beautiful, as she had looked down at it the morning he lay sleeping at her feet.

Presently a servant came into the room, and startled at the sight of the white figure by the window, uttered an exclamation.

"Good-morning," said Una.

Closing the book she came forward and held up her face to be kissed, as she had always done to Mrs. Rolfe.

The maid--a pretty young girl, fresh from Devons.h.i.+re--stared at her and looked half-frightened, while a crimson flush of embarra.s.sment came into her face.

"Good-morning, miss," she said, nervously, and hastily turned and fled.

Una looked after her a moment, and pondered; and she would have made a superb study for a painter at that moment.

How had she frightened the pretty girl, and why had she declined to kiss her?

Una could not understand it. Hitherto she had lived only with equals, and could not be expected to guess that it was a breach of the proprieties to kiss this pretty, daintily-dressed little hand-maiden.

As for Mary, the maid, she flew into the kitchen and sank into a chair, gasped at the cook, speechless for a moment.

"What do you think, cook?" she exclaimed, "that young lady--Una, as the mistress calls her--is up already. I found her in the drawing-room, and--and she said 'Good-morning,' and came up to me as if she--she wanted me to kiss her."

"You must be out of your mind, Mary," said the cook, sternly.

But Mary stuck to her a.s.sertion, and at last it was decided that Una was either out of _her_ mind, or that she was no lady.

"And that I am sure she is," exclaimed Mary, and the other servants a.s.sented heartily. "If there ever was a true lady, this one is, whoever or whatever she may be. Perhaps she's just come from boarding-school."

But the cook scoffed at the idea.

"Boarding-school!" she exclaimed incredulously. "Do you think they don't know the difference between mistress and servants there? It's the first thing that is taught them."

Meanwhile, quite unconscious of the discussion which her ingenuous conduct had caused, Una wandered about the room, examining, with unstinted curiosity, the exquisite china and valuable paintings, the Collard and Collard grand piano, and the handsomely-bound books.