Read Ebook: Loved you better than you knew by Miller Alex McVeigh Mrs

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Ebook has 1806 lines and 62515 words, and 37 pages

"Oh, you are cut, you are bleeding! and you did it to save me! I saw you ward off that horrible missile from me with your hand. It must have killed me had I received the blow, for, as it was, it grazed my head. Oh, what can I do? Let me bind your hand to stop the blood," sobbed Cinthia, unwinding the silk scarf from her neck and wrapping it tightly, with untaught skill, about his wrist above the wound to stop the spurting blood.

She trembled and paled as the warm blood spurted over her own white and dainty hands as she essayed the task, and her heart throbbed wildly with new and sweet emotion. She could have clasped her arms about his neck and wept over the cruel wound he had received in her defense and for her sake.

"Thank you. That will do very well," Arthur Varian cried, gratefully; and taking her hand gently, he added: "I see we are almost at the gates of my home. You must come in with me till the storm is over, then I will take you home in the carriage."

Thoroughly frightened, and glad of a shelter from the still angry elements, Cinthia accompanied him inside the gates of the finest residence in the county--Idlewild, as it was called--being a large rambling old stone mansion, exceedingly picturesque in style, and surrounded by a fine estate in lawns, gardens, and virgin woodlands. For many years the place had been tenantless, save for the old housekeeper in charge, but last summer it had been carefully renovated, and Arthur Varian and his widowed mother, who owned the place, had come there to live.

As the young man led Cinthia in, he added, thoughtfully:

"You are quite drenched, but my mother will give you some hot tea and dry clothing, and perhaps that will prevent your getting sick."

"Oh, I don't think the wetting will hurt me. I'm very strong," Cinthia answered; adding, bashfully: "I shouldn't like your mother to see me looking like I had been fished out of the river. You had better take me to the housekeeper. I know her well. She has been lending me novels and poetry from your library ever since I was a little girl."

And, in fact, before they rang the bell the front door flew open, and the old woman appeared, pouncing upon Cinthia, and exclaiming:

"Come right in out of the wet, you poor, dear child! I saw it all from the window, and I thought you both were killed when the piece of tin knocked you both down. I believe it is a piece off of our own roof. My heart jumped in my mouth, and I was about to faint when I saw you both rising to your feet, and I got better at once. But, law sakes! wasn't it terrible? Your hand's cut, too, ain't it, Mr. Varian? Well, I'll see to't in a minute, as soon as I take Cinthy to my room."

Leading the dripping girl along the corridors to a plain, neat bedroom, she produced a dainty white night-gown, saying:

"There, honey; jest strip off your wet clothes and put on that, and jump into my bed and kiver up warm, whiles I go and sew up that cut on Mr. Arthur's hand, for I can do it jest as neat as any doctor. Then I'll dry your clothes and brew you both some bone-set tea to keep you from ketching cold."

She bustled away, and Cinthia gladly did as she was bid, looking ruefully at the puddles of water that streamed from her clothing on to the neat Brussels carpet.

When Mrs. Bowles returned she was indeed covered up in the warm bed, with only her bright eyes and the top of her golden head visible.

"He saved my life!" cried Cinthia, eagerly. "I would have received that blow on my head but that he so quickly warded it off with his hand. See, it just grazed my temple," showing a little bleeding scratch under her ringlets.

"Dearie me, let me put a strip of court-plaster on it! There, it'll be well in a day or two. Now, Cinthia, you take a little nap whiles I hang your clothes to dry in the laundry," gathering them up into a bucket.

"I've ruined your carpet," sighed the girl.

"Oh, no; it'll be all right when it's dry. Them colors won't run. Don't worrit over that, but shet your eyes and go to sleep," bustling out again.

"Dear old soul!" sighed Cinthia, grateful for the kiss pressed on top of her curly head. She shut her eyes, but she was too nervous to sleep.

She lay listening to the storm that still raged outside, and wondering what her aunt would think of her protracted stay, if she would be angry, or just frightened. Then her thoughts flew to Arthur Varian, his tender smiles, his bonny blue eyes.

"I will never marry any man but a blue-eyed one," she thought, thrillingly, and at last fell into a gentle doze induced by weariness, the warmth of the bed, and the dose she had swallowed.

The nap lasted an hour, and when she opened her eyes Mrs. Bowles was rocking placidly by the cozy fire in the twilight.

"Oh, I have been asleep! How long?" she cried, uneasily.

"Most an hour. Do you feel rested?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, and I'd like to get up and go home. Are my clothes dry?"

"Oh, no--not yet; and as for that gray woolen frock of yours, it has shrunk that much you can never hook it up again, I can tell you that! But no matter. You've had it two years a'ready. I know, and it was too skimp for a growing girl, anyway. But Mrs. Varian has sent you in a suit of her clothes to put on, and when you're dressed you are to take tea with her and her son."

