Great was the consternation at Gray Gables, as the Bryan mansion was
called, when the doctor drove up to the door in the old family carriage,
and the housekeeper, looking from the window, saw a young girl seated by
his side.
For many years past he had had the strongest aversion to young girls,
and it was over sixteen years since one had crossed that threshold. No
wonder that the housekeeper was amazed to see him assist her from the
carriage and lead her by the hand up the broad walk toward the porch.
"Great Heaven!" cried Mrs. Kemp, as they drew nearer, "it looks like
Miss Alice; but it couldn't be her; for long years have passed
since--since the night she ran away. It must be her daughter--yes, that
is it!"
All of a tremble, she hastened to the door, and flung it open wide. She
could see by Mr. Bryan's face that something unusual had occurred, even
before her eyes rested on the fair young creature beside him.
"Mrs. Kemp," he said, huskily, "I have here with me one who will
surprise you greatly when you hear her name--nay, astound you."
"I can see for myself that she bears a striking resemblance to--to--"
and the rest of the sentence was lost in a choking sob.
"I am sorry that I make you feel so bad," said the fresh young voice;
and the next instant a pair of plump arms were about the old lady's neck
and a soft, velvety cheek was pressed close to hers. "Doctor Bryan has
told me all my history," the girl cried in the same breath--"how he has
been searching for me all these years, finding me at last; and that I am
hereafter to live in this grand old place. And I have been fairly crying
with joy all the way up from New York to-day. I could not help but
scream with delight, though I know it quite horrified Doctor Bryan, when
I saw the house and the magnificent grounds around it. As soon as I take
off my hat I want to run into the garden and see the rose-bushes with
real roses growing on them, and see what a house is like. I've always
lived in a tenement flat or boarding-house."
It made Mrs. Kemp laugh, even through her tears, at the girl's wild
enthusiasm. She was like an untrained, untutored child, despite her
years, she thought.
The doctor's eyes grew moist as he listened, and during the few days
that followed he watched her from his study window with unfeigned
delight. She appeared to him more like a child of seven than a young
lady of seventeen.
She was too busy in looking over the place, for the next fortnight, to
carry out her intention of writing to the girls.
She seemed to have been lifted into a different world, where the dark
past lay far behind her.
At this juncture an event happened which cast a dark shadow over all
poor Dorothy's after life.
She was out in the garden one day with Mrs. Kemp, when the doctor joined
them, holding a telegram in his hand.
"I have just received word from Harry that he will be here to-morrow,"
he said, with a pleased expression on his face. "I hope that you will
see that a room is put in readiness for him."
"To be sure, sir," responded the housekeeper, with a little courtesy.
His footsteps had scarcely died away ere Dorothy turned eagerly to her
companion.
"Who is Harry?" she asked, with all a young girl's curiosity.
"He is a young gentleman who has been studying medicine with Dr. Bryan
for the last year," returned the housekeeper, adding, with a slight
frown on her comely face: "The doctor is quite fond of him. He has been
away for the last three months, and the house has been so nice and quiet
without him."
"By the way you speak one wouldn't fancy that you liked this Mr. Harry,"
laughed Dorothy.
The housekeeper turned grimly away.
"But what is he like?" persisted Dorothy, pursuing the subject.
"Is he young--is he handsome?"
"Handsome is as handsome does," replied Mrs. Kemp, ominously.
"Doesn't he do handsome?" retorted Dorothy, throwing back her curly head
with a rich mellow laugh, adding: "But what is he like, anyhow? Is he
dark or fair, young or old?"
"No doubt he will strike you as being quite handsome," returned Mrs.
Kemp, thoughtfully. "He has very dark eyes and dark waving hair. Young
girls would consider him quite good looking."
"And will he, too, live in the house with us?" asked Dorothy, curiously.
"You had better ask Doctor Bryan," responded Mrs. Kemp, evasively.
The next morning, as Dorothy stepped out into the garden to gather
flowers for the breakfast-table, she came suddenly upon a young man
pacing up and down under the trees with his hands in his pockets,
smoking a cigar.
When he heard the light, pattering footsteps he wheeled round, and was
just about to raise his hat to the vision of girlish loveliness before
him when a low cry of intense astonishment broke from his lips.
