ALLISON AND HER GUARDIAN.
“Well, then, Gerald,” said Allison, regarding her lover earnestly,
“you know, of course, that papa left me a lot of money.”
“Yes, I know that Mr. Brewster was supposed to be a very rich man,”
the young man responded, with a regretful sigh.
“And one little body, like me, couldn’t begin to spend it
all--especially when she is cooped up in a boarding school, and
has an ogre of a guardian to hold her in check,” the young girl
continued, with a mock, injured air.
“Well?” said Gerald, smiling at her mood, yet not suspecting toward
what it was tending.
“You say that you--love me very much, Gerald?”
“Ah, my darling, I have no words to tell you all there is in my
heart.”
“And you know that I--I am every bit as fond of you?” This with a
shy look and blush that were almost bewildering.
“I trust so, dearest.”
“Then nothing should ever be allowed to come between us as a
barrier.”
“No, indeed! Nothing ever shall come between us--at least, if I can
prevent it,” rashly asserted this unsuspicious wooer.
A happy little laugh rippled over Allison’s scarlet lips at this
assurance, and, laying her hands upon his shoulders, she looked
straight into his eyes, while a gleam of triumph shone in her own.
“There!” she said, drawing a long breath; “now I have you just
where I want you, and you must promise me that, when I have
completed my studies, and you get back from Europe and are nicely
established in your position--whether you have made a lot of money
or not--you will take me just as I am. I shall have plenty, and
there will be no reason why we should not share it together.”
“But, Allison----” Gerald began, looking flushed and embarrassed
as, at least, he comprehended her meaning.
She playfully laid her slender fingers upon his lips; but he
captured her hand, though with a very tender look into the lovely
eyes upraised to his.
“You must let me finish what I was going to say, dear,” he said
resolutely. “You must know that no man could respect himself to ask
a woman to marry him if he could not give her a comfortable home
and feel that he was, in every sense of the word, her protector. I
never could be dependent upon your fortune, Allison,” he concluded,
with an air of pride and decision which convinced her that there
would be no use in discussing that point further.
She secretly admired him for the stand he had taken; but,
womanlike, she wanted the last word.
“You said you would promise me anything I asked,” she said, with a
pretty pout.
“But I did not think you would be guilty of taking such an unfair
advantage of me,” Gerald retorted, laughing. “I cannot swear away
my self-respect, to please even you,” and bending, he softly kissed
the white brow that was resting against his shoulder.
“Well, but what has passed between us to-day makes you belong to
me, does it not?” Allison questioned.
“Forever.”
“I don’t see, then, but that you have sworn yourself away,” she
retorted slyly.
“Yes, I believe I have. What a lawyer you would have made,
sweetheart!” Gerald responded, laughing again.
“Very well; it is a poor rule that will not work both ways,”
Allison gravely observed; “I will not receive more than I am
willing to give, and so, Gerald, our mutual watchword shall be
‘forever.’”
“My darling!” whispered the young lover, tears of emotion springing
to his eyes, “surely such a spirit of loyalty should nerve my heart
to any endeavor.”
“How can I let you go away across the ocean!” Allison broke forth,
after a moment of silence, and in a voice of keen regret.
“Yes, it does seem a little hard that I must go,” Gerald returned;
“but I am hoping a great deal from this coming year of experience
with Mr. Lyttleton--I am impressed that it will be a stepping-stone
toward the goal I wish to reach. Besides, I should not see much of
you during the next six months, as, of course, you will soon return
to school.”
“Yes; I am to go back on Saturday; but we will write to each other
often.”
“Yes, I am sure there is no reason why we should not,” Gerald
assented; “but, perhaps, it will be just as well that Mr. Hubbard
should not know of our correspondence.”
“He will never learn of it from me,” said Allison spiritedly, and
adding, with a sigh:
“Oh, I wish papa had not made him my guardian.”
“I can echo that wish most heartily,” her companion responded
fervently; “and I cannot understand his doing so--allowing him
such unlimited power over you, and making him sole executor of his
will also; it does not seem at all like Mr. Brewster’s habitual
shrewdness. By the way, has he given you your jewels, and the other
box?”
“What other box? I have mama’s jewels--at least, they are in the
safe in the library; Mr. Hubbard brought them directly here after
the trial; but I know nothing about any other box.”
“Well, there were two boxes which I was to bring to your father;
but possibly one of them contained things which do not concern you,
papers, perhaps, relating to Mr. Brewster’s business. Still, I am
impressed that he did not wish any one to know anything of it or
its contents, and that was why he enjoined me to secrecy regarding
my errand that Sunday.”
