The Lost Lady of Lone | Page 8

sport. I dinna ken wha owns the lodge now, or whether it went
wi' the lave of the estate," said Dame Girzie, with a deep sigh.
"It is growing quite chilly up here," said Salome, shivering, and
drawing her little red shawl more closely around her slight frame. "I

think we will go down now, Mrs. Ross. And if you will be so good as
to come to me after tea, this evening, I shall like to hear the story of this
sorrowful family wreck," she added, as she turned to leave the place.
That evening, as the heiress sat in the small drawing room appropriated
to her own use, the housekeeper rapped and was admitted.
And after seating herself at the bidding of her young mistress, Girzie
Ross opened her mouth and told the true story of the fall of Lone, as I
have already told to my readers.
"And this devoted son actually sacrificed all the prospects of his whole
future life, in order to give peace and prosperity to his father's declining
days," murmured Salome, with her eyes full of tears and her usually
pale cheeks, flushed with emotion.
"He did, young leddy, like the noble soul, he was," said Dame Girzie.
"I never heard of such an act of renunciation in my life," murmured
Salome.
"And the pity of it was, young leddy, that it was a' in vain," said the
housekeeper.
"Yes, I know. Where is he now?" inquired the young girl, in a subdued
voice.
"I dinna ken, leddy. Naebody kens," answered Girzie Ross, with a deep
sigh, which was unconsciously echoed by the listener.
Then Dame Ross not to trespass on her young mistress's indulgence,
arose and respectfully took her leave.
Salome fell into a deep reverie. From that hour she had something else
to think about, beside the convent and the vail.
The portrait haunted her imagination, the story filled her heart and
employed her thoughts. That night she dreamed of the self-exiled heir,
a beautiful, vague, delightful dream, that she tried in vain to recall on

the next morning.
In the course of the day she made several attempts to ask Mrs. Girzie
Ross a simple question. And she wondered at her own hesitation to do
it. At length she asked it:
"Mrs. Ross, is that portrait in the tower very much like Lord
Arondelle?"
"Like him, young leddy? Why, it is his verra sel'! And only not sae
bonny because it canna move, or smile, or speak. Ye should see him
alive to ken him weel," said the housekeeper, heartily.
That afternoon Salome went up alone to the top of the tower, and spent
a dreamy, delicious hour in sitting at the feet of the portrait and gazing
upon the face.
That evening, while the housekeeper attended her at tea, she took
courage to make another inquiry, in a very low voice:
"Is Lord Arondelle engaged, Mrs. Ross?"
She blushed crimson and turned away her head the moment she had
asked the question.
"Engaged? What--troth-plighted do you mean, young leddy?"
"Yes," in a very low tone.
"Bless the lass! nay, nor no thought of it," answered the housekeeper.
"I was thinking that perhaps it would be well if he were not, that is all,"
explained Salome, a little confusedly.
That night, as she undressed to retire to bed, she looked at herself in the
glass critically for the first time in her life.
It was not a pretty face that was reflected there. It was a pale, thin, dark
face, that might have been redeemed by the broad, smooth forehead,

shaped round by bands of dark brown hair, and lighted by the large,
tender, thoughtful gray eyes, had not that forehead worn a look of
anxious care, and those eyes an expression of eager inquiry.
"But then I am so plain--so very, very plain," she said to herself, as if
uttering the negation of some preceding train of thought.
And with a deep sigh she retired to rest.
The next day Girzie Ross herself was the first to speak of the young
marquis.
"I hae been thinking, young leddy, what garred ye ask me gin the
young laird, were troth plighted. And I mistrust ye must hae heard these
fule stories anent his hardship, having a sweetheart at Ben Lone.
There's nae truth in sic tales, me leddy. No that I'm denying she's a
handsome hizzy, this Rose Cameron; but she's nae one to mak' the
young laird forget his rank. Ye'll no credit sic tales, me young leddy."
"I have heard no tales of the sort," said Salome, looking up in surprise.
"Ay, hae ye no? Aweel, then, its nae matter," said the dame.
"But what tales are there, Mrs. Ross?" uneasily inquired the heiress.
And then she instantly perceived the indiscretion