LOVE SPEAKS FOR ITSELF.
The fair girl was as unaffected and as ingenuous as nature itself.
She was heartily glad to see Gerald, she knew of no reason why
she should not give free expression to her joy, and the flush of
delighted surprise that overspread her lovely face, the welcoming
light which shone in her beautiful eyes, sent a thrill of ecstasy
through Gerald’s heart, while they at the same time caused a frown
of annoyance and hate to settle upon John Hubbard’s brow.
Mr. Brewster was also an interested observer of Allison’s greeting
of his young clerk, and he congratulated himself that they were
so soon going to Newport, where the gaieties of the season, the
mingling with companions in her own sphere of life, would crowd
this “handsome young beggar” out of her mind.
“I am so glad that you could manage to come, after all,” Allison
said, with earnest sincerity. “I was so disappointed when I
received your note saying you had to go out of town. And now I want
you to act as captain of the swanboat on the lake; you understand
it perfectly, and I shall feel safer with you at the helm than with
any one else.”
But before Gerald could reply, John Hubbard stepped forward and
inquired, in a sharp, curt tone:
“How is this, young man? You surely have not had time to attend to
the business upon which you were sent, and it was far too important
to be entrusted to a common messenger.”
Gerald flushed hotly, more at the man’s tone and insolent bearing
than at his words, but he had learned to hold himself well in hand.
“I was about to explain to Mr. Brewster,” he quietly remarked,
as he turned to that gentleman without replying to the expert’s
inquiry. “The package is perfectly safe, sir,” he continued,
addressing his employer; “I delivered it into Mr. Bartlett’s own
hands, according to your instructions. I had just reached the ferry
when I met him coming off the boat, and so was not obliged to cross
to Jersey City. Here is a message, acknowledging the safe delivery
of the papers.”
As he concluded, he passed to Mr. Brewster a slip of paper, which
was evidently a leaf that had been torn from a note-book, and upon
which there had been penciled a few lines.
“It is all right, Gerald,” Mr. Brewster responded, as he read them,
“and you were fortunate to meet Mr. Bartlett. If you had gone to
Jersey City, you would have missed him and might have had to wait
many hours before you could have obeyed the charge to deliver the
papers into his own hands. And now I think, as Al--Miss Brewster
suggests, you will be just the one to manage the boat for the
company,” the banker concluded, in a tone that brought a quick
flush to the young man’s cheek; for it seemed to imply that he was
not regarded as an invited guest, but, rather, as a part of the
machinery necessary to contribute to the pleasure of the company in
general.
John Hubbard’s lips curled in an aggravating sneer, showing that he
thoroughly appreciated the situation, and this did not tend to make
Gerald’s mortification any the easier to bear.
But Allison came bravely to the rescue, and her blue eyes flashed
angry defiance upon both gentlemen, while she tossed back her
golden head with an independent air that spoke volumes.
“But, Gerald,” she said eagerly, as she moved nearer to him, “the
boat is not to be used at present, there is to be an archery
contest first, and the guests are already getting ready to dance
under the pavilion. Here is my card. I want you to put your name
down for the waltz-galop, and the military schottische; yes, and
the minuet, too--you always do them so nicely with me. That’s
it. Now, come, I want to introduce you to Annie, Cousin Charlie
Manning’s wife, who is here to matronize the affair, and she has
just the dearest little girl you ever saw--one of those Dresden
china children that sets everybody wild. Good-by,” she added
carelessly, and nodding over her shoulder at the two gentlemen as
she slipped her hand within Gerald’s arm to lead him away. “I hope
you will enjoy looking on at the fun.”
And with that she hurried her companion forward to a tall,
graceful lady, who stood under a neighboring tree, and to whom she
introduced him with as much ceremony as if he had been the son of
a millionaire.
“Humph! your daughter appears to be exceedingly fond of your office
boy, and vice versa,” John Hubbard observed, with an ugly frown, as
he glowered after the youthful pair; “it might be wise for you to
nip such a tendency in the bud.”
“Pooh! it is only a boy-and-girl fancy that doesn’t amount to
anything,” the banker responded lightly, but with an uneasy gleam
in his eyes.
“These boy-and-girl fancies sometimes prove to be the most lasting
and dangerous,” his companion retorted, with a sullen air, as he
turned to a rustic seat, where he could command a view of all that
was occurring upon the lawn.
Meantime Allison was trying to obliterate the remembrance of the
wound which her lover had received from her father.
“Oh, Gerald! I was so disappointed when your note came,” she
exclaimed, with a heartiness which betrayed her sincerity, “but it
was just lovely of you to send these,” with a shy glance at the
bouquet pinned to her corsage, “and, you see, since I thought I
could not have you here, I tried to console myself by wearing your
flowers.”
“You honor me, Allison,” said the young man, his tones thrilling
with emotion.
“Ah! but there was an element of selfishness about it,” she
replied, with a saucy smile, “for I am very, very fond of these
dear little forget-me-nots.”
