A CRUEL DISAPPOINTMENT.
"Love, dear friend, is a sacred thing!
Love is not tinsel, silver or gold!
Love is a fragment of Heaven's own gate,
Broken in halves by God's hand, Fate,
And given two kindred spirits to hold
Who would colonize in our earth unknown,
'Tis whispered them: 'You may be thrown
Far apart--'"
Harry Hawthorne remained in the Bellevue Hospital ten days only, it
having been discovered that his injuries were not internal, as at first
feared.
His temporary unconsciousness had resulted from the severe cut on his
head, and as this healed nicely, he grew better, and asked for his
discharge from the hospital. Indeed, he would have recovered sooner
but for a painful suspense and anxiety that augmented fever and
restlessness.
The young fireman had been so deeply smitten by the charms of pretty
Geraldine, that during his enforced confinement, the thought of her had
never been absent from his mind. Love had sprung to life full grown
within his breast.
When he was discharged from the hospital, he could not wait until
evening to call on her. The ready excuse of the need of a pair of
gloves took him to O'Neill's.
He did not wear his fireman's dress, but attired himself in an elegant
suit of clothes, such as gentlemen wear to business. Thus arrayed,
and looking as much the aristocrat as any Fifth avenue millionaire,
he entered the store and went at once to the glove counter, his heart
throbbing wildly at thought of seeing Geraldine again, and making an
appointment to call on her that evening.
A whole row of smiling, pretty girls confronted him, but among them
all he could not see his heart's darling, the lode-star of his
dreams--sweet Geraldine.
He accosted the nearest girl--a plump, gray-eyed beauty--who
fortunately proved to be Miss Carroll.
"I wish to have Miss Harding show me some gloves. Is she here?"
Cissy Carroll shook her dark head, and answered:
"Geraldine does not attend here any more. Can I show you the gloves?"
"If you please," he replied, and as she placed them before him, he took
a pair, mechanically, in his shapely hand, but continued:
"I beg your pardon, but has Miss Harding gone to another store? She is
a friend of mine. I wish to see her very much."
"Your name?" asked Cissy, with a quick suspicion of the truth, for he
realized in his person Geraldine's description.
"I am Harry Hawthorne."
"I thought so. And I am Miss Carroll. Perhaps you have heard Geraldine
speak of me?"
He smiled, and answered:
"Yes, as her 'chum Cissy.' She told me, also, that you roomed together."
"We did--but Geraldine has left me now."
She read the palpable disappointment on his face, and added, quickly:
"She had a talent for acting, and has gone upon the stage."
She saw him start as if she had struck him a blow in the face, and he
grew lividly pale, as he asked:
"At what theatre?"
"Oh, she has left New York, and gone on the road with a stock
company--the one that played 'Hearts and Homes' two weeks here. You may
remember Clifford Standish, the leading man. He procured the situation
for Geraldine."
Then, as she saw from his face that he was taking it quite hard, she
added, with womanly curiosity:
"But how happens it that you are not acquainted with these facts?
The papers had some very flattering paragraphs about the beautiful
salesgirl who had left a New York store to adopt a stage career."
"I--I--haven't read the papers," he murmured, faintly, like one
recovering from a blow.
"Oh, then you must have been away from New York--and poor Geraldine
expecting you to call every evening. Why didn't you let her know?"
"I haven't been away from the city, Miss Carroll."
"Then why did you act toward her so shabbily?"
"Shabbily! Why I had a note written to her from the hospital,
explaining that an accident had overturned my engine and seriously
wounded me. I've been in Bellevue Hospital ten days, Miss Carroll.
Look," and he showed her the scar on his head.
"Oh, it's a wonder you were not killed," said the girl, sympathetically.
"They thought I was at first, for I didn't recover consciousness until
the next day. Then, as soon as I could think clearly at all, I thought
of my broken engagement of the evening before, and wondered what
she would think of me. I persuaded the nurse to write a little note
for me, as I was too shaky myself, and sent it by the messenger-boy
at the hospital. I hoped she would write me a line of sympathy, and
that--perhaps--she might even be sorry enough to come and see me there.
But I never received a word!"
"She did not receive your note. Your failure to come was a mystery to
her always, Mr. Hawthorne."
"Why, that is very strange. I'll go back to the hospital and see that
messenger. But--will you give me her address now?" eagerly. "I will
write to her and explain."
Cissy blushed vividly, and said:
"I am sorry that I cannot, but the fact is I don't know where she is,
for--we parted in anger, vowing to have no more to do with each other.
I disliked Clifford Standish, and tried to persuade her not to go on
the stage. She went in defiance of my advice--so she has not written to
me."