A SURPRISE.
Later in the evening, when Gertrude, having resigned her little charge
to the nurse who came to seek her, had again joined her party, the
attention of every one assembled in the drawing-room was attracted by
the entrance of a beautiful and showily-dressed young lady, attended by
two or three gentlemen. After glancing round the room for the person
whom she came to seek, she advanced towards Mrs. Petrancourt, who rose
to receive her young visitor. Unexpected as the meeting was to Gertrude,
she recognized Isabel Clinton, who passed both her and Emily without
observing them, and, there being no vacant chair near at hand, seated
herself with Mrs. Petrancourt on a couch a little farther up the room,
and entered into earnest conversation; nor did she change her position
or look in the direction of Dr. Jeremy's party until she was taking
leave. She would have passed them then without noticing their presence,
but hearing Dr. Gryseworth address Miss Flint by name, she half turned,
caught Gertrude's eye, spoke a careless "How do you do?" with that
indifference with which one salutes a very slight acquaintance, cast a
look back at Emily, surveyed with an impertinent air of curiosity the
rest of the circle to which they belonged, and unceremoniously walked
off, whispering to her companions some satirical comments upon the place
and the company.
"Oh, what a beauty!" exclaimed Netta to Mrs. Petrancourt. "Who is she?"
Mrs. Petrancourt related what she knew of Miss Clinton, told how she had
travelled with her in Switzerland, and met her in Paris, where she was
universally admired; then, turning to Gertrude, she remarked, "You are
acquainted with her, I see, Miss Flint." Gertrude replied that she knew
her before she went abroad, but had seen nothing of her since her
return.
"She has just arrived," said Mrs. Petrancourt; "she came with her father
in the last steamer, and has been in Saratoga but a day or two. She is
making a great sensation at the 'United States,' and has troops of
beaux."
"Most of whom are probably aware," remarked Mr. Petrancourt, "that she
will have plenty of money one of these days."
Emily's attention was by this time attracted. She had been conversing
with Ellen Gryseworth, but now turned to ask Gertrude if they were
speaking of Isabel Clinton.
"Yes," said Dr. Jeremy, "and if she were not the rudest girl in the
world, my dear, you would not have remained so long in ignorance of her
having been here."
Emily forbore to make any comment. Gertrude was silent also; but she
burned inwardly, as she always did, at any slights being offered to the
gentle Emily.
Gertrude and Dr. Jeremy were always among the earliest morning visitors
at the spring. The doctor enjoyed drinking the water at this hour; and,
as Gertrude was fond of walking before breakfast, he made it a point
that she should accompany him, partake of the beverage of which he was
so fond, and afterwards join him in brisk pedestrian exercise till near
breakfast time.
On the morning succeeding the evening of which we have been speaking,
they had presented themselves at the spring. Gertrude had gratified the
doctor, and made a martyr of herself by imbibing a tumblerful of water
which she found very unpalatable; and he having quaffed his seventh
glass, they had both proceeded some distance on one more walk around the
grounds when he suddenly missed his cane, and believing that he had left
it at the spring, declared his intention to return and look for it.
Gertrude would have gone back also, but, as there might be some
difficulty in recovering it, he insisted upon her continuing her walk in
the direction of the circular railway, promising to come round the other
way and meet her. She had proceeded some little distance, and was
walking thoughtfully along, when, at an abrupt winding in the path, she
observed a couple approaching her--a young lady leaning on the arm of a
gentleman. A straw hat partly concealed the face of the latter, but in
the former she recognised Bella Clinton. It was evident that Bella saw
Gertrude, and knew her, but did not mean to acknowledge her
acquaintance; for, after the first glance, she kept her eyes obstinately
fixed either upon her companion or the ground. This conduct did not
disturb Gertrude in the least; Bella could not feel more indifferent
about the acquaintance than she did; but being thus saved the necessity
of awaiting and returning any salutation from that quarter, she
naturally bestows her passing glance upon the gentleman who accompanied
Miss Clinton. He looked up at the same instant, fixed his full grey eyes
upon her, with that careless look with which one stranger regards
another, then, turning as carelessly away, made some slight remark to
his companion.
They pass on. They have gone some steps--but Gertrude stands fixed to
the spot. She feels a great throbbing at her heart. She knows that look,
that voice, as well as if she had seen and heard them yesterday. Could
Gertrude forget Willie Sullivan? But he has forgotten her. Shall she run
after him and stop him, and catch both his hands in hers, and compel him
to see, and know, and speak to her? She started one step forward in the
direction he had taken, then suddenly paused and hesitated. A crowd of
emotions choked, blinded, suffocated her, and while she wrestled with
them, and they with her, he turned the corner and passed out of sight.
