EXPLANATIONS.
“Star! Star! my dear love, come back and let me undeceive you,” he
called aloud, as soon as he could recover his senses sufficiently to
speak.
But there was no answering sound, save the sad sighing of the rustling
leaves which had so unnerved the unhappy girl a few minutes before.
He followed the direction she had taken. He wandered about the grounds
for full half an hour, but could discover no trace of her; and at last,
feeling greatly disturbed, he was obliged to retrace his steps, and
returned to the mansion.
He had strolled forth at the close of dinner to smoke, and to get away
for a little quiet musing, for he had intended, as he said, to seek out
his beautiful love on the morrow, and put upon one of her white fingers
the seal to their plighted troth, and, this done, to tell her that he
was both an _artist and a peer of Victoria’s realm_.
During his stroll, and while thinking fondly of the bright girl, he had
unconsciously strayed into the very avenue where Star had stopped to
rest.
Wrapped in her heavy shawl, and with head bowed upon her hands, he had
not recognized her, but thought it might be one of the servants,
perhaps, who had got into some trouble.
Always ready to relieve suffering of whatever nature, he stepped up to
the sobbing girl and gently laid his hand upon her shoulder to attract
her attention, and when the tear-stained, suffering face of his own love
was lifted to his, his astonishment rendered him speechless for the
moment.
But it was a fact, nevertheless, that he had appeared in different
places in different characters—he was at once Archibald Sherbrooke and
Lord Carrol, of Carrolton; how, we must let his own words explain.
“Poor child! it is very awkward, and I never dreamed of any such
denouement; but I cannot blame her. If she would but have given me one
moment in which to tell her how it is; but she was wild with pain,” he
said, with a troubled face, as he slowly went back to the house.
It is doubtless now made plain to the reader how he had happened to
recognize the cameo ring upon Josephine’s hand at Long Branch, and knew
at once that it was the very stone which he had given Star at parting on
shipboard.
He did not like to question Miss Richards about it, but he was deeply
hurt when she told him that it had been given her by a relative, for he
felt sure that he could not be mistaken in the stone—there _could_ not
be another like it, for he had designed the figure upon it himself.
Yet, to be quite positive about it, he had told her that it had belonged
to a gentleman named Archibald Sherbrooke; and then when he saw her
start, and the color flame into her face, he knew that Star had parted
with it for some reason or other. It had caused him a pang to know that
she should have prized it so lightly as to give it away, while he had
treasured that lock of gold as one of the most precious things in his
possession, and had learned to love the face which he had painted as he
never expected to love any object on earth.
Then he had met Star, and she had told him—not that she had given his
gift away, but that she had “lost” it.
The two stories did not agree, but looking into her glorious, truthful
eyes, he had believed her, and felt that some time she would make the
mystery plain.
He had told her, on parting from her Saturday evening, that he should
come to her Monday or Tuesday, and he had really intended doing so, and
was deeply disappointed at not being able to keep his promise.
But all day Tuesday he had seen no time that he could escape from the
company of which he seemed to be the center. He had about made up his
mind to ask Mr. Richards to direct him to No. 56 —— street after dinner,
and go away to spend a quiet evening with Star; but Mrs. Richards upset
this plan by laying out a programme in which he would be obliged to
figure largely, and he was forced to bear it with what patience he
could, hoping that the morrow would bring him the opportunity he
desired.
He had never imagined that he could be a guest in the very house which
he was so anxious to visit, and which was the home of his beloved; and
now the knowledge was not pleasing to him, for Star’s bitter words, and
the fact that she had not mingled with the family, told him but too
plainly how she was undervalued there.
How she must have suffered, sitting at her window, as she said she had
done, and been a witness to the reception which had been tendered him by
her proud, cold-hearted relatives; and to have been led, too, by them to
believe that he had come there as a suitor for Josephine’s hand.
This had been rather a startling and unpleasant revelation to him, for
he had never once imagined that any such construction would be put upon
his visit there.
He had been drawn toward Mrs. Richards upon first meeting her, for she
was really a fascinating woman, and upon learning that she was of
English extraction, and that he knew something of her relatives, he at
once felt almost like an old acquaintance, and in this way had been led
to attach himself to her party.
Josephine was a brilliant and attractive girl, and had made herself very
agreeable to him, and he liked her as a friend and acquaintance; but no
thought of love for her had ever entered his mind. That fair face, with
its crown of gold, its starry eyes and coral lips, which had lain upon
his breast at sea, had made too deep an impression upon his heart to be
easily forgotten.
But now, just as he thought he had won her—when he was on the verge of
claiming her, he found himself in deep waters, from which he feared it
might be somewhat difficult to extricate himself.
Star had a right to denounce him, believing what she did. He had parted
from her on Saturday evening as Archibald Sherbrooke and her accepted
lover, while on Monday she had seen him driven in great style to the
Richards’ mansion, and greeted as Lord Carrol, and a suitor for the
brilliant Josephine’s hand. Surely circumstances were against him.
“I must get out of this muddle as soon as possible,” he said, as he
ascended the steps and paused a moment on the porch to consider what he
ought to do.
