FROM WANT TO WEALTH.
"At sea--we're all at sea upon life's ocean,
And none can boast a never-failing chart;
Sail as we may, we'll meet with dread commotion,
And hidden shoals to terrify the heart.
We're all at sea; some favored ones, enchanted,
Float peacefully upon the placid tide,
While others with sad doubts and fears are haunted,
And ever on the roughest billows ride."
FRANCIS S. SMITH.
Clifford Standish watched the scene before him with eager interest.
It was like the plot of a play, this touching union of a long parted
mother and child.
In watching the interesting scene he forgot for a moment how it might
affect his own interests.
The beautiful, sorrowful widow, with tears streaming down her pale
cheeks, extended her arms to Geraldine, exclaiming:
"I am your own mother, my darling!"
Startling and surprising as this statement was to Geraldine, not a
doubt of its truth entered the girl's mind.
On the contrary, her heart leaped with joy, for she had already felt
herself drawn with inexplicable tenderness to the speaker.
And the moment that she held out her arms to Geraldine the girl sprang
into them gladly, and the next moment they were embracing each other
with ineffable tenderness, the grief of the widow comforted in a
measure by the restoration of her daughter.
Clifford Standish looking on, suddenly felt a touch of uneasiness, and
muttered, under his breath:
"Confound the luck! I wish she had not met this woman until after we
were married."
And thinking it was time for him to assert his claim, he waited until
the mother and daughter withdrew from each other's arms, and said,
respectfully:
"Accept my congratulations, madame, on the finding of your beautiful
daughter, my promised wife!"
The lady, with a quick start of surprise, as if she had but that
moment become aware of his presence, turned and looked at the speaker.
His words had fallen like hail-stones on her heart.
She was one of the proudest women on earth, and her large dark eyes
scanned Clifford Standish with cold inquiry.
He had just announced himself as the betrothed of her daughter, and
the cold glance of her eyes asked distinctly if he were worthy of that
honor.
There was a moment of breathless silence, and the actor looked at
Geraldine with eyes whose veiled menace defied her to deny his claim.
She, remembering his deadly threats, paled and shuddered.
She could not afford to anger him yet. She realized that fully.
The lady, after transfixing the daring actor with one steely glance,
looked at her daughter.
"Is this true?" she asked, in displeased surprise.
"It is true," faltered Geraldine, without daring to look up; and again
Standish, encouraged by success, interposed:
"Let me explain the case to you, madame. We have been engaged to marry
for some time, and we are now on our wedding journey--that is, we are
to be married as soon as we reach Chicago."
The lady, still icily ignoring her daughter's suitor, exclaimed:
"Can this be true, Geraldine?"
The young girl answered again, dejectedly.
"It is true."
Standish beamed upon her gratefully, joyously, hoping from her
acquiescence that he had indeed made some impression on her heart.
But the mother was wearing her most frigid air as she remarked:
"This is a rather unusual proceeding. Should not the marriage have
preceded instead of following the wedding journey?"
Standish answered, quickly:
"That is the usual way, certainly, but this was an elopement."
"An elopement?" cried the lady, with rising indignation; but Geraldine
laid a pleading hand upon her arm, crying:
"Mother, dear mother, let us discuss this question later. At present
let me present Mr. Standish to you."
The mother bowed with cold courtesy. She evidently did not approve of
her daughter's suitor.
Standish read her mind like an open book.
He comprehended that she was proud and rich, and would scout the idea
of her daughter's marriage with one beneath her in social position.
Yet he was all the more determined to make her his own.
Bending down to Geraldine, he whispered, hoarsely:
"Let me speak to you alone."
She withdrew with him to a little distance, and he whispered, sternly:
"Do not forgot that I have sworn that you shall marry me, or become the
bride of Death."
"I will remember," she faltered, and he added:
"The discovery of your mother makes no difference in your promise to
me. She must not refuse your hand to me."
Geraldine saw that he was in a desperate mood, and she did not care to
offend him; but her heart was throbbing joyfully in her breast, for
she knew that heaven itself would come to her aid, and that she would
surely outwit him at last.
But she said, with quiet dignity:
"Mr. Standish, it would seem as if common decency required the
postponement of this subject until after my mother has buried her dead."
"You are trying to escape me!" he exclaimed, warningly; but he saw by
her indignant look that he was presuming too far, for she said, quickly:
"This harshness will not further your cause with me, sir. You cannot
marry me by brute force."
"That is true; but I have your promise."
"Extorted from me under menace of death!" she returned, indignation
getting the better of her calmness.
"Oh, Geraldine, cannot you forgive the madness of a love like mine that
dares anything rather than lose you?" he implored, with theatrical
fervor.
"Geraldine, dear," called her mother, softly, and she darted back to
her side.
The lady said, quickly:
"My dear daughter, I can never give my consent to your marriage with
that person."
Geraldine threw her arms about the lady, and whispered, thrillingly:
"Dear mother, I do not wish to marry him; but--let us wait until after
we reach Chicago before we repudiate my promise. I fear his anger, for
he is a desperate man. Let us temporize with him until we are out of
his power."
