Back Aa

Her Dark Inheritance

Close

<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> SERENA'S FIRST LOVE LETTER. For the first time in her life Serena Lynne was triumphant with the knowledge of a victory won. She had begun to despair; the prospect of ever winning Keith Kenyon had been growing "small by degrees and beautifully less," now flickering up in a wild spasmodic hope of success, then sinking down below zero once more. When she had discovered his evident—too evident—interest in Beatrix, the woman's heart had swelled with bitter indignation and resentment, and for a time it had seemed to Serena Lynne that there was no alternative but to die and escape it all. The anguish was unendurable; for with all the strength of her selfish nature she loved Keith Kenyon, and the very thought of giving up all hope of winning him was more bitter than death. But at last she had succeeded—not in winning his love—but himself. There was a vast difference; but Serena did not pause to reflect upon that point. She had made up her mind to marry Keith Kenyon; the sooner the marriage was over with, and he was hers until death should part them, the better for her. She sought her mother after the momentous interview with Keith, a look of excitement and delight upon her face, her pale eyes flashing with rapture. Mrs. Lynne[Pg 82] glanced up from the work upon which she was engaged, and a look of inquiry flashed into her eyes. "Well, Serena, has anything remarkable occurred?" she asked tersely. Serena threw herself down upon the faded sofa and clasped her thin hands in an affected attitude. "Mamma"—in a low, awe-stricken tone, as though she feared that some one would overhear the wonderful news which she was just dying to tell—"Keith Kenyon has asked me—has—has promised to—marry me!" A look of incredulous surprise flashed into Mrs. Lynne's pale blue eyes; the swift blood dyed her cheek a sullen crimson for a moment, then faded slowly away, leaving her as sallow and uninteresting as before. "Serena!" she exclaimed in a tremulous voice, "don't be a goose! Don't allow yourself to be misled by your own wishes, or to overestimate trifles, polite fibs or foolish nothings, in which some men indulge, and which mean less than nothing. What foolishness can Keith have been saying to you that you should imagine that he wants to marry you, Serena? Why, it is as plain as anything that he is in love with Beatrix. He will never propose to you, Serena—never in the world—while Beatrix Dane lives, and if he finds out that she is still single." Serena tossed her head. "All the same, he has done so!" she cried; "at least, he—I—led him on, you know, mamma; it was the only way. And so he said at last, 'Well, Serena, if you are willing to accept me without any question of love, I ask[Pg 83] you to be my wife!' And you had better believe that I did not wait long before I clinched the matter with a yes," she added, coarsely. "So, mamma, you need not trouble your head any more in regard to my future; I shall be all right when I am Mrs. Keith Kenyon and in my handsome home in New Orleans. I will just shine in Southern society, and make these New Orleans women turn green with envy. To think that he should pass by all the young ladies of the South, to find a wife in old Massachusetts, will seem a strange thing to the Southern people. I shall put on a great deal of style, and just overawe them. I am as good as the best of them. Am I not Miss Lynne, only daughter of the late illustrious and eminent physician, Doctor Frederick Lynne, of Chester, Massachusetts? And as Mrs. Keith Kenyon, I imagine my position in the fashionable world will be assured. Oh, mamma, I am perfectly happy!" Poor Serena! her happiness was very much like the house of which the New Testament tells us, which was founded upon the sand. And when "the rains descended and the floods came, it fell, and great was the fall thereof." Mrs. Lynne said very little upon the subject; there seemed a sort of insecurity in this projected marriage, which rendered her uncertain in regard to it. She shut her thin lips tightly together and went on with her work, and no more was said for the present. Then came the telegram for Keith which old Bernard Dane had sent himself. He had come to the conclusion that Keith was not half as ill as he had believed himself, and that if something was not done[Pg 84] to rouse him to a sense of his duty he might linger on in that northern clime indefinitely. But perhaps the strangest point in this game of cross-purposes was this: Mrs. Lynne and Serena never once dreamed or suspected that Beatrix was under the same roof where Keith was going—that the same house sheltered her which was home to him. They had paid no heed to the address in the letter which had been found in Doctor Lynne's dead hand; and the