The Senator's Favorite

They had to bring in Earle, too, and intrust him with the task of breaking to his bonny bride the news of the letter from the sea with the certainty of her father's fate.

But the news of Bruce Conway's loss at sea scarcely surprised Earle so much as that of Ethel's strange conduct. Like his father, he was very angry.

"I can scarcely realize it," he exclaimed; "I could have sworn that her love was as strong as her life. Why, she seemed to worship Arthur!"

"It was only his title she worshiped," Ethel's father replied angrily, and Earle rejoiced with him that Precious would make up to Arthur for Ethel's defection.

"I have an idea," Earle said presently. "Ladybird will have to go into mourning for her father, so she cannot enter society this winter. We will go abroad with Arthur and Precious, and make it a double bridal tour."

They agreed with him that it was a good idea, and then he went, with the letter from the sea, to his bride.

"I must go now to Ethel, but you need not come with me, Paul, for you would only scold her, and of course the poor child feels badly enough now," said Mrs. Winans; but all that she could urge did not prevent the irate father from reprimanding his elder daughter in very strong terms for her heartless conduct, that he assured her had brought a disgrace on the family that could only be wiped out by the nobility Precious had displayed.

Ethel did not have one word to say in her own defense. She received her father's reprimand in cold, proud silence more irritating than any retort, then turned away. But to Precious and all the others Ethel was kind and gracious in spite of a certain coldness that every one but her mother displayed toward her. How could they help it when she had acted so abominably?

Ethel did not resent their anger. She endured it humbly, and even took an interest in the bustle of preparations that followed on the change of brides. There was so much to do to get Precious ready for the rôle of bride instead of bridesmaid that every one was busy. The bridal gown was altered to fit the slender form of Precious, the bridal veil was given to her with a smile.

Every one wondered at Ethel's humility, and they began to forgive her in their hearts in spite of themselves, for she even offered to be the maid of honor.

"I want to do everything to make you happy, dear," she said, with a light caress on the golden head, "and by and by you'll be glad, Precious, that my selfishness left Arthur free for you. He will love you better than he could have loved me. Every one does, you know."

There was a tear and a sigh behind the smile, but Precious did not notice it. She was very, very happy, our little heroine, and life lay before her all bright and joyous with the sunshine of love and the flowers of hope on her life-path.

Ethel's story leaked out to the world as such stories will, and society declared it was not at all surprised. Her pride and ambition and heartlessness were well known to the world, declared the knowing ones.

But surely she would not have the hardihood to attend the wedding, said everybody. It would be a sensation if she did that, certainly.

But Ethel gave them the sensation. She went to church with the bride, as maid of honor, she smiled at the bridegroom when the ceremony was over; but while people were saying it was a wonder she went to the church she knew in her heart that she would rather have gone to the stake.

How slowly the time went, how wearisome the reception, how could they all seem so smiling and happy, she thought again and again until it was all over, and Precious had put off her bridal white for her traveling gown and was saying her farewells.

Kay was going too, Precious could not leave him, she declared; and indeed her pet would have been inconsolable. So the beautiful lion-like fellow went into the carriage with his mistress, who sobbed bitterly as her father leaned in at the door for a second farewell.

"Half my life seems going with you, darling," he sighed.

"I shall bring her back to you in the summer for a visit," promised happy Arthur Chester.

"And we will stay at dear old Rosemont," declared Precious; and the last glimpse they had of the fair young face was wreathed in smiles, though the eyes were violets drowned in tears.

The carriages rolled away with Arthur and Precious, Earle and Ladybird, and there was only Ethel left now—Ethel standing by her mother's side, tall and queenly in her bridesmaid's gown, but pale, and with tears in her burning eyes. Mrs. Winans had been sobbing on her husband's shoulder, but now she went to the solitary figure and clasped her in her arms.

"We have only you left, dear one; we will have to love you more than ever; will we not, Paul?" she murmured, but with a stifled exclamation he left the room. In his heart there was no forgiveness for his heartless daughter.

"You look tired, my dear. This excitement has wearied you. Go now to your room," Mrs. Winans said, kissing her a tender good-night. "You must rest and sleep."

"I am very tired," Ethel answered listlessly, as she turned away, crushing between her teeth some words that sounded like, "I should like to sleep—forever!"

CHAPTER XL.

ETHEL'S VICTORY

"The fairest hope is the one which faded,The brightest leaf is the leaf that fell;The song that leaped from the lips of sirensDies away in an old sea-shell.Clear and pure is the west wind's murmurThat croons in the branches all day long;But the songs unsung are the sweetest music,And the dreams that die are the soul of song."—Ernest McGaffey.

The family slept late next morning after the fatigues and griefs of last night, and Ethel did not join her parents at breakfast. But an hour later her maid came to the library with a message. Would her parents see her in her boudoir for a few minutes?

An angry frown came to Senator Winans' brow.

"I am obliged to go down to the capitol; I have no time for Ethel," he said curtly.

But the beautiful wife he worshiped so tenderly drew her arm through his, whispering fondly, "Come," and he could not gainsay her imperial will.

Ethel was lying back wearily in a large armchair in her luxurious boudoir, with its furnishings of rose and gold. Her attire was peculiar.

