Her Mother's Secret Part 13

"How, not necessary, my dear?"

"In this way: Leonidas Force, who is but twenty-one, can afford to wait two years and marry Wynnette, who will then be of marriageable age. They can live at Greenbushes, and in due course of time they can succeed us here at Mondreer."

"But Mondreer is the heritage of our eldest daughter."

"Not necessarily; not by entail, only by tradition and custom. You can leave your estate to whom you please; though, of course, you need not think of leaving it to any one; for you may hold it yourself for fifty years to come. You are not forty, and you may live to be ninety. But when you do leave it, it would be better to leave it to Wynnette."

"And--Odalite?"

"You lose sight of one matter, dear Abel--the future possibilities of our eldest daughter."

"I--do not quite understand. Anglesea, I know, has no very great expectations from any quarter, and so if he should marry Odalite they may need Mondreer; and Anglesea has promised to take the family name that it may go down with the estate."

"I think I can show you that the estate of Mondreer can be secured to the Forces by the marriage of Leonidas Force with our second daughter, much better than it ever could be by the marriage of any one, whether Leonidas Force, Angus Anglesea, or another, with our eldest daughter."

"I wish you would tell me, then, dear, for I am in a maze."

"Have you forgotten that the Earldom of Enderby, failing male heirs, descends to the female line? 'falls to the distaff,' as old writers call it?"

"No, I have not forgotten it, for I never knew it," replied honest Abel, lifting his eyebrows.

"Know it now, then! I have never spoken of this matter to you before; because, indeed, I have seldom thought of it at all, and nothing has occurred until now to recall it to my mind; but it is a fact of too serious importance to be overlooked at this crisis. Reflect now, that there is only one frail life between me and the heirs.h.i.+p of my father's earldom--the life of my epileptic half-brother Francis, who, inheriting the malady of his beautiful young mother who perished in her youth, has declared that he will never marry to perpetuate such a misfortune."

"We will not, dear, speculate on the possible early death of your brother," said Abel Force, gravely and tenderly, but without the slightest shade of rebuke in his tones.

"No, we will not speculate; but we cannot avoid thinking of the possible, and, indeed, the very probable future of our eldest daughter, and guide ourselves accordingly," replied the lady.

"In what way?" gently inquired her husband.

"In this way, then: We must admit that it is not at all unlikely that our eldest daughter may live to inherit her grandfather's earldom and become Countess of Enderby in her own right. In which case, should she be living here, the wife of an American citizen, she must either lose all the privileges of her rank and t.i.tle or else go to England and reside upon her estates there, leaving this place in the hands of strangers. I do not say that she would be legally obliged to take this alternative, but she would be conventionally and practically constrained to do so. Whereas, if she should marry an English gentleman, all would be well with her; she would then in any case make her home in England, and when she should inherit the Earldom of Enderby she could enter upon her new dignities without any disturbance of her domestic or social life. And if, in addition to this, Le should wed Wynnette, all would be well with them and with Mondreer; the old estate would remain in the old name. Don't you see?"

"Yes, I see. It is all for the best, of course. All for the best. So I shall tell my little girl. I long to tell her, face to face, how well satisfied I am, and should be in any event, that she should please herself. I want to tell her how well I think of her choice--how n.o.bly I think he has acted, and--many things that will bring back the roses to her cheeks and the laughter to her lips. But I will not tell her of her future brilliant possibilities in England, and I hope that you have not done so."

"No, never!"

"Quite right. I would have her build her hopes of happiness on better foundations. Where can I find her?"

"She is in her own room; but I would not talk to her to-day. She is so shaken. Her little, tender heart is so pained--now that she has decided to please herself--to think of the suffering she may cause Le."

"Oh, that is what is the matter with her, is it? Well, tell her Le must console himself with Wynnette! Oh, it will all come right! I am quite confident that it will all come right!" happily concluded the honest squire, rising to leave the room.

He stooped and kissed his wife and then went out whistling an old hunting tune.

CHAPTER XI

FATHER AND DAUGHTER

He went to the stables, mounted his cob and ambled all over his plantation, looking after such work as could only go on at this season of the year--mending of fences, repair of outbuildings, of agricultural implements, and so forth.

Then he came back to the house and hung about it in hope of meeting his daughter.

At length, about noon, he saw her out on the lawn, warmly clothed in her close-fitting brown cloth coat, and her quaint brown beaver poke bonnet tied down tightly as if for a walk in the wind on this bright, breezy December day.

He quickly slipped on his overcoat, s.n.a.t.c.hed his hat and gloves, and hurried after her.

He overtook her just as she reached the east gate opening upon the path that led down to the sh.o.r.e.

"'Where are you going, my pretty maid?

Where are you going, my pretty maid?'"

he sang, gayly, as he came up with her.

She started, looked around and recognized her father.

"I am going down to the sh.o.r.e, papa," she answered, as prosaically as if he had not sung his question. But he was not put down.

"'May I go with you, my pretty maid?

May I go with you, my pretty maid?'"

he continued, taking her hand and drawing it through his arm.

But she was not be won to any frivolity, so she replied, gravely:

"I should be very glad to have you, papa."

"'Why so pale and wan, fond lover?

Why so pale and wan?'"

he continued, in a tone of mock gravity.

"What is the matter with you to-day, papa, dear?" she inquired, uneasily regarding him.

"Why do you ask? Because I quote old poetry? My dear, it is to convince you that I am in excellent humor with all the world, and that you have no cause to complain of me. I do not intend to enact the role of a 'cruel parent,' in order to make you a persecuted heroine. I do not even intend to reproach you with your inconstancy!--though I do hope it is not going to be a chronic complaint!--because it would be embarra.s.sing, for instance, if while we were in the midst of the preparations for your wedding with Anglesea, young Herriott, the new minister, were to come and beg my indulgence to explain to me how you never really cared for the colonel, but found your salvation depend on your union with him--Herriott!

And by the time we have adapted ourselves to the new situation, young Dr.

Ingle should solicit a private interview and inform me that you----"

"Oh, papa! don't! don't!" exclaimed the girl, almost surprised into a smile.

"Well, I will 'don't,' until we get down this hill, which is rather rugged!" said Mr. Force, as he pa.s.sed his daughter, and went before her down the declivity, clearing away the branches of tall bushes that crowded and obstructed the narrow path.

When they reached the foot of the hill he once more gave her his arm, and they walked along the sands toward the north--Mr. Force purposely taking that direction, because it was the opposite one from that which led toward Greenbushes.

"Now, my darling," he continued, "laying all jokes aside, I wished to talk to you to-day, to a.s.sure you that you need not distress yourself, either about my fancied disappointment or about Le's fancied despair, when he shall hear of your change of mind."

"Papa----"