She covered her face with her hands and leaned against a tree.
It was Willie. There was no doubt of that; but not her Willie--the _boy_
Willie. It was true time had added but little to his height or breadth
of figure, for he was a well-grown youth when he went away. But six
years of Eastern life, including no small amount of travel, care,
exposure, and suffering, had done the work that time would ordinarily
have accomplished. The winning attractiveness of the boy had but given
place to equal, if not superior, qualities in the man, who was still
very handsome, and gifted with that natural grace and ease of deportment
which win universal commendation. The broad, open forehead, the lines of
mild but firm decision about the mouth, the frank, fearless manner,
were as marked as ever, and were alone sufficient to betray his identity
to one upon whose memory these and all his other characteristics were
indelibly stamped; and Gertrude needed not the sound of his well-known
voice, that too fell upon her ear, to proclaim to her beating heart that
Willie Sullivan had met her face to face, had passed on, and that she
was left alone, unrecognised, unknown, unthought of, and uncared for!
For a time this bitter thought, "He does not know me," was present to
her mind; it engrossed her entire imagination, and sent a thrill of
surprise and agony through her whole frame. She did not stop to reflect
upon the fact that she was but a child when she parted from him, and
that the change in her appearance must be immense. The one painful idea,
that she was forgotten and lost to the dear friend of her childhood,
obliterated every other recollection. Other feelings, too, soon crowded
into her mind. Why was Willie here, and with Isabel Clinton leaning on
his arm? How came he on this side the ocean? and why had he not
immediately sought herself, the earliest and, as she had supposed,
almost the only friend, to welcome him back to his native land? Why had
he not written and warned her of his coming? How should she account for
his strange silence, and the still stranger circumstance of his hurrying
at once to the haunts of fashion, without once visiting the city of his
birth and the sister of his adoption?
But among all her visions there had been none which approached the
reality of this painful experience that had suddenly plunged her into
sorrow. Her darkest dreams had never pictured a meeting so chilling; her
most fearful forebodings had never prefigured anything so heart-rending
as this seemingly annihilation of all the sweet and cherished relations
that had subsisted between herself and the long-absent wanderer. No
wonder, then, that she forgot the place, the time, everything but her
own overwhelming grief; and that, as she stood leaning against the old
tree, her chest heaved with sobs too deep for utterance, and great tears
trickled from her eyes and between the little taper fingers that vainly
sought to hide her disturbed countenance.
She was startled from her position by the sound of a footstep. Hastily
starting forward, without looking in the direction from which it came,
and throwing her veil so as to hide her face, she wiped away her
fast-flowing tears and hastened on, to avoid being observed by any of
the numerous strangers who frequented the grounds at this hour.
Half-blinded, however, by the thick folds of the veil, and her sight
rendered dim by the tears which filled her eyes, she was scarcely
conscious of the unsteady course she was pursuing, when suddenly a loud,
whizzing noise close to her ears frightened and confused her so that she
knew not which way to turn; at the same instant an arm was suddenly
flung round her waist, she was forcibly lifted from her feet as if she
had been a little child, and found herself detained and supported by the
same strong arm, while just in front of her a little hand-car,
containing two persons, was whirling by at full speed. One step more and
she would have reached the track of the miniature railway, and been
exposed to fatal injury from the rapidly-moving vehicle. Flinging back
her veil, she perceived her fortunate escape; and being released from
the firm grasp of her rescuer, she turned upon him a half-confused,
half-grateful face.
Mr. Phillips--for it was he--looked upon her in the most tender and
pitying manner. "Poor child!" said he soothingly, at the same time
drawing her arm through his, "you were very much frightened. Here, sit
down upon this bench," and he would have drawn her towards a seat, but
she shook her head and signified by a movement her wish to proceed
towards the hotel. She could not speak; the kindness of his look and
voice only served to increase her trouble and rob her of the power to
articulate. So he walked on in silence, supporting her with the greatest
care and bestowing upon her many an anxious glance. At last making a
great effort to recover her calmness, she partially succeeded--so much
so that he ventured to speak again, and asked, "Did _I_ frighten you?"
"You!" replied she, in a low and somewhat unsteady voice. "Oh no! you
are very kind."
"I am sorry you are so disturbed," said he; "those little cars are
troublesome things; I wish they'd put a stop to them."
"The car!" said Gertrude, in an absent way; "oh, yes, I forgot."
"You are a little nervous, I fear; can't you get Dr. Jeremy to prescribe
for you?"
"The doctor! He went back for his cane, I believe."
Mr. Phillips saw that she was bewildered. He forbore any conversation,
and they continued their walk to the hotel in silence. Just before
leaving her he said, in a tone of the deepest interest, as he held her
hand for a moment at parting, "Can I do anything for you? Can I help
you?"