“Yes, I know you are,” said her companion, looking fondly into the
lovely, uplifted eyes, and wondering which were the bluer--they or
the flowers.
“How fortunate it was that you met that Mr. Bartlett,” Allison
continued, in a satisfied tone; “you were in luck, and now we will
have just as good a time as we can. Oh, dear, I wish we were not
going to Newport on Monday,” she concluded, with a regretful sigh.
“Why! I have always supposed that you have very gay times at
Newport,” Gerald observed, with surprise.
“Yes, we do--too gay, and that is just the reason I don’t like it.
Everything is so forced--everybody trying to outdo everybody else,
just to gratify their vanity and be conspicuous. There isn’t any
heart in it--it is all a sort of ‘Vanity Fair’ parade; no matter
where you go, you are scrutinized to see if your sleeves are of
the latest cut; if your skirts have the right number of gores and
measure the correct number of yards; if the crown of your hat is
too high or too low, or if you carry the same parasols you had
last year. I do like new and pretty things, but I don’t like to be
measured and dissected wherever I go, and the probable condition of
Adam Brewster’s finances judged accordingly.”
Gerald laughed.
“I think it must be only women who are so well versed in such
analytical processes. I am sure the other sex are always impressed
by the general effect--the tout ensemble,” he said, as he ran an
admiring eye over the dainty figure beside him, and thinking he had
never seen Allison more lovely than she appeared at that moment.
She was clad in the finest of India lawn, trimmed with yards
and yards of beautiful Valenciennes lace. A rich, white, satin
ribbon girdled her waist and floated to the hem of her dress, and
costly white kid boots incased her small, shapely feet. The only
dash of color about her was the gleaming gold of her hair and the
forget-me-nots upon her bosom.
“I reckon you are right, Gerald,” she gravely replied, “the men
are more kind and sensible in their judgment. If one is tastefully
dressed, and looks pretty, the cost and style do not matter so
much. Ah! here is Gladys,” she interposed, as a lovely child came
running to meet her. “Now, isn’t she sweet?”
Gerald paused to talk to the little one for a few moments, and then
the young couple hurried away to the pavilion, where they were soon
whirling among the gay dancers and conscious only of the joy of
being in each other’s presence.
It was an ideal afternoon to them both, although it meant a great
deal more to Gerald than to Allison, for she was just at an age to
enjoy a good time for the good time’s sake; she was standing where
“The brook and river meet,”
and had not yet awakened to the fact of a line of demarcation.
She was conscious of being very fond of her young friend, of
realizing that he was more congenial to her than other gentlemen of
her acquaintance, but had never paused to ask the reason why. The
sacred depths of her woman’s nature had never yet been sounded, as
her ingenuous manner betrayed.
The two men who watched the girl from a distance, noting her every
look and gesture, realized that it would need but a word or a
breath to arouse the latent fire of a deep and absorbing love, and
settle her fate for all time.
Both saw the danger and secretly vowed that it must and should
be avoided in the future. Adam Brewster told himself that, after
to-day, Allison and Gerald should not meet again, at least, until
the former was the promised wife of another; while John Hubbard
swore far more radical measures--swore that Gerald Winchester
should be crushed--ruined; that he should be so compromised as
to character and reputation that he would never dare to declare
his love for Allison Brewster, or that, in the event of such a
betrayal, she would spurn him from her with contempt.
The lawn-party appeared to be a grand success. Everybody seemed to
enter into the spirit of the occasion with a zest and heartiness
that bespoke real enjoyment. Allison had taken pains to introduce
Gerald very generally to her friends, to whom he was so attentive
and kind that he soon became an acknowledged favorite, a coveted
partner and cavalier, and the fair little hostess was secretly very
proud of him.
After a bounteous repast had been served in another pavilion,
erected for that purpose, a party was formed for a row upon the
lake, Gerald heading the company as “captain.”
The boat was a handsome and commodious affair shaped like a swan,
and gaily canopied with red-and-white bunting. A couple of men had
been hired to do the rowing, while Gerald managed the rudder.
Everything went well until the last party were returning. A short
way out in the lake an artificial island had been made. Upon this
there was a charming little grotto and fountain, and an arched
rustic bridge spanned the water between this pretty spot and the
mainland.
Just as the boat, with its merry company, was about to pass beneath
the bridge, a sweet little voice from above called out gaily:
“Hurrah! Allison, hurrah! See! I’ve got a pretty flag!”
Allison, who was seated in the stern of the boat, beside Gerald,
glanced up at the sound, to see little Gladys Manning leaning far
out through one of the spaces of the bridge above. For once she had
escaped the watchful eyes of her mother, and had run out upon the
bridge “to see the pretty bird swim on the water.” Some one had
given her a little silken flag, and this she was now waving merrily
at Allison.
“Take care, Gladys! Back! back!” cried Allison, almost breathless
from fear as the boat shot under the arch, and the child leaned out
farther to watch it.