remittances for Beatrix had always been forwarded from New Orleans by Mr. Dane's lawyer. And, owing to Keith's illness ever since he had been under the roof of the Lynnes, they had never known or inquired in regard to the old man who had adopted him—not even his name or address. Even the telegrams which reported Keith's condition were sent to the housekeeper, Mrs. Graves. It was a strange complication, and out of this misunderstanding all the future evil was fated to come. Old Bernard Dane had begun to feel strangely uneasy in regard to Keith's long absence; so at last the sham telegram was sent, and brought about the desired result in Keith's sudden return. But the long journey following so close upon his severe illness proved almost too much for his strength, and the selfish old man was compelled to acknowledge that he had made an imprudent move. For the day after his arrival home Keith was unable to leave his bed, and for a week was quite an invalid. But at the expiration of that time he was able to come down-stairs, and began at once to look for an answer to his letter to Serena, which he had written the night of his arrival home. In the meantime, in the old brown house in the[Pg 85] Massachusetts wilderness, Serena Lynne had been publishing far and near the news of her engagement—the great and glorious news of her engagement to the rich young Southerner. All the neighbors for miles around were regaled with accounts of his splendid home in New Orleans; of his vast wealth, and high social position; the rich old uncle—she forgot to explain that Keith was an adopted heir—who would bequeath his immense fortune to Keith when he died; and, in short, Serena painted her own future prospects in glowing colors, until the country girls with whom Serena affiliated were half wild with envious jealousy, and wondered openly among themselves what any man in his sober senses could see in that ugly Serena Lynne to admire, and, more than all, to marry. And the verdict was rendered unanimously that Keith Kenyon's lady acquaintances must be few in number. "I shall have a grand wedding, mamma," Serena announced confidently at breakfast one morning—a breakfast served in slovenly fashion, and partaken of by the two ladies attired in slatternly morning costumes. "Of course, so soon after papa's death," went on the irrepressible Serena, "I can not make a very grand display; but I mean to be married in April, and I shall go as far with my wedding festivities as I dare venture to, under the circumstances. I mean to have a wedding that will eclipse any other that has ever been heard of here. All our old acquaintances—in fact, everybody in the whole country of any importance—shall be invited. We will have the church decorated with flowers and ferns and spare no expense. I shall[Pg 86] send to Boston for my wedding-gown. Really, I could not wear anything from this little place, you know, mamma; and besides, we owe old Grey such a fearful bill. I will have white brocade, silk embroidered, with silver flowers; and I must secure a wreath of real orange-flowers, out of compliment to Keith. You know he comes from the land of orange-blossoms. We will order a wedding-breakfast from Boston—and—and—" "When do you expect to hear from Keith?" interposed Mrs. Lynne, dryly. She had had a few hurried words with the young man before his departure—just enough to rivet the chains securely. Serena's sallow face flushed. "I—I don't know; soon, though, I suppose. And by the way, mamma, there is Mr. Rogers now—at the gate. I believe—actually believe—that he has mail for us. Perhaps it is a letter from Keith!" She pushed back her chair, and without waiting for a wrap, rushed eagerly out into the cold, wintry air—out to the gate outside of which kindly old Mr. Rogers had halted. "Letters, Miss Serena? Yes, to be sure. One for your ma, and one for you. That's from your sweetheart down in New Orleans, I see." Serena tried her very best to call up a blush, but the sallow skin did not warm, and only the frost-laden air bit the end of the long, sharp nose until it was purple. She seized the letters, and with a shower of voluble thanks hastened back to the house like a mad creature—back to her seat at the breakfast-table. [Pg 87] "One for you, ma," she announced, tossing a large yellow envelope into her mother's lap, "and a letter for me—from Keith, of course." Her chilly fingers hurriedly tore open the envelope. The letter was not very long, but it seemed to Mrs. Lynne, watching her daughter with ferret-like eyes, that it took Serena an endless time to decipher its contents. All at once, with a low groan, crumpling the letter fiercely in her hand, Serena slipped from her chair and lay upon the floor in a dead faint. <hr class="chap" /> [Pg 88] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2