“I will ask Mr. Hubbard about it,” said Allison thoughtfully.
“Yes, I think I would,” her lover replied, “although I do not
believe you will get any satisfaction from him; but it will at
least let him know that you are aware of its existence and have
some curiosity regarding the matter. But I must go now, dear,” he
added, rising. “I have a good many things to do for myself during
the week, and doubtless Mr. Lyttleton will require me at his office
some of the time.”
“But you will come often between now and Saturday?” Allison
pleaded, as she clasped both hands about his arms, as if loath to
let him go.
“I will come as often as you like,” he answered, smiling.
“Then I shall look for you every evening; only I hope that Mr.
Hubbard will not pop in upon us, and spoil everything.”
“Then every evening I will come,” Gerald replied, as he took a fond
farewell of her, and went away with a very happy heart.
The remaining few days passed very swiftly to these young lovers,
who spent their evenings together, without exciting the suspicions
of John Hubbard, who, however, made some errand to call upon
Allison almost every day.
Upon one occasion she questioned him about the box of which Gerald
had spoken, asking what it contained.
“It is locked, and, as yet, I have found no key to it,” the man
told her evasively, but with a quickly averted glance, which did
not escape the fair girl’s watchful eyes. “Indeed, I have been too
busy to think much about it,” he added; “but I imagine there is
nothing in it but business papers.”
So Allison was none the wiser, as Gerald had prophesied, and on
Saturday returned to her school, where, becoming absorbed in her
studies, she soon forgot all about it for the time.
Gerald sailed for Europe the following Monday, and John Hubbard,
upon learning of the fact, experienced a feeling of intense relief.
“Good riddance to him,” he muttered. “Now I need have no fear, for
I shall have a clear field to myself.”
After Allison’s departure, Mr. Hubbard decided that it would
be useless expense to keep the Brewster establishment running;
consequently, he advertised it for rental, furnished, and it was
taken almost immediately by a Philadelphia family, who, bringing
their own servants with them, did not require any of the help who
had served there so long; and thus, all the servants, with Mrs.
Pollard, who had become exceedingly fond of Allison, and who felt
that she was being driven from her home, were obliged to find
situations elsewhere.
The house at Yonkers was disposed of in the same way; consequently,
at the end of six months, when Allison had completed her education,
she found herself practically homeless, until she could arrange to
go to Newport for the summer, and so was obliged to take up her
residence with her guardian, whose family consisted of only himself
and his mother, with their servants.
They were not to go to Newport until the middle of July, as Mr.
Hubbard had been so busy he had been unable to attend to the
opening of the cottage; but he managed to make his own home so
pleasant, and Allison so heartily welcome, while she found Mrs.
Hubbard such a dear old lady, she was wholly content to remain with
them.
He did not once refer to his previous proposal of marriage; he
continued her the same liberal allowance which her father had made
her, and gratified her every wish, making himself so agreeable and
entertaining that all would probably have gone well but for an
incident that occurred during the second week after her return.
Gerald returned about that time, and, feeling that Mr. Hubbard
would not favor his calling upon her, she arranged to meet him
at a certain point on Broadway, one day, when they were to go to
Delmonico’s for lunch, and to talk over their experiences of the
last half-year.
They had hardly met and greeted each other when, they were suddenly
confronted by John Hubbard.
“Well, Allison, whither are you bound?” he inquired, stepping
directly in her path, but without deigning Gerald even a glance of
recognition.
The young girl paused aghast and flushed with mingled embarrassment
and astonishment.
Then, recovering herself, her beautiful eyes began to blaze with
indignation at the slight in her companion.
“Mr. Hubbard,” she said, glancing from him to Gerald, “do you not
recognize Mr. Winchester?”
“I have no acquaintance with Mr. Winchester,” the man frigidly, but
very unwisely, responded. “I was, however, just on my way home to
get you to go with me to see that new painting at the Academy of
Design.”
“I thank you, Mr. Hubbard,” Allison retorted, just as icily, “but
I was on my way to lunch at Delmonico’s with Mr. Winchester. Come,
Gerald.”
Whereupon Miss Brewster haughtily passed her guardian, and
proceeded on her way, attended by her lover, who, although he bowed
coldly to the man, found it difficult to restrain his anger at his
insolence.
“But, Allison----” authoritatively began John Hubbard, looking back
after the graceful, but proudly erect figure of his ward.
He might as well have addressed the paving-stones, for the
independent little lady paid not the slightest heed to him.
“Gerald, I could almost strangle him for being so rude to you,” she
remarked, when they were beyond hearing of the man.
