“He said, ‘I never can forgive
A wrong so darkly done;
Nor will I ever, as I live,
Regard the faithless one
As erst mine own familiar friend,
Whose fealty was my boast.
Yes, those on whom we most depend
Have power to wound us most.’”
Miss Trevalyn lost no time in applying to the nurse, Mrs. Brent, for
admission for her mother and herself for a few days beneath her humble
roof; but in this instance fate was unkind to the young lady. Mrs.
Brent had no room to spare, she was informed. She returned to the hotel
greatly upset, wondering what on earth was to be done now.
As she opened the door of their room, Mrs. Trevalyn flew toward her
laughing and crying hysterically by turns.
“We shall not remain in Newport another hour, my love!” she cried.
“See, here is another letter from your father, and it has put new life
into me. Read it, Queenie.”
There were but a few hurried lines this time, and to the effect that
his business troubles had been staved off for a period of three months,
and that they could therefore return home without any one being the
wiser, at present, of the horrible black cloud which hung over their
heads.
“Three months’ respite, Queenie!” exclaimed Mrs. Trevalyn, clasping
and unclasping her bracelets, laughing and crying in the same breath.
“Heaven knows what may take place in that length of time; probably you
will have made up with the rich Mr. Dinsmore, and--and be married to
him; and then we will be saved. Even if you should fail with him,” she
went on, plaintively, “there is the old Widower Brown----”
“Stop, mother!” cried Queenie Trevalyn, a shudder of horror passing
over her slender frame. “I love wealth and position dearly, but I would
rather die on the street from starvation than marry a man whom I detest
as thoroughly as Hiram Brown, octogenarian, miser, hunchback, and
pawnbroker.”
As she uttered the words there arose before her mental vision the image
of the creature whom her words had described--a shriveled, toothless,
horrible being in the shape of a man, who had actually had the audacity
to apply to her father for an introduction to his beautiful daughter,
“with a view to matrimony,” as his terse communication phrased his
intentions.
Mr. Trevalyn had put him off with a plausible excuse for not granting
his request at the time; but he dared not openly refuse to permit Hiram
Brown the meeting with his daughter which he so ardently desired, some
time in the future; for the old money-lender held many of his notes,
and he told himself discretion in the matter was certainly diplomacy
upon his part.
“Let the matter rest until Queenie and her mother return from their
summer outing at Newport,” Mr. Trevalyn had said, “and then I shall be
pleased to present you to my daughter, Mr. Brown.”
“What if the girl takes it into her head to fall in love with any of
those young bloods there?” the miser had said, in his high-pitched,
querulous tones.
“There is not the least fear of that, my dear Brown,” Mr. Trevalyn had
declared. “Queenie is only twenty, you know; she won’t be thinking of
love or lovers yet, I assure you. She simply accompanies her mother
there, who goes for her health.”
But in his secret heart Mr. Trevalyn was only too anxious that his
peerless young daughter should capture a wealthy young husband, and
save the family from the ruin which he even then saw ahead of them;
then he could laugh in old Brown’s face, and defy him to do his worst.
He had been rather sorry that he had confided old Brown’s ambitions
to Queenie and her mother, for the latter ever afterward was wont to
declare that Queenie could fall back upon the hunchback miser, rather
than not marry at all, much to the girl’s disgust, and just anger.
“You have a right to think of your poor mother, even though you do not
care for yourself or your father, Queenie,” exclaimed Mrs. Trevalyn,
hysterically. “Brown is rich, and that covers a multitude of failings.”
There was something so utterly heartless in this speech, that the
girl’s heart sank within her. Since her encounter with Ray Challoner,
all her worldliness had disappeared, and she had learned life’s
sweetest lesson, that it is Love that rules, and that, unless the lover
whom she had sent from her for false Ray Challoner’s sake returned to
her, the future would not be worth living to her.
Then and there she said to herself that she would win back John
Dinsmore, and wed him, or go unwedded to the grave.
She had just discovered his worth, as well as the fact that she loved
him with all the passionate love of her heart--and would love him to
the end of her life.
