THE FALSE FRIEND.
"Hallo, Gerald!" he cried. "I meet you by the most fortunate chance. I
have been hunting for you everywhere."
"I could not wait for you at the hotel," said Gerald, "and had to go
out and make inquiries for myself. What is the name of this street?"
"Never mind the name of the street," said Leonard, jumping at the safe
conclusion. "The house is the important thing, and I have discovered
it."
"Where my Emilia is?"
"Yes, where your Emilia is."
"I also have been told where she was taken to, and I was hurrying to
her. Have you seen her, Len, have you seen her?"
"I have not, and have not attempted to do so. You see, Gerald, it is
night, and I am a stranger to her and to the people who have taken
care of her. It will be best, after all, for you to go first,
especially as you are no longer the scarecrow you were, and will not
alarm her by your haggard appearance."
"I am quite fresh now. Are we going to the house?"
"Yes, I am taking you there. Oh, Gerald, how I have hunted for your
Emilia! If I had been in love with her myself, if she were my
sweetheart instead of yours, I could not have worked harder to find
her."
"I am sure you could not. You are a true friend. Forgive me for
leaving the hotel; I could not bear the suspense."
"You acted naturally, Gerald--as I should have done in your place. I
am something more than a friend, I am your loving brother, dear boy,
ready to go through fire and water to serve you."
"God bless you, Len! Are we near the house?"
"There it is, Gerald, on the opposite side, just beyond the
lamp-post."
"Come, then, come!"
They had scarcely started to cross the road when the street-door was
opened, and the maiden sisters appeared on the threshold, peering up
and down the street.
"Which is Emilia?" asked Leonard, grasping Gerald's arm, detaining him
a moment.
"Neither. Let us go to them."
"It is hard to say to so devoted a lover," said Leonard, "but be a
little prudent. Any appearance of violent haste might cause them to
shut the door in our faces."
Thus advised Gerald curbed his impatience, and crossed the road in a
more leisurely manner. The maiden sisters started back as the two
gentlemen halted before them.
"I beg your pardon," said Leonard, raising his hat; Gerald was so
agitated that he could scarcely speak; "but we have been directed here
to see a young lady who was rescued from the fire last night, and who
found a refuge in your hospitable house."
"We brought Miss Braham home with us," said the elder lady, "and are
now in great distress about her. I presume you are friends of hers."
"We are her most devoted friends," said Leonard, "and have been
searching for her the whole of the day. My name is Leonard Paget; this
is my brother Gerald."
The sisters were standing hand in hand, and at the mention of these
names their fingers fluttered, then tightened in their clasp. Gerald
found his voice.
"Is she ill?" he exclaimed. "Do not hide anything from me, I beg!"
The sisters looked nervously at each other; the elder was first to
speak.
"Are you aware that we have received a visit from a lady well known in
the town?"
"No," said Gerald. "Who is the lady and what has her visit to do with
Miss Braham?"
There was a ring of genuine honesty in his voice, and it made its
impression. The elder lady touched his arm gently.
"Tell me," she said, "In what special manner are you interested in
Miss Braham?"
"Madam," replied Gerald, "I hope very soon to have the happiness of
calling her my wife."
The sisters gave each other a bright look, and the younger lady said,
"It is cold standing here, and my sister is not strong. Will you not
walk into the house?"
They accepted the invitation, Gerald gladly, Leonard with curiosity as
to what the sisters meant when they said they were in great distress
about Emilia.
"Excuse my impatience," said Gerald, "but I implore you to allow me to
see Miss Braham at once."
Their pity for him would not admit of Emilia's departure being
immediately communicated to him; it must be led up to gently. But
Gerald's indignation would not be restrained; before the conclusion of
Mrs. Seaton's visit was recounted he interrupted the maiden sisters
with the truthful version of Emilia's misfortunes and of the unhappy
circumstances which compelled him to take her to his house a few hours
before the fire. He blamed himself bitterly for the indiscretion, but
asked them what else he could have done; and they, completely won over
by his indignation and by the manifest honesty of his professions,
threw aside for once all reserve and hesitation, and boldly declared
that he could not have acted otherwise.
"Sister," said the elder to the younger, "the sweet young lady
deserves our deepest pity, and is worthy of our love. Mr.
Paget"--turning to Gerald--"Miss Braham will find a home here, and if
she will consent, shall be married from our house."
"You are angels of goodness," said the young man, "but do not keep her
from me any longer. If you do not think right that I should see her
alone, let me see her in your presence."
"Alas!" said the elder lady; "she must first be found."
"Found!" echoed Gerald, in bewilderment.
"Do not alarm yourself. The dear child cannot have gone far. We have
not finished what we have to tell you. Listen patiently to the end."
When all was related Gerald stood stupefied for a few moments, holding
in his hands the pathetic vindication of her innocence which Emilia
had left behind her. Leonard was secretly exultant. Emilia was gone,
and if he assisted in the search for her she should never be found. He
was confident that she had flown from the neighborhood, and that her
one desire would be to hide herself and her shame among strangers. It
was not in his nature to believe in womanly purity, and it was not
likely that he would make an exception in Emilia's favor. She was his
enemy; she stood in his path; she barred his way to affluence; let her
sink into the obscurity she was seeking.
These sentiments were not expressed in his eyes, which were full of
sympathy.
"Come, Gerald," he said, passing his arm around the young man's neck,
"be a man. As these good ladies say, it will not be difficult to find
Emilia. Let us seek her; in an hour or two all your troubles will be
over."