By that time Standish had returned to his seat, and seeing that the
proud mother of Geraldine was determined to ignore him, his anger made
him say, sullenly:
"Madame, you have asserted a claim to Miss Harding, as your daughter,
but you have presented no proofs to substantiate your claim. As
her present guardian and her betrothed husband, I must request the
production of those proofs."
She gazed at him in cold astonishment at this audacity, but answered,
frigidly:
"Your solicitude does you credit, but I can satisfy all your doubts."
Beckoning the conductor, who was passing through the car, she said,
quietly:
"Kindly tell this person my name and standing."
Standish winced under the contemptuous epithet, "person," and glared at
the conductor, who turned to him and said:
"Mrs. A. T. Fitzgerald, formerly of New York, now of Chicago, was the
wife, now the widow, of A. T. Fitzgerald, the foremost banker and
capitalist of Chicago."
Standish bowed without a word. He saw the impassable gulf of wealth and
social position yawning between him and pretty Geraldine, but he swore
to himself that he would not give her up.
Mrs. Fitzgerald thanked the conductor, and added:
"No doubt you are familiar with the circumstances of my first marriage,
and--divorce. Kindly tell him these also."
The conductor looked embarrassed, but she smiled at him encouragingly,
and said:
"Do as I ask you, please. It is indeed a favor."
"Mrs. Fitzgerald's first husband was Howard Harding, of New York, from
whom she obtained a divorce ten or eleven years ago."
"State the cause," broke in Mrs. Fitzgerald's clear voice, and the
conductor, who was fully conversant with this scandal in high life,
added:
"Howard Harding led a gay life, and deserted Mrs. Harding for a
notorious Parisian of the demi-monde. His wife secured a divorce, and
in about two years married Mr. Fitzgerald, of Chicago."
"And the custody of their only child, little Geraldine, was given----"
she began.
"To the mother, of course," ended the conductor.
"Yes, and within a year she was stolen from her by the guilty father
and hidden from her so securely that she never found her again until
to-night," cried the lady, her eyes resting tenderly on the face of her
lovely child.
"Is it so indeed? Let me congratulate you most heartily, madame,"
exclaimed the conductor, his eyes resting admiringly on Geraldine,
while he added: "The likeness between you is most startling."
"And, oh, mother, dear mother, it was this kind gentleman who came
to me in another coach and begged me to come and comfort you in your
sorrow. But for him we might never have found each other," cried
Geraldine, in boundless gratitude, for she felt that not only had he
restored her to her mother's arms, but he had also delivered her from
the power of her desperate lover.
Mrs. Fitzgerald, who had been so frigid to Standish, unbent from her
haughty mien and wept tears of gratitude as she wrung the hand of the
conductor.
"Oh, Captain Stevens, as kind as you have always been to me on my
journeys on your train, I never knew your true worth till now, but ere
long you shall receive ample evidence of my gratitude," she assured him.
The conductor was very proud and happy over his agency in restoring
Geraldine to her mother's arms, but while he was declining her promised
reward, he was called away, and then Mrs. Fitzgerald turned again to
her daughter's suitor.
"Are you satisfied with my proofs?" she demanded, icily.
"Perfectly, madame, and I hope you will permit me to express my joy at
your reunion with your daughter."
"I thank you, and I have a request to make of you. I wish to be left
alone with my daughter at present. Will you kindly respect this desire,
and call on me later in Chicago, where I will consider your claims for
my Geraldine's hand?" said Mrs. Fitzgerald, presenting him with a card
on which was engraved her address on Prairie avenue.
Thus coolly dismissed, and not daring to protest against the authority
of the haughty lady, Standish bowed and withdrew to another seat in the
same coach, where he covertly watched them without daring to intrude
his hated presence on them.
"Ah my darling, how strangely all this has happened!" cried the lady.
"How strangely and how fortunately!" echoed Geraldine, gladly.
"But, oh, how sad that it did not happen sooner--before my darling
husband died! Oh, how he would have loved you for my sake, Geraldine;
for he was so good to me, he made me so happy, that no grief remained
in my heart for that false one who deserted me for a wicked woman, and
then stole you away from me!" cried her mother, her mournful thoughts
reverting to that loved lost one whose pulseless form had now been
conveyed to another coach to be made ready for its last long sleep.
"Oh, my mother, how can I comfort you for your sad loss?" cried
Geraldine, tenderly.
"You can love me, darling, and try to fill the void left by his loss.
Oh, I hope that his kind spirit hovers near and knows that I have found
you, my dear, for we have wished for this so often, and he has spent
many thousands of dollars trying to trace you for me, but all in vain.
For all our efforts were made abroad, in the belief that your father
had taken you away with him. I could not conceive of his taking you
away and then deserting you so heartlessly. But doubtless that wicked
woman induced him to do it. Such women have great influence over
weak-minded men. But let us try to forgive him the wrongs we suffered
at his hands now that he is dead," ended Mrs. Fitzgerald.