BROTHER AND SISTER.
As Miss March bent over the locket she uttered an exclamation of wonder
and delight.
The portrait revealed was that of a singularly handsome man in the prime
of life. The calm, thoughtful eyes and the sensitive mouth were those of
the young actress herself; the likeness was not only unmistakable, but
remarkable.
"Is it possible that this picture has been here all these years, and I
have never known it?" the girl exclaimed.
"You might never have discovered it," replied Al. "I should not have
known but for the fact that I have a locket precisely like it, which
opens in the same way."
"Then there can be no doubt----"
"That you are my sister."
"Brother!"
The next moment the singularly united couple were folded in each other's
arms.
It was a moment that in all their after lives neither of them ever
forgot, a joy that no future sorrow had the power to efface from their
memories.
When the first transports of emotion were over, the young girl said,
tremulously:
"My mother--when shall I see her? Oh, I must go to her at once! I must,
I must!"
"Of course, Mr. Wattles will give you leave of absence as soon as we
tell him what we have discovered."
"I do not see how he can."
"Why can't he?"
"I have no understudy. No, I must remain; he has been very kind to me,
and I could not ask a favor that I knew it would be so very difficult
for him to grant."
"That is right, sister. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll telegraph
to mother to come on here at once. She will arrive before the evening
performance."
"Do so, brother---- Oh, how strange, yet how delightful, it is to utter
that sacred name! But do not tell her the truth until she comes."
"No, indeed. Why, I think the shock would almost kill her. We must break
it to her gently."
At this moment Mr. Wattles came bustling into the room.
"The advance sale," he began, "is something unheard of in Rockton.
Why---- But what's the matter? Nothing wrong, is there?"
"No, indeed," Al replied. "Everything is all right."
And he proceeded to acquaint the manager in a few words with what had
happened.
"Well," said Mr. Wattles, when he had finished, "you beat the deck,
young man. I'm going to write a romance about you when the season is
over. You're no sooner done with one startling adventure than you're
right in the midst of another. Why, you're almost equal to one of
Dumas' heroes! Well, I sincerely congratulate you both."
After a hearty handshake the manager added:
"And now I must be off to give this story to the papers."
"No, no!" cried Miss March.
"Not by any means," added Al.
Mr. Wattles stared at them.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"We mean," said Al, "that this is a private affair with which the papers
have nothing to do."
"But, my dear boy, think--only think--what a grand ad. it would make for
the show!"
"No matter; we don't want a word printed about it."
"Of course not," said the actress. "I should think you would understand
our feelings in the matter, Mr. Wattles."
"Well, I don't," returned the manager, evidently chagrined. "I cannot,
to save my life, see why you are willing to throw away such a chance for
a stunning free ad. Nor"--addressing Al--"can I understand your
scruples. By Jove! you are the queerest combination of impudence and
modesty that I ever met. But have it your own way, my children; throw
away the chance if you want to."
As he was about to leave the room the old gentleman turned again,
saying:
"I almost forgot that I had a letter for you, Miss March. Here it is,
and I think I know the handwriting."
As the actress glanced at the superscription on the envelope she changed
color.
"It is from that wretch, Farley!" she exclaimed.
"So I thought," said Mr. Wattles. "You had better look out for that man,
my dear. He is, or thinks he is, desperately in love with you, and he
may give you some trouble yet. If you don't mind, I should like to know
the contents of that letter. Believe me, it is not from mere idle
curiosity that I ask you to let me read it."
"I know that, Mr. Wattles," said Miss March. "Ever since I have been in
your company you have been like a father to me. You shall open the
letter yourself if you will."
She handed the epistle to the manager, who tore it open. As he glanced
at its contents a frown appeared upon his usually cheerful countenance.
"The scoundrel!" he muttered, crushing the letter in his hand; "if I
ever meet him again I will thrash him within an inch of his life--I
will, by Jove!"
"What does he say?" the girl asked, anxiously.
"It will do you no good to know the contents of this precious epistle,"
replied Mr. Wattles. "You had better let me destroy it."
But Miss March's feminine curiosity was now aroused, and she insisted
upon knowing what was in the letter.
"Well, if you will have it," said the manager, resignedly, "I'll read it
to you. But if you don't sleep nights for the next week or two you
mustn't blame me."
"Go on, go on!"
The old gentleman read as follows:
"GLADYS: This is to remind you that, although we are
separated, I am near you. Do you remember what I told
you the last time we met, that no power on earth could
make me give you up? I meant what I said, I mean it
still. I am not far away; you will see me sooner than
you think."
"Is there no signature?" asked Miss March.
"None, but there can be no doubt as to the identity of the writer."
"Of course not."
"I don't want to alarm you, my dear, but you ought to be very careful."
"I shall be."
Al laughed.
"I don't think there is much danger," he said. "That letter sounds like
an extract from a sensational novel. A barking dog never bites, you
know."
"I don't know anything of the sort," returned Mr. Wattles. "Some barking
dogs do bite; and this one, as you have reason to know yourself, has
sharp teeth. Well, just let me lay my hands on him and I'll settle him
in short order."
"What will you do?" smiled Al.
"First, as I said before, I'll give him a sound thrashing. Oh, you may
laugh, but I can do it, if I am not a boy. And then I'll hand him over
to the authorities. By Jove! I had no idea that the fellow was such a
scoundrel when he was in my employ, or I wouldn't have kept him an
hour. But now I really must be off. Do your best to-night, Miss March;
you'll have one of the biggest houses of the season--thanks to the
exertions of that sharp young brother of yours."
And the manager rushed out of the room.
"Brother!" the girl said, softly. "How sweet the name sounds. To think
that I have a brother! And a mother!"
"Don't cry--please don't!" entreated Al, with a boy's horror of feminine
tears.
"They are tears of joy, brother. And now you must go and send the
telegram."