"Your brother is right," said the elderly lady, "no time should be
lost, for the poor child must be suffering. We rejoice that you have
so true a friend to assist you. Do not desert him, sir; he is not fit
to be left alone."
"Desert Gerald!" cried Leonard. "Desert my dear brother in the hour of
his distress! No, indeed. He will find me true to the last."
The ladies pressed his hands, and gazed at him approvingly and
admiringly. His face beamed with earnestness and enthusiasm. He had in
him a touch of the actor's art; he was playing a part in a fine comedy
of manners and intrigue, and he thoroughly enjoyed it, and commended
himself for his masterly performance.
The maiden sisters saw the brothers to the street door, and impressed
upon them that Emilia should be brought to their house at the earliest
opportunity, and that her room would be ready for her.
Then commenced Gerald's search for Emilia, a search not only without a
clue to guide him, but with a cunning man at his elbow, suggesting
that they should go here and there, where he was certain there was
chance of finding her. There were times, however, when Gerald himself
said he would go to such and such a house and make inquiries, and
Leonard never opposed him. It was his one wish to keep Gerald in the
town, and he breathed no hint of his conviction that Emilia had flown
from it. Everything was against Gerald; it was late when the search
commenced, and at an hour past midnight he and Leonard stood in the
quiet streets, gazing at each other, Gerald helplessly, Leonard
inquiringly.
"Where now, Gerald?"
"God knows! I think I am losing my mind."
"May I make a suggestion, dear boy?"
"Yes, Len."
"You will not think it treason; you will not blame me for importing a
little common-sense into our sad position?"
"How can I blame you, Len--you, the truest friend that a man ever had?
Do not think me ungrateful. I have only one desire in life--to find
Emilia. I can think of nothing but her."
"Then I may make my suggestion?"
"Yes."
"Understand, Gerald, that I make it entirely in Emilia's interests."
"I do, Len."
"Our best plan will be to go to the hotel and jump into bed----"
"Len!"
"There, I knew you would storm at me; but just be reasonable."
"I can't be reasonable. I must find Emilia."
"All right, dear boy. I'll stand by you till I drop. Which way shall
we turn?"
Gerald, in response to this heartless question, led the way aimlessly
down one street, up another, and on and on, Leonard trudging by his
side, and neither of them speaking a word. At last Gerald stopped, and
gazed pitifully around; his eyes fell upon Leonard, who, conscious
that the gaze was coming, and timing it, closed his with an air of
pathetic weariness.
"You are tired, Len."
Leonard instantly opened his eyes, and said briskly, "Tired, dear boy!
Not a bit of it. What should make me tired? Come along, old fellow.
Let's be moving."
"No, Len, I don't see much use in it."
"It is not I who say that, Gerald."
"No, it is myself. What o'clock is that striking?"
Leonard put up his finger, and they listened to the chiming of the
bells.
"Two o'clock, Gerald."
"What is Emilia doing now?" murmured Gerald, more to himself than to
his companion.
"She is asleep, I should say."
"No, Len. I know her better than you do. She is awake, thinking of me,
as I am thinking of her. You are some years older than I, dear
brother; have you ever been in love?"
"Yes, Gerald," replied Leonard, quietly.
"And you are still unmarried," said Gerald, pityingly. "How did it
end?"
"Do not ask me, Gerald."
"Forgive me; it is a painful remembrance. She is dead?"
Leonard did not reply, and Gerald repeated,
"She is dead? I am sorry, very sorry."
"You need not be. She lives."
"How did it happen? You were true to her, I am sure."
"For heaven's sake, Gerald, do not force me to answer you. Let us talk
of something else."
"I open my heart to you," said Gerald, with sad insistence, "and you
close yours to me."
"You cut me to the quick. Yes, I was true to her, but she was
not true to me. There is the tragedy or the comedy--which you like,
Gerald--related in less than a dozen words. It is a story which all
men live to tell--all men, I mean, with the exception of yourself."
"I am a selfish brute, to compel you to expose your wounds. Poor Len!
If she had been like my Emilia you would not have had to tell the
tale. We can do nothing more to-night."
"Nothing that I can see."
"I am so full of my own grief that I forget to sympathize with yours,
but I am truly sorry for you. At this moment Emilia is thinking of me;
there is a spiritual whisper in the air which assures me of this.
Would it be really best to go back to the hotel?"
"It would be wisest, both for your sake and for Emilia's. Early in the
morning we can commence again. Gerald, to stop out any longer would be
folly. You would not dare to knock at the door of any house at this
hour and inquire for Emilia; it would be the ruin of her. You have her
honor to guard, as well as your own happiness to look after."
"I am blind, and utterly, utterly selfish. Heaven has sent you to
guide and counsel me. Yes, we will go."
They returned to the hotel, and Gerald gave directions that he should
be called early in the morning. He and Leonard wished each other
good-night, and retired to their separate rooms. As Leonard undressed
he chuckled at the successful progress he had made. Everything had
worked in his favor, and would so work to the end. He had no doubt of
that, with his hand on the wheel. So he closed his eyes, and went to
sleep contented and happy.
Gerald stood by the window and thought of Emilia. To-morrow they would
be together; to-morrow all would be well. He threw the window open and
looked out. Could his sight have reached the distance he would have
seen a pitiful figure staggering on through country roads, stopping
ever and anon to recover her breath, then starting feverishly on
again, with panting bosom and streaming eyes, mournfully grateful for
the darkness that encompassed her, and dreading the coming day.
Slander's foul work was being accomplished. Dark as it was, Emilia saw
the malignant eyes; silent as it was, she heard the hard voices. On
and on she stumbled, praying for rest. Gerald was false; she did not
care to live.