Hearts Afire by J. D Rawden, Patrick Griffith Page A

parlor, Charlotte came, white and
weeping.
    “What is the matter, then, that you are crying? And why into the dark room
go you?”
    “Full of sorrow I am, father, and I went to the room to cry alone; but I
cannot weep but a teardrop.”
    “Full of sorrow. Yes, for that scamp Harleigh Daly
you are full of sorrow. And how can you weep for yourself when you are disobeying
your good father? Your teardrop will dry as fast as it falls.”
    Joris Morgan was not pitiless; but he was angered
and troubled, and Charlotte's grief irritated him at the moment. “Go and tell
mother to bring in the tea. The work of the house must go on,” he muttered.
    Ere the words were finished, just as Lysbet Morgan
said, “The tea is served” the large figure of Joris Morgan loomed through the gathering grayness; and the women waited for him. He
came upon the room without his usual greeting; and his face was so injured and
portentous that Lysbet Morgan, with a little cry, put
her arms around his neck. He gently removed them.
    “No time is this, Lysbet , for embracing. A great
disgrace has come to the family; and I, who have always stood up for morality,
must bear it too.”
    “Disgrace! The word goes not with our name, Joris ;
and what mean you, then? In one word, speak.”
    But Joris loved too well
any story that was to be wondered over, to give it in a word; though madam's
manner snubbed him a little, and he said, with less of the air of a wronged
man,—
    “Well, then, Sir Edward and Harleigh Daly have
fought a duel. That is what comes of giving way to passion. I never fought a
duel. It is a fixed principle with me.”
    “But what? And how?”
    “With swords they fought. Like two banshees they fought, as if to pieces
they would cut each other.”
    “Poor Sir Edward! His fault I am sure it was not.”
    “ Lysbet ! Sir Edward is nearly dead. A fool he
played to follow his heart.”
    In the shadow behind them Charlotte stood. The pallor of her face, the
hopeless droop of her white shoulders and arms, were
visible in its gloomy shadows. Softly as a spirit she walked as she drew nearer
to them.
    “And the other? Is he hurt?”
    “Killed. He has at least twenty wounds. Till morning he will not live. It
was the fate himself who separated the men.”
    For a moment Charlotte's consciousness reeled. The
air of the wind which girds our life round was in her ears, the feeling of
chill and collapse at her heart. But with a supreme will she took possession of
herself. “Weak I will not be. All I will know. All I will suffer.” And with
these thoughts she went back to the room, and took her place at the table. In a
few minutes the rest followed. Joris Morgan did not
speak to her. It was also something of a cross to him that madam would not talk
of the event. He did not think that Charlotte deserved to have her
ill-regulated feelings so far considered, and he had almost a sense of personal
injury in the restraint of the whole household.
    Joris Morgan had anticipated his wife's amazement
and shock. He had felt a just satisfaction in the suffering he was bringing to
Charlotte. He had determined to point out to Charlotte the difference between
herself and family. But nothing had happened as he expected. The meal, instead
of being pleasantly lengthened over such dreadful intelligence, was hurried and
silent. Charlotte, instead of making herself an image of wailing or unconscious
remorse, sat like other people at the table, and pretended to drink her tea.
    It was some comfort that after it Lysbet and he could walk in the garden, and talk the affair thoroughly over. Charlotte
watched them away, and then she fled to her room. For a few minutes she could
let her sorrow have way, and it would help her to bear the rest. And oh, how
she wept! She took from their hiding-place the flowers her lover had giving
her, and she mourned over them as women mourn in such extremities. She kissed
the petal with passionate love; she vowed, amid her broken ejaculations