It was wonderful how Mrs. Trevalyn recovered after the receipt of
that letter, and announced herself quite well enough to take the next
outgoing train, and insisted upon doing so, much to Queenie’s relief.
As the New York express moved out of the Newport depot, Queenie
Trevalyn little dreamed that she was leaving all that she held dear
behind her.
All the way back to the metropolis her thoughts were upon the lover for
whom she now yearned so eagerly.
She was glad that she had had the forethought to put her New York
address upon the note she had written him--recalling him; and she did
not doubt that he would call upon her quite as soon as she reached
home. Indeed, she expected to find a letter from him awaiting her
there, and it was with almost feverish eagerness that she counted the
miles as the train sped homeward.
There was the usual number of epistles from girl friends and
acquaintances, but the one she longed for most was not among them.
“He will be sure to come this evening in person, and that is far better
than writing,” thought the girl, ordering the servants to unpack her
trunks at once.
There were several callers, for the beauty of Newport was a favorite in
New York society; but the evening was spoiled for Queenie Trevalyn when
John Dinsmore was not among them.
And when a week passed, and there was no sign, no word from him, she
began to lose heart altogether.
“I have offended him past all forgiving,” she would cry out to herself,
in the solitude of her own room; and she would have given all that she
held dearest in life, could she have lived over that half hour on the
sands at Newport, with that eager, adoring lover at her side, holding
her hands clasped closely in his, pouring into her ears the story of
his love for her.
Ah, could she live it over again, how different would be her answer!
She had humbled her pride in recalling him, and now he was treating her
with ignominious silence. She knew that her heart should have rebelled
with the fiercest anger against him for treating her thus; but love
conquered pride and anger, all that she ardently hoped for was to meet
him once again.
When a fortnight had elapsed, and as yet no word was heard from Mr.
John Dinsmore, Mrs. Trevalyn began to renew her entreaties with her
daughter to allow Hiram Brown to be presented to her, that he might
cease his persistent importunings, not to say threatenings, with her
father.
“Wait just a little while longer, mamma,” pleaded Queenie, anxiously.
“Well, we will give your Mr. Dinsmore another week in which to show
up, and if we do not hear from him in that time, and no other eligible
man puts in an appearance, you must accept the introduction to Hiram
Brown,” declared Mrs. Trevalyn, energetically. “Time is fleeting, we
have been home already three weeks, and have but eight or nine weeks
left ere we are out of house and home.”
Misfortune had not improved Mrs. Trevalyn’s temper, and from a
plaintive, complaining woman, she had developed into a perfect virago,
when she stopped to consider the precipice which they were nearing day
by day, and Queenie had to stand the brunt of it, and it was the same
old query day after day:
“When are you going to allow Mr. Brown to be introduced to you?” and
Queenie, in sheer desperation at length, answered wearily:
“I don’t know. If it must be, it might as well be gotten over soon as
late!”
After that concession on her daughter’s part, Mrs. Trevalyn became more
amiable, she did not know that Queenie had resolved to die rather than
marry him, if they persisted in pressing her to that point.
“You are becoming sensible at last, my love,” said Mrs. Trevalyn, with
a beaming smile. Adding: “The woman who marries old Hiram Brown may
consider herself very fortunate. He has no end of millions, as every
one knows, and his wife can fairly roll in diamonds and point lace, and
all the luxuries of a magnificent establishment. He is old, and cannot
last many more years, and then his widow would be the most admired,
courted and envied woman in all New York.”
“For Heaven’s sake say no more, mamma!” cried the girl, bitterly.
“I cannot endure the thought of marrying Hiram Brown; why, the very
mention of his name, which calls up his image before me, makes me
almost swoon with horror and disgust!”
“You ought to be grateful and thankful for your good fortune, instead
of railing at it!” declared Mrs. Trevalyn, energetically. “Think how
many young girls of our set would envy you, if you were to become the
wife of so wealthy a man!”
“You mean they would pity me!” cried Queenie, curling her lip
scornfully; “for they would know that I had been bartered body and soul
for hollow gold. It is positive that no one would dream of calling it a
love match, mamma.”