Dora Thorne | Page 4

Adopt what line of politics you will, but do not bring
theory into practice in this instance."
"I should consider myself a hero," continued the young man, "if I could
be the first to break through the trammels of custom and the absurd
laws of caste."
"You would not be the first," said Lord Earle, quietly. "Many before
you have made unequal marriages; many will do so after you, but in

every case I believe regret and disappointment followed."
"They would not in my case," said Ronald, eagerly; "and with Dora
Thorne by my side, I could so anything; without her, I can do nothing."
Lord Earle looked grieved at the pertinacity of his son.
"Most fathers would refuse to hear all this nonsense, Ronald," he said,
gently. "I listen, and try to convince you by reasonable arguments that
the step you seem bent upon taking is one that will entail nothing but
misery. I have said no angry word to you, nor shall I do so. I tell you
simply it can not be. Dora Thorne, my lodge keeper's daughter, is no
fitting wife for my son, the heir of Earlescourt. Come with me, Ronald;
I will show you further what I mean."
They went together, the father and son, so like in face yet so dissimilar
in mind. They had been walking up and down the broad terrace, one of
the chief beauties of Earlescourt. The park and pleasure grounds, with
flushed summer beauty, lay smiling around them. The song of hundreds
of birds trilled through the sweet summer air, the water of many
fountains rippled musically, rare flowers charmed the eye and sent forth
sweet perfume; but neither song of birds nor fragrance of
flowers--neither sunshine nor music--brought any brightness to the
grave faces of the father and son.
With slow steps they quitted the broad terrace, and entered the hall.
They passed through a long suite of magnificent apartments, up the
broad marble staircase, through long corridors, until they reached the
picture gallery, one of the finest in England. Nearly every great master
was represented there. Murillo, Guido, Raphael, Claude Lorraine,
Salvator Rosa, Correggio, and Tintoretto. The lords of Earlescourt had
all loved pictures, and each of them ad added to the treasures of that
wonderful gallery.
One portion of the gallery was set aside for the portraits of the family.
Grim old warriors and fair ladies hung side by side; faces of marvelous
beauty, bearing the signs of noble descent, shone out clearly from their
gilded frames.

"Look, Ronald," Lord Earle said, laying one hand upon his shoulder,
"you stand before your ancestors now. Yours is a grand old race.
England knows and honors it. Look at these pictured faces of the wives
our fathers chose. There is Lady Sybella Earle; when one of Cromwell's
soldiers drew his dagger to slay her husband, the truest friend King
Charles ever had, she flung herself before him, and received the blow
in his stead. She died, and he lived--noble and beautiful, is she not?
Now look at the Lacy Alicia--this fair patrician lady smiling by the side
of her grim lord; she, at the risk of her life, helped him to fly from
prison, where he lay condemned to death for some great political wrong.
She saved him, and for her sake he received pardon. Here is the Lady
Helena--she is not beautiful, but look at the intellect, the queenly brow,
the soul-lit eyes! She, I need not tell you, was a poetess. Wherever the
English language was spoken, her verses were read--men were nobler
and better for reading them. The ladies of our race were such that brave
men may be proud of them. Is it not so, Ronald?"
"Yes," he replied, calmly; "they were noble women."
Lord Earle then led his son to a large painting, upon which the western
sunbeams lingered, brightening the fair face they shone upon, until it
seemed living and smiling. A deep and tender reverence stole into Lord
Earle's voice as he spoke:
"No fairer or more noble woman ever ruled at Earlescourt than your
mother, Ronald. She is the daughter of 'a hundred earls,' high-bred,
beautiful, and refined. Now, let me ask you, in the name of common
sense, do you wish to place my lodge keeper's daughter by your
mother's side? Admit that she is pretty and good--is it in the fitting
order of things that she should be here?"
For the first time, in the heedless, fiery course of his love, Ronald Earle
paused. He looked at the serene and noble face before him, the broad
brow, the sweet, arched lips, the refined patrician features, and there
came to him the memory of another face, charming, shy and blushing,
with a rustic, graceful beauty different from the one before