"Dorothy Glenn, by all that is wonderful!" he exclaimed.
The amazement was mutual.
"Harry Langdon!" the girl shrieked, turning pale as death.
"What in the name of Heaven brings you to this house?" he cried,
hoarsely, catching her wrist and holding it in a tight grip.
"You have no right to know, after the way you deserted me in my peril,"
flashed Dorothy.
"But how came you here," he repeated, "of all places in the world? I
must know!"
The girl briefly outlined how it happened, her anger rising against her
questioner with every word; and as he listened his face was a study.
"Dorothy," he said, in his low, smooth voice, "you accuse me of not
trying to save you when you fell overboard. But let me speak just one
word in my own defense: You remember just what was taking place as we
reached the deck. You heard the shot, but you fainted and did not know
what happened. The bullet whizzed by me, and I fell back on the deck
stunned--unconscious. I did not recover until long after the steamer
reached New York. All the people had dispersed long before I returned to
consciousness. I made diligent search for you, and to my great horror it
soon dawned upon me that not one whom you knew could tell me whither you
had gone."
Dorothy was young and guileless, or he could never have fooled her so
easily. But the story seemed very plausible to her ears, and her face
brightened.
It was a great load lifted from her heart--her trustful belief that
handsome Mr. Langdon had not been false to her after all.
"Now, Dorothy, I have something to say to you," he began. "Walk down
this path with me, for you must listen intently to what I have to say to
you. I have a little confession to make to you, and a favor to ask, and
surely you are too kind of heart and too good a friend to me to refuse.
I had intended telling you this upon our return on the boat. My name is
not Harry Langdon, as you have believed, but Harry Langdon Kendal.
"I am studying medicine with Doctor Bryan, instead of law, as I once led
you to believe. And as to the great expectations I told you about, I
confess that they exist only in my mad hopes that Doctor Bryan, who is
alone in the world, without kith or kin, might take a fancy to leave me
something some day. He does not know of my rash wager, and that by
losing it I was forced to go to New York and place myself on a street
car as conductor for a while. He would disapprove of it if he knew, and,
Dorothy, you must never tell him--promise me that here and now--he must
never know that we have ever met before!"
Dorothy did not hesitate to give him the required assurance, for which
he thanked her so profusely that it brought the warm blushes in a
flood-tide to the girl's dimpled cheeks; and Mrs. Kemp wondered why
Dorothy looked so happy as she entered the house.
Left to himself, Kendal paced excitedly under the trees, puffing away
vigorously at his cigar.
"A devil of a fix this," he muttered, setting his white teeth hard
together. "Great Heaven! this is a romance in real life more strangely
weird than any fiction. Who would have thought of finding this girl
here, of all persons in the world, and under such circumstances! And
then, to make matters worse, I have been making violent love to the
girl. It was all very well to make desperate love to the little New York
working-girl, but to make love to Miss Glenn, the doctor's _protegee_,
is quite another matter. I shall be expected to ask for her hand in
marriage, of course, and she without a dollar. No, thanks! I'd rather
that some other fellow would woo and win the little blue-eyed fairy.
When it comes to marrying I must have a girl with money, who can put up
the needful for both if necessary. If she will only keep my secret I
will be but too grateful!"
Meanwhile, Dorothy had stolen up to her own room, and at that moment was
standing before the mantel, resting her elbows on it, her dimpled chin
upon her hands, gazing wistfully into the mirror's depths at the lovely
young face it reflected.
"Oh, how my cheeks burn!" she cried, excitedly, "and how my heart thumps
even yet. I was sure he would hear it. I thought I should never see him
again, but it is fate that brings us together here. I shall always
believe in it firmly and truly after this. He cares for me. He as much
as told me so on the night that we went to the moonlight picnic on
Staten Island, and the fortune-teller who told my fortune said--when all
of us bindery girls visited her one day--'I see a short journey for you,
miss--a dark young man and a marriage-ring;'" and for the next ten
minutes Dorothy capered around the room, dancing in such hoidenish,
girlish glee that she would fairly have shocked the old housekeeper
could she have seen her. "It's all coming true!" cried Dorothy,
breathlessly, to herself. But not one thought did she give to poor Jack,
whose betrothal-ring she carried pinned to her pocket.