But she spoke too late, for already the little one had lost her
balance, and, with a shriek of fear, fell headlong into the water
and disappeared from sight.
Cries and screams now filled the air, and for a moment a panic in
the boat seemed inevitable.
“Sit still, everybody, and be quiet!” cried Gerald, in ringing,
authoritative tones, while at the same moment he whisked off his
coat and vest and slipped off his shoes. The next instant he sprang
upon the seat, then dived out of sight.
Allison sat still in her place, her hands convulsively clasped upon
her breast, her face as white as her dress. She scarcely seemed to
breathe, and her agonized glance was fastened upon the spot where
Gerald had disappeared.
The child had not risen to the surface, and it seemed an age before
the young man reappeared.
But a great sigh, that seemed like a single moan, went up from
every heart when he at length came up alone, gasping for breath.
The next moment he went down again, and, after what seemed an
interminable age, although barely two minutes had elapsed, he came
up, and now the limp form of little Gladys was seen in his arms.
The child’s clothing had caught upon a spike in one of the supports
of the bridge, and thus she had been held at the bottom of the lake.
Gerald made straight for the boat with his lifeless burden.
“Can you help me, Allison?” he questioned, as he laid hold upon the
stern.
She put forth her arms, grasped the child, and with his help soon
had her in her lap.
“Now, you----” she gasped, looking anxiously into his white face.
“No--row! row with all your might,” Gerald shouted to the men,
“never mind me, but the child must have help.”
They needed no second bidding, and two minutes later they were at
the landing, where willing hands were extended to take Allison’s
lifeless burden from her.
“Stop!” cried Gerald, as they were about to bear her away to the
house.
He seized the child, laid her upon the greensward, fell upon his
knees, and began to work upon her as he had once seen a physician
try to resuscitate a man who had nearly drowned.
“Go for a doctor, somebody, and then bring blankets,” he continued,
without suspending his efforts.
For fifteen minutes or more he worked for dear life, assisted by
others; then a physician appearing upon the scene, he was only too
glad to relinquish his patient to him, for suspense and excitement,
together with the strength he had expended in the water, had nearly
exhausted him, and he willingly obeyed Mr. Brewster, who ordered
him to “come to his rooms, have a bath, and get into dry clothing.”
The child soon recovered under the physician’s treatment, and
appeared as bright and well as ever.
Gerald, who was about the size of Mr. Manning, was provided with
necessary apparel from that gentleman’s wardrobe, and ere long
reappeared among the company, looking a trifle pale, perhaps, but
very handsome and attractive after his act of heroism.
Allison also came down in a fresh toilet in season to receive the
adieus of her friends, who declared they had had a delightful time
in spite of their recent fright.
No one would acquiesce in Gerald’s going back to the city that
night. Mr. Brewster, with an unusual thrill of feeling in his
voice, told him to “stay and make himself at home.”
An hour later the gentleman left his niece, Mrs. Manning, with
Allison and Gerald, sitting upon the broad balcony overlooking the
lake, where a glorious full moon shed its silver light all around
them, and went to the library.
Fifteen minutes afterward Gladys called “mama” from above, and Mrs.
Manning went up to see what was wanted, when, finding the child
restless and nervous, she lay down beside her, where they both soon
fell asleep.
Allison and Gerald, thus left alone, had a long, cozy chat
together, until the great clock in the hall struck ten, when the
former sprang to her feet.
“That means bedtime for me,” she said, laughing, “and papa is so
ridiculously particular about it I suppose I must say good night.
What a day this has been!” she added, with a deep sigh; “it is a
long, long while since I have had such a lovely time. But for the
accident there would have been nothing to mar it--at least after
you came.”
Gerald’s pulses leaped at those last words, but he dared not betray
how they had moved him, and so he replied with what composure he
could:
“But that--the accident--only interrupted things for a little
while.”
“Yes, thanks to you,” said Allison, as she laid her hand upon the
back of his chair, and bent to look into his upturned face. “Oh,
Gerald! what should we have done if you had not been there? I shall
never forget how you seemed to know just what to do--never! You
dear, brave, splendid hero!”
Actuated by the impulse of the moment, and the gratitude of her
tender heart, she leaned forward and lightly touched his brow with
her sweet, red lips.
Then, frightened at what she had done, she would have fled, but
Gerald, every nerve in his body thrilling with ecstasy from that
soft caress, sprang to his feet, seized her hands, and drew her
gently toward him, looking eagerly down into her blushing face.
“Allison! Allison!” he whispered, all the mighty love within him
breaking every barrier down and asserting its God-given right to
speak for itself.
There was no mistaking the emotion that vibrated through every
syllable of that tenderly uttered name, and, like a flash,
it revealed to the beautiful girl what she was to Gerald
Winchester--what he was to her, and would be for all time. She
lifted one startled, comprehending look to him.
“Gerald!” she breathed softly; then their lips met in a mute caress.
The next instant the young lover found himself alone.