Gertrude looked up at him. She saw that he understood that she was
unhappy, not nervous. Her eyes thanked him as they glistened behind a
shower of tears. "No, no," gasped she, "but you are very good;" and she
hastened into the house, leaving him gazing at the door, as if she was
still in sight and he were watching her.
Gertrude's first thought was how she might best conceal all her fears,
and especially from Miss Graham any knowledge of her grief. That she
would receive sympathy from Emily there could be no doubt; but as she
loved her benefactress, did she shrink from any disclosure which was
calculated to lessen Willie Sullivan in the estimation of one in whose
opinion she was anxious that he should sustain the high place to which
her own praises had exalted him. The chief knowledge that Emily had of
Willie was derived from Gertrude, and with a mingled feeling of
tenderness for him and pride on her own account did the latter dread to
disclose the fact that he had returned, and that she had met him at
Saratoga, and that he had passed her carelessly by.
It was very hard for her to appear as usual and elude the vigilance of
Emily, who was keenly alive to every sensation experienced by Gertrude.
Gertrude's love for Willie was undying, and she could not think that he
would attach himself to one so worldly, vain, and selfish as Isabel
Clinton. True, she was the daughter of Willie's early and generous
employer, now the senior partner in the mercantile house to which he
belonged, and would be expected to pay her every polite attention; but
still Gertrude could not but feel a greater sense of estrangement, a
chilling presentiment of sorrow, from seeing him thus familiarly
associated with one who had treated her with scorn.
She had to summon all her self-command, and endeavour to behave with
serenity and composure. Gertrude compelled herself to enter the room
where Emily was awaiting her, bid her a cheerful "good morning," and
assist in her toilet. Her face bore indications of recent tears, but
that Emily could not see, and by breakfast-time even they were
effectually removed.
New trials too awaited her, for Dr. Jeremy, according to his promise,
after recovering his cane, went to meet her as agreed upon, and, finding
her false to her appointment, was full of inquiries as to the path she
had taken. The truth was, that when Gertrude heard Mr. Phillips
approaching in the direction she should have taken, she, in her
eagerness to avoid meeting any one, took the contrary path to that she
had been pursuing, and, after he joined her, retraced her steps to the
hotel the same way she had come, consequently eluding the search of the
doctor. But before she could plead any excuse Netta Gryseworth came up,
full of pleasantry and fun, and leaning over Gertrude's shoulder, said,
in a whisper loud enough to be heard by all the little circle, who were
being delayed on their way to breakfast by the doctor's demand for an
explanation, "Gertrude, my dear, such affecting partings ought to be
private; I wonder you allow them to take place directly at the
door-step."
This remark did not lessen Gertrude's discomfiture, which became extreme
on Dr. Jeremy's taking Netta by the arm and insisting upon knowing her
meaning, declaring that he always had suspicions of Gertrude, and wanted
to know with whom she had been walking.
"Oh, a certain tall young beau of hers, who stood gazing after her when
she left him, until I began to fear the cruel creature had turned him
into stone. What did you do to him, Gertrude?"
"Nothing," replied Gertrude. "He saved me from being thrown down by the
little rail-car, and afterwards walked home with me." Gertrude answered
seriously; she could have laughed and joked with Netta at any other
time, but now her heart was too heavy. The doctor did not perceive her
agitation, and pushed the matter further.
"Quite romantic! imminent danger! providential rescue! _tete-a-tete_
walk home, carefully avoiding the old doctor, who might prove an
interruption!--I understand!" Poor Gertrude, blushing and distressed,
tried to offer some explanation and stammered out, with a faltering
voice, that she did not notice--she didn't remember.
At breakfast she could not conceal her want of appetite, and was glad
when Emily went with her to their own room, where, after relating her
escape from accident, and Mr. Phillips' agency in that escape, she was
permitted by her apparently satisfied hearer to sit down and read to her
in a book lent them by that gentleman, to whom, however, no opportunity
had yet occurred of introducing Emily.
The whole morning passed away, and nothing was heard from Willie. Every
time a servant passed, Gertrude was on the tiptoe of expectation; and
when she heard a tap at the door she trembled so that she could hardly
lift the latch. But there was no summons to the parlour, and by noon the
excitement had brought a deep flush into her face, and she had a severe
headache. Conscious, however, of the wrong construction put upon her
conduct if she absented herself from the dinner-table, she made the
effort to dress with as much care as usual; and, as she passed up the
hall to her seat, it was not strange that, though suffering herself, the
rich glow that mantled her cheeks, and the brilliancy which excitement
had given to her dark eyes, attracted the notice of others besides Mr.
Phillips.