She wore a long, straight black gown, very simple and severe in style, and a long black lace scarf was wound turban fashion about her regal brow, concealing every thread of her rich dark hair. As the door closed she motioned them to seats, and said abruptly:

"I have sent for you to ask your leave to enter a convent—to become a nun!"

"Ethel!"

"Ethel!"

The cry came first from the mother's lips, and was echoed by the father. Shocked surprise was in both voices.

She stood up tall and stately confronting them, her face corpse-white by contrast with her black attire and somber dark eyes. In an anguished voice she cried:

"I have sinned deeply, I am not worthy of your love, mamma, papa! I wish to retire into a convent and spend my life in expiating my sin!"

"I will never consent," Senator Winans exclaimed sternly. "You have behaved badly, shamefully, but you can repent at home as well as within convent walls."

She flung herself on her knees at his feet, a tragic despair on the dusky beauty of her dark face.

"Papa, I kneel to you, because I have a terrible confession to make to you and mamma," she cried hoarsely. "It must be told to you; because in the dark of last night I repented my sins, and I bury the dark secret in my heart no longer. I must tell you all, and then you will despise me so much you will be glad and willing for me to hide my unhappy life in convent walls!"

They were so amazed and startled they could not move or speak to interrupt their daughter; and there, upon her knees, her face colorless, her eyes like black stars, Ethel poured forth her wretched story—the envy and jealousy that made her hate her little sister and wish her dead.

Nothing was kept back; nothing glossed over. Ethel painted her sins as black as her worst enemy could have done.

"When I came away and left my sister in the burning house I was a murderess at heart," she said. "When I stole her love letter from under her pillow and then made her give Arthur to me I was a fiend, and then I betrayed her into the power of a devil. And, papa, but for the little revolver you gave her, he might have murdered my little sister!"

They could only look and listen, they were speechless with surprise and horror. Ethel's self-arraignment was tragic in its intensity.

She went on wildly:

"Yet Precious forgave me—kept my hideous secrets, loved me, and forgave me. Can you fancy anything so angelic? Can you fancy how even my wicked heart was touched, how at last I began to repent, and to long to atone for my evil deeds? Alas! there was but one way! I began to wonder how I could give Arthur back to her, for I knew she was too noble to take him away, believing that I loved him! Suddenly the way opened clearly before me. Do you understand, papa?"

A startled cry came from the senator's lips, and Ethel continued in that anguished voice:

"You blamed me, upbraided me, papa, for jilting Arthur, yet it was the noblest act of my wayward life, my atonement to Precious for all my sins."

With a sudden movement of her hand she pushed from her brows the black lace turban. It fell at his feet, and Ethel's wealth of hair swept unbound about her shoulders like a stream of silver.

In the sleepless agony of one long night all those raven tresses had faded to beautiful silvery white!

"Look at the work of one night's agony," sobbed Ethel. "Do you think now I did not love him more than wealth and title? Do you think I could not have been happy with Arthur on a crust and in a hovel? Yes, but he belonged to her by the God-given right of their mutual love. So I gave him up for her sake! But last night!—oh, last night, what suffering, what cruel jealousy of what I had lost! And with morning's dawn all this!" She flung back her whitened locks with a restless hand, and continued: "But, dear ones, this is our secret. Arthur and Precious must never know that I loved him so madly it almost killed me to give up my poor claim on him. When I am dead, perhaps, you may tell them the truth, but not till then, for I would not make her unhappy!"

They looked at the beautiful guilty creature, and their hearts yearned over her, her repentance and atonement were so beautiful and perfect. Good had triumphed over evil in her complex nature, and the victory was complete.

"You have heard all now. You will not wish me near you, you will not oppose my wish to enter a convent," she said pleadingly.

But the strong nature of Senator Winans had been stirred to its very depths by the story he had heard. He rose and drew his daughter to his breast.

"Ethel, I have wronged you," he said tenderly and humbly. "It was from me you inherited your jealous nature, and I have blamed you instead of shielding you and guarding you against your inherited nature. I should have loved you more and blamed you less. It was hard for you to be good, while it was easy for Precious, with all her mother's gentle traits. Dear, we cannot let you go from us to expiate your sins. Stay with us, and we will love you more, and help you to be true to your better nature."

She clung to him like a tired child.

"And you will forgive me all, papa?—as Precious did, sweet angel!"

"I will forgive you all, and you must forgive me, dear. I have been to blame for all. Now promise me you will try to be happy again."

"If you will try to love me again, dear papa! You know how I have always worshiped you."

She felt his tears on her brow—a strong man's tears—and knew she had won a warmer place than ever before in his noble heart.

From that hour a new life began for Ethel. She was none the less beautiful because of that crown of snow-white tresses, but she did not care for admiration now. It was not likely she would ever marry.

And she rejoiced as much as any one when in the summer that letter came from Earle telling them that the new Earl of Fairfield, a vulgar boor, had broken his neck on the hunting field, and that Arthur had come into his rights again.

"Little Blue Eyes will be a countess some day, and Ladybird declares that a coronet will become her royally," wrote Earle, in his pride over his favorite sister; but no thrill of jealousy stirred Ethel's tranquil heart. She had conquered herself in a hard-fought battle, and in all the world there was to her no dearer name than Precious.

THE END