MARGERY'S LOVE DREAM.
An hour after Mr. Wright had concluded his purchase for his employer he
returned to the establishment, accompanied by one of the persons
authorized to collect the money. When he presented the order at the
cashier's window, Mr. Conway, the old cashier, drew back aghast as he
looked at the man.
"Is--is it possible you have indorsed this?" he asked, turning to the
manager.
Mr. Wright bowed, but his face betrayed deep agitation.
"I cannot pay it without consulting Mr. Armstrong," he exclaimed, in a
troubled voice. "Wait a moment."
Could it be possible that Lester Armstrong had authorized the payment of
an amount like that, knowing that the firm was a little crippled for
cash just at that season of the year? Surely the man must be mad, he
told himself; and that for which the money was to be paid fairly
staggered him. He had to look a second time to satisfy himself that he
had not made a horrible mistake when he read: "For one steam yacht and
two pairs of horses, $125,000; terms cash."
He set his lips hard together, saying to himself that this was the
beginning of the end.
At that same moment quite a thrilling scene was taking place in the
private office, which would have unnerved the old cashier completely had
he known of it. It so happened, in exploring the nooks of the office,
Kendale had by chance touched another bell, the bell communicating with
the suit department, which was in charge of Mr. Conway's pretty
daughter, Miss Margery. When that bell tapped it meant that the young
lady was to make all possible haste to the private office, to which she
had been summoned, and this the young girl proceeded to do, not without
some little trepidation, however. Fair Margery Conway had a secret
romance in her life, a romance which no one in the wide world would ever
have guessed.
For many a long day she had been secretly in love with Mr. Lester
Armstrong, her father's assistant, of whom; she had heard him speak so
much and praise so highly.
She admired him immensely. Many a time she made excuses to speak with
her father a moment in their private office. No one in the wide world
guessed that grave, handsome Lester Armstrong was the attraction that
brought her there.
She had many a casual chat with him, and somehow the hope grew in her
heart that he was not altogether indifferent to her.
Once, when she had started home in the pouring rain, he had gone out of
his way to see her safely to her destination under the shelter of his
umbrella.
He had only been courteous, but she had built up many a hope from this
little incident alone.
She had not seen very much of Lester Armstrong since that
never-to-be-forgotten day, but her father had told her that he usually
asked each morning: "How is your daughter, Miss Margery?" and once her
father had said:
"Of all the young men whom I have met, I have the greatest regard for
Lester Armstrong. Such young men are the salt of the earth. There is a
future before him. When he earns a dollar he puts by more than half of
it against a rainy day. He is not extravagant. Few young men making his
salary would dress so very plainly and make his clothes do him as long.
He has no bad habits; he neither smokes nor drinks, and that is
something you can say of very few young men nowadays."
Margery looked up into her father's face with shining eyes. She made no
answer, but a vivid flush crept up into her cheeks, and the little hands
that were busy with the teacups trembled a little. She knew quite well
that in the depth of his heart her father was hoping that she and
Lester Armstrong would take a fancy to each other, and that in time
that fancy might ripen into love, and instead of being only
acquaintances, she and the assistant cashier might be nearer and dearer
to each other.
Not long after this Margery Conway received a letter, a poem, rather,
typewritten. There was no name signed to it, but she felt sure that it
came from some one in the establishment of Marsh & Co. More than one
salesman looked at pretty Margery Conway with admiring eyes, but she
never thought of any of these. The truth was, it was sent by one of the
bookkeepers, but the girl jumped at once to the conclusion that it was
from Lester Armstrong. She imagined that from the tender, sentimental
words. She read the beautiful poem over and over again, until she knew
every word by heart. The lines even floated dreamily through her brain
in her sleep. She would awaken with them on her lips. Ah, surely, the
poem was from Lester Armstrong, she fully believed. It read as follows:
"What have I done that one face holds me so,
And follows me in fancy through the day?
Why do I seek your love? I only know
That fate is resolute, and points the way
To where you stand, bathed in amber light.
Since first you looked on me I've seen no night--
What have I done?
"What can be done? As yet no touch, no kiss;
Only a gaze across your eyes' blue lake.
Better it were, sweetheart, to dream like this,
Than afterward to shudder and awake.
Love is so very bitter, and his ways
Tortured with thorns--with wild weeds overgrown.
Must I endure, unloved, these loveless days?--
What can be done?
"This I say, 'Marry where your heart goes first,
Dear heart, and then you will be blessed.
Ah, how can others choose for you
What is for your best?
If you're told to wed for gold,
Dear girl, or for rank or show,
Stand by love, and boldly say,
"No, my heart cries no!"'"
Like most young girls, pretty Margery was sentimental. She slept with
the folded paper beneath her pillow at night, and all day long it was
carefully tucked away over her beating heart.
It was quite a week after receiving this ere she saw Lester Armstrong
again; then her face turned burning red. Lester saw it, but how was he
to dream that he was the cause of her emotion?
"Sweet Margery Conway is not strong," he thought, pityingly. "How
frightened her father would be were he to see that sudden rush of blood
to the head."
He wondered whether or not he should run to her and proffer his
assistance. He had once seen a young woman who was thus affected fall
to the floor in a fit, and it had been many a long day ere the
unfortunate woman could return to her work again. He devoutly hoped this
might not be the case with poor, pretty Margery.
She saw him start and look at her searchingly. She could not have
stopped and exchanged a word with him if her life had depended upon it.
She hurried past him with desperate haste, praying that he might not
hear the beating of her heart.
He noticed that she did not stop to speak, but he quite believed that it
was because she was very busy. The next moment he had forgotten all
about it, and about the girl, too, for that matter.
He scarcely remembered pretty Margery until he happened to see her
again. The girl was fairly stunned by the intelligence that the great
millionaire owner of the establishment had made Lester Armstrong his
heir.
At first her joy was so great that she could not speak. Then a sudden
fright swept over her heart. He was rich now, and she was poor. Would it
make any difference with him. She tried to put the chilling thought from
her, for it made her heart turn cold as ice. Her gentle eyes did not
close in sleep all the long night through. Her pillow was wet with
tears. The one prayer on her lips was: "I pray to Heaven this may make
no change in him; that he will care for me as much as when he sent me
the poem."
She had not seen Lester Armstrong since he had taken his new position as
proprietor of the great establishment, and now, when his bell rang for
her, no wonder the girl's heart leaped into her mouth, and involuntarily
she looked into the long pier glass eagerly. Ah, it was a fair face
reflected there. There were few fairer, with its delicate coloring
framed in nut-brown curls, gathered back so carelessly from the white
brow, and there was a light in the brown eyes beautiful to behold. She
had been wondering only the moment before if the hero of her daydreams
had forgotten her, and lo! the summons of his bell had seemed to come in
answer to the thought.
With trembling, hopeful anticipation, Margery wended her way to her
employer's office, taking the nearer route, not through the main office,
where her father was, but by a more direct narrow passage, which was
seldom used.
All unmindful of his daughter's presence in the main office, the old
cashier had bent his steps thither for instructions regarding the bill
which had just been presented, but he had scarcely reached out his hand
to knock, ere he heard a blood-curdling, piercing scream, in a woman's
voice, from within, and recognized, in horror too great for words, the
voice of his own daughter, his Margery!