"YOU WILL SOON FORGET YOUR POOR LOVER IN THE NEW SPHERE THAT YOU WILL
FILL."
"She has a suitor rich, and I am poor,
And love 'gainst money has no armor sure;
For it is said when poverty appears,
Love through the window straight his pathway steers.
She's only human; it may be that she
Will barter love for wealth and misery."
FRANCIS S. SMITH.
How bitter was the disappointment of Harry Hawthorne on reaching the
first station on his route in following the fugitives to find that
his telegram had not been received until the Pennsylvania Limited had
thundered past with the triumphant actor and his helpless victim.
His heart sank at the first moment with a terrible despair, but hope
quickly reasserted itself.
"I will follow them!" he exclaimed, determined to leave no effort
untried to rescue his heart's darling.
But the train with the fugitives was two hours ahead of the desperate
lover, and long ere he reached Chicago the objects of his pursuit
were at their destination--Standish in a second-rate lodging-house,
Geraldine, with her mother, at her magnificent home on Prairie avenue,
which holds to Chicago the rank of Fifth avenue to New York.
To Geraldine it was a wonderful transition, this change from the
simple life of a working-girl in New York to this palatial home, where
obsequious servants sprang to gratify her slightest wish, and where a
devoted mother found time even in the anguish of widowhood to lavish on
her the fondest love and care.
And in that home she had found another charming surprise--a dear
little half-brother and sister, the children of her mother's second
marriage--Earl, a beautiful, manly boy of ten, and Claire, a lovely
fairy of seven years.
These two children had been left at home with their governess while
their parents made a hurried business trip to New York--the trip that
had ended so disastrously to the father, who had been in declining
health for several years.
Bitter was the grief of the little ones when called to gaze for the
last time on his beloved face, and Geraldine's tears mingled with
theirs, for she knew that had he lived he must have proved to her a
tenderer parent than the heartless father who had deserted her mother
and then stolen her child and left her to grow up in poverty and
heart-loneliness.
The second day after their arrival in Chicago the sacred remains of
the beloved dead were taken to a crematory, and reduced to ashes, in
accordance with the will of the deceased.
But the wife to whom he had been so kind and devoted could not bear to
consign his remains to kindred dust.
She had the precious ashes sealed in a beautiful box of wrought silver
and gold studded with precious jewels, and kept this box in her own
apartments, a sacred treasure, dear to her for its precious memories.
When all these solemn ceremonies were over, the mother was ready to
hear the story that Geraldine was waiting to pour into her ears.
A note from Clifford Standish arrived the morning after Mr.
Fitzgerald's cremation, asking when he might call on Geraldine.
She went with the note to her mother and begged pardon for intruding on
her sacred grief with her own troubles.
"Sit down, my darling, and tell me all," was the gentle reply.
When she had learned the story of Geraldine's persecution by the actor,
her indignation was beyond measure.
"He shall be sent to prison for this outrage!" she exclaimed.
"Is that necessary?" Geraldine asked, timidly.
"Is it possible that you wish to spare him, darling?"
"Yes, if we can get rid of his pretensions to my hand without resorting
to extreme measures."
"You shrink from notoriety. I understand, and will try to indulge your
wishes, although the wretch ought to be punished to the full extent
of the law for his villainous conduct," exclaimed the lady, adding,
fearfully:
"Only think what might have been your fate, dear, but for the accident
that threw us together on the train."
Geraldine shuddered as she recalled the peril from which she had been
delivered, then said, with infinite relief:
"But I am out of his power now, and I need not even see him again, I
hope."
"No, it will not be necessary; for although you may grant him liberty
to call this evening, I will be the one to receive him and settle his
pretensions," replied the lady, decidedly.
While she was speaking her eyes fell on the dimpled white hands of
Geraldine, and she saw for the first time that the young girl was
wearing a superb diamond ring.
"If that is Mr. Standish's property, you had better let me return it to
him," she remarked.
She was surprised at the warm blush that overspread the fair young face.
"It--it--is my engagement-ring, mamma," she said, shyly.
"Given to you by that wretch! Then of course you do not wish to keep
it. You shall have all the diamonds you wish now, my dear one."
"Thank you, my precious mamma, for your generous promise. I adore
diamonds, and shall enjoy possessing plenty of them, but with this one
I would not part for a queen's ransom!" exclaimed pretty Geraldine,
pressing her lips fondly to the shining ring on her fair hand.
Mrs. Fitzgerald could not repress her rising displeasure.
"Indeed, my dear, I am surprised at you. I shall have to insist on your
returning that person's ring," she said, gravely.
Geraldine looked up with a lovely smile.
"Oh, mamma, you cannot think this ring was given to me by Clifford
Standish? Oh, no; it was the gift of a lover I left behind me in New
York--my promised husband, the noblest lover any girl ever had!" she
breathed, enthusiastically.
"Geraldine!"
Surprise and disapproval breathed in the lady's voice.
"May I tell you all about him, mamma?"
"Yes; I'm anxious to hear. And, by the way, are these two the only ones
to whom you have promised your hand, or have you any more disclosures
to make in that line?"
"Oh, mamma, are you offended with me?" exclaimed Geraldine, alarmed at
the sarcastic coldness of her mother's voice.
"I am only surprised, my dear. Go on with your story," Mrs. Fitzgerald
returned, quietly.
And, curbing her impatience and disapproval under a mask of calmness,
she listened eagerly to Geraldine's story of her love for Harry
Hawthorne.
And she thought she had never realized how radiantly lovely her
daughter was until now, when her praises of her handsome betrothed
brought the bright blushes to her cheeks, and the softened brightness
to her starry brown eyes.
She did not interrupt her story by a word, but she listened in the
deepest gravity until Geraldine had finished; then she kissed her
tenderly and said:
"My dear, I can never consent to your marriage with Mr. Hawthorne."
"Mamma!" in alarm.
"It was well enough, my child, for the poor shop-girl of New York to be
engaged to the brave young fireman, of course. But circumstances alter
cases. Do you not understand that, Geraldine?"
Geraldine was terribly alarmed and frightened by the words and looks of
her proud, rich mother.
She faltered, imploringly:
"Mamma, I am afraid to try to understand you, for--it would kill me to
give up my love, Harry."
"Oh, no, it would not, dear, for you will soon forget your poor lover
in the new sphere of life you will now fill. He is no longer a proper
mate for you. Let him marry your sweet friend, Cissy, who is more
suited to him in social station than my daughter an heiress."
"Mamma, you are surely jesting with me! You do not really believe that
I would throw over my noble lover! Why, it would break my heart to lose
him, and if he married Cissy I should hate her till my dying day!"
"Nonsense, my dear! you will soon forget him, and the match must surely
be broken off, for I may as well tell you now that almost in your
cradle you were betrothed to another--the son of a very dear friend of
mine. So now that I have found you, dear, you will belong to that other
one."
"Mamma, you are cruel, heartless! I cannot yield to you in this, fondly
as I love you."
"You would not surely defy my authority, Geraldine, when I command
you to write to Mr. Hawthorne, returning his ring, and breaking the
engagement!"
They gazed fixedly at each other, and Geraldine said, imploringly:
"Mamma, I wrote to Harry yesterday, telling him all that had happened
to me, and promising to be true to him through everything."
"You were a rash girl to act without consulting me in the matter. But
we will not discuss the subject any further at present. Go now, and
send the note to Standish, giving him permission to call this evening,"
Mrs. Fitzgerald answered, with an air of bitter displeasure.