"Oh, but, Mrs. Bowles, I ought to go home at once. Aunt Beck will be so uneasy over me."

"Listen to the wind and the rain, child. The storm is still raging, and the horses can't be taken out till the weather clears up. So make your mind easy, and get up and dress, for Mrs. Varian will be in to see you presently."

Cinthia got up rather nervously, with a little dread of Mrs. Varian, whom she had seen at church and out riding--a beautiful, haughty-looking woman, with olive skin and flashing dark eyes, very young looking to have a grown son of twenty-three or four.

"I would rather have my own clothes," she said pleadingly.

"They are all over mud and water, child, and I don't think the maid can have them fit for you till to-morrow. Mrs. Varian very kindly offered the loan of hers, and unless you wear them, you'll have to go to bed again, that's all. Here, let me help you," said Mrs. Bowles, beginning to slip the garments over Cinthia's shining head.

"But this crimson silk with white lace trimmings--it is too fine for me, dear Mrs. Bowles."

"She can't keep Mr. Arthur from finding it out, that's sure. He knows it a'ready, by the look in his eyes when he brought her in. And it's hot, impulsive blood that flows in the Varians' veins. What is going to come of this accident, I wonder? for I saw love in her eyes when she told me how he saved her life. I hope he didn't save it just to blight it."

Cinthia went to the old woman's mirror and looked at herself in the unaccustomed gown.

The glass was not blurred and cracked like those at home, and it gave back her charming reflection truthfully.

"Why, how pretty I look!" she cried, gazing in frank delight at the beautiful vision, the lissom form, just above medium height, the regular features, the fair arch face, the starry dark eyes, the rose-red mouth, the enchanting dimples, and the aureole of golden hair that set it off like a halo of light. "Why, Mrs. Bowles, I did not know I was so pretty! But perhaps it's only the dress."

"Fine feathers make fine birds," returned the housekeeper, discreetly.

"Yes," sighed Cinthia; but she continued to gaze at herself in delight, wondering, shyly, what Arthur Varian would think of her in his mother's fine gown.

Then she turned with a start, for a light tap at the door announced the entrance of Mrs. Varian, and the housekeeper hastened to present the young girl to her mistress.

Both thrilled with admiration, for both were rarely beautiful in their opposite types, the elder a brunette of the finest style, the younger a dark-eyed blonde, so rarely seen, so much admired.

"I hope you have quite recovered from your fright, Miss Dawn," her hostess said, in a voice so exquisitely modulated that it was as pleasant as music.

Cinthia murmured in reply that she had enjoyed a delicious rest, and was so grateful for the loan of the clothes that made it possible for her to escape from bed.

"I dare say our good Mrs. Bowles would have liked to keep you there all night. She suggested that plan to Arthur after dosing him with bitter herb tea; but he disregarded her advice, and is now waiting impatiently for you," rejoined the lady, casting an arch glance at the old woman while she took Cinthia's hand and drew her toward the door.

When the door closed on them the old housekeeper wagged her head doubtfully.

"How sweet my mistress can be when she pleases; but I wonder if she would be as kind if she guessed what I have read in those young peoples' eyes--that story of love--love between a rich young man and a poor young girl, that folks like Mrs. Varian call misalliances?" she muttered, uneasily.

No matter what the outcome was to be, Cinthia Dawn had come to the happiest night of her life.

Though outside the windows the wild wind and rain swirled and beat with ghostly fingers, inside Mrs. Varian's luxurious drawing-room all was warmth and light and pleasure.

The lady and her son exerted themselves to make their young guest happy, and she was so glad and grateful in her pleasant surroundings that all were mutually sorry when toward ten o'clock the storm abated, and the moon struggled fitfully through the lowering clouds.

"I must go home!" cried Cinthia, with wholesome dread of Mrs. Flint's wrath; and their warmest urgings could not prevail on her to stay--though in her secret heart she longed to do so forever. "I shall bring back your clothes to-morrow," she laughed, as Mrs. Varian bid her a cordial good-night.

Then Arthur handed her into the waiting carriage, stepped in by her side, and the driver closed the door; and of that ride home we shall hear more in our next chapter.

Mrs. Flint grew very uneasy over her absent niece as the short afternoon waned and the fury of the storm increased to positive danger for any luckless pedestrian. After fidgeting and worrying until the early twilight fell, she began to say to herself that Cinthia was probably all right, anyway. She had doubtless gone into some friend's for shelter, and would not likely return until morning.

She took her frugal tea alone and in something like sadness, for Cinthia had seldom been absent from a meal before, and she began to feel what a loss it was to miss the fair young face about the house. She suddenly realized the tenderness lying dormant in her heart for the wilful girl.

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