“Never mind me, dear,” he replied, smiling, but regarding her with
an admiring look. “I believe it would be worth while being snubbed
occasionally for the sake of seeing you look so pretty in your
righteous indignation over it.”
“He has been very good to me of late, and I had begun to like
them--almost,” Allison explained; “but I believe this has made
him more hateful to me than ever. However,” tossing her shining
head defiantly, “I am not going to let it spoil our little visit
together.”
They had their lunch, and a quietly jolly time over it, and then
Allison insisted that Gerald himself should take her to see the
painting of which Mr. Hubbard had spoken. They passed a couple of
hours thus very pleasant, and then reluctantly separated.
But they decided that, in future, they would have to be more
wary about their meetings; and, as Gerald was very busy, it was
doubtful about their seeing much of each other before Allison went
to Newport, and now the fair girl began to chafe sorely over the
fact that her fate was so closely allied with the man who was so
obnoxious to her.
When she reached home on this afternoon, she found John Hubbard
there before her, and wearing a very injured air.
But she paid very little attention to him until, galled by her
coolness toward him, he opened fire upon her.
“I was very sorry to meet you with that disreputable fellow today,”
he began, when the indignant girl whirled around upon him like a
small tornado.
“Mr. John Hubbard, you will be kind enough never to speak of my
friend, Mr. Winchester, in that way again,” she cried, with flaming
cheeks and blazing eyes; “and I will further say that I regard your
rudeness to him to-day as a personal insult to me, also.”
The man gazed at her in astonishment. He was dumfounded by such
an exhibition of temper. Her manner was usually characterized by
a sweetness and quietness that gave one the impression that she
could not be aroused to an exhibition of passion, although the
determination and obstinacy which she had shown at Gerald’s trial
had betrayed a strong will.
“Really, Allison,” he began, after a moment, and realizing that it
would not be wise to antagonize her still further, “I meant no
disrespect to you--you know that I have only the tenderest regard
for you; but I was so taken aback upon seeing you upon the street
with that--with young Winchester, I was hardly responsible for what
I did or said. I have never changed my opinion regarding the young
man, however, and it hurt me deeply to meet you with him.”
Allison opened her lips as if about to retort sharply to him again;
but she suddenly checked herself, and turning from him, left the
room without deigning him any reply.
But the man’s suspicions having been aroused, he resolved to watch
his ward closely.
The result of his prying was the discovery of Gerald’s photograph,
which he found in a box in one of Allison’s bureau-drawers, and
with it his last letter from Europe, together with a couple of
recent notes which told him a great deal regarding their relations
to each other--enough to drive him into a white heat of rage, and
arouse all his native villainy and cunning.
He had observed that Gerald had improved greatly during his absence
abroad; he had grown more manly, while there was a prosperous look
about him which betokened success and progression.
This was true, for Gerald had proved himself so congenial to his
employer, and so thoroughly in earnest and determined to do his
very best, that the two had at once become the best of friends, and
at the end of three months Mr. Lyttleton raised his salary to a
thousand a year. More than this, he had found his mental grasp so
keen and forceful, that he had persuaded him to begin the study of
law, under his supervision, and thus the young man found himself
working out the very plan which his friend, Professor Emerson, had
once suggested to him.
John Hubbard congratulated himself that he was so soon to get
Allison away from New York, and he hurried his own work in order to
prevent any delay in his plans.
But the afternoon previous to her departure the lovers had an
enjoyable drive in Central Park, and on her return from this
excursion, Allison met with an adventure which, although, at the
time, it seemed unimportant in itself, was destined to result in
great things later on.
As she had a few errands to attend to before going home, Gerald
left her at one of the large stores on Broadway, after bidding her
a reluctant farewell. She had completed her purchase, and had just
left a fashionable millinery establishment, where she had bought “a
love of a hat,” that was destined to do duty at the seaside, and
was standing upon the curbing, waiting for an uptown car, when she
observed a young girl, about fourteen years of age, leaning against
a lamp-post, and crying bitterly.
She was poorly clad, was very pale, and wore a dejected, suffering
air, which at once appealed to the tender heart of the young
heiress, who also observed that a heavy bundle lay upon the
sidewalk at her feet.
Stepping quietly to her side, Allison gently laid her hand upon her
arm to attract her attention.
“Why are you crying?” she questioned in an earnest tone; “has
anything happened to you?”
The girl turned her tear-stained face upon the speaker, and Allison
saw that it was almost convulsed with pain.
With her right hand she pointed to her left arm, which, her
companion now saw, hung limp and useless--broken--by her side.
The next moment the sufferer dropped senseless at her feet.