Entering the house, he avoided the drawing-room, where a gay company was
assembled, and passed on to a music-room which led into the library.
Mr. Richards was in the latter room, seated at his desk, and the door
between the two was open. As he saw his lordship, he arose and came
forward to meet him.
“Can I have a few moments’ conversation with you?” the young man asked,
gravely.
“Certainly; as many as you wish. Shall we retire to the privacy of the
library?” returned Mr. Richards, who at once jumped to the conclusion
that he was about to receive a formal proposal for the hand of his
daughter.
So also thought another listener, who happened to be standing on the
veranda just outside the open window of the music-room, and who had
caught the above sentences.
“No,” Lord Carrol returned. “What I have to say can just as well be said
here as anywhere. I find myself unexpectedly in a very unpleasant
situation, and I have come at once to you, because I consider a
straightforward course the wisest always to pursue. I wish to tell you a
little story, and then ask your assistance in correcting an awkward
mistake.”
“Anything that I can do for you, my lord, I shall be most happy to do,”
blandly affirmed Mr. Richards, little realizing what he was promising,
while he followed the young man’s example and sat down to listen to his
narrative.
“I came over from England, nearly a year ago, on the steamer ——,” he
began, “and on board that vessel I met a young girl of great personal
beauty and intelligence, in whom I became intensely interested. She
could not have been more than sixteen years of age, but her mind was far
in advance of both her appearance and her years, while it was evident
that she had been reared with great care, for every word and act
betrayed her to be a perfect little lady, and every day spent in her
society only served to make her more attractive in my sight. At parting,
I gave her a trifle as a souvenir of our pleasant acquaintance, and
asked in return for something to keep in memory of her. I did not know
that I should ever meet her again, and had I not done so, the
remembrance of what I had enjoyed in her society would eventually have
become, it is probable, but a pleasant episode of the past, although I
must confess that her face haunted me continually.
“But I did meet her again, and only a very short time ago. She had
changed—developed into even greater beauty, and had become more mature,
and I began to realize at once that I had even a deeper interest in her
than I had imagined possible. Subsequent interviews—for I took pains to
see her often—and the study of her character, convinced me that I had
found the woman whom I could love with all my heart, and whom I should
win for my wife if I could.”
A rustling of the drapery at the open window just then made the young
lord pause; but hearing nothing more, he thought the wind had simply
stirred the curtains, and continued:
“Within a very few days I have brought things to a crisis—have, in fact,
asked and secured a promise from her to become my wife as soon as she
shall have completed her education, and I had intended to-morrow to seek
an interview with her friends and make formal proposals for her hand.
“This may sound rather strange to you, knowing my position, and
realizing something of the prejudice of the English against marrying
outside the pale of their own rank. But I was convinced from the first
that this young girl was of good blood and parentage, and upon a more
intimate acquaintance with her, I have learned that her mother was an
English lady from an excellent family.
“Now, what I have to tell you,” Lord Carrol continued, with a smile,
“has a slight touch of romance connected with it. When I left England, I
came away known as Sir Archibald Sherbrooke, baronet. Two months after
my arrival here, I was notified of the death of my mother’s only
brother—Lord Carrol, of Carrolton—and who, being a widower and
childless, willed his estates and all that he possessed to me, with the
provision that I was to assume his name, and consequently his title.
“It would have suited me better to travel and remain plain Archibald
Sherbrooke, as I always called myself, until my return; but I was with a
company of friends—all artists, who were traveling and studying with an
old painter—who knew all the circumstances, and they would not hear a
word to my remaining incognito, and insisted upon introducing me
everywhere by my newly acquired title.
“As plain Archibald Sherbrooke, I met, wooed, and won the young lady of
whom I have told you, but I intended, when I formally asked for her
hand, to reveal the circumstances which have made me Lord Carrol. I have
not for a moment thought of deceiving her, for I abhor double-dealing of
any kind; but, notwithstanding, I find myself in a very awkward
situation.
“You will, perhaps, be surprised to learn that to-night, since going out
after dinner, I met my betrothed by accident, and very much to my
astonishment. She had discovered that I have been sailing ‘under two
flags,’ or, as she supposed, under false colors. She had heard of my
meeting your daughter at Long Branch as Lord Carrol, and the report
seems to have preceded me, much to my surprise”—here the young man
colored from embarrassment—“that I intended something more than a
friendly visit here, and she has passionately denounced me for my
duplicity—as it appears to her—and refused even to allow me to explain
my position.
“This is the mistake that I wish you to help me rectify by securing an
interview for me with her, so that I can exonerate myself from all blame
in her sight.”
Mr. Richards was greatly astonished at what he had heard, and in no
small degree disappointed, for he liked the young man, and his wife had
affirmed that Josephine was the magnet that had drawn his lordship
thither, and she had also confidently asserted that he would propose for
her hand before he left.
But, of course, he could not betray anything of this feeling, after
having been made the confidant of another love affair; therefore he
said, with as much self-possession as he could command:
“The situation is somewhat unpleasant for you, I admit, my young friend,
but I think it may be easily made right. I must confess I am much
surprised by what you have told me; the story is certainly romantic in
every respect. And you met the young lady by accident to-night? She is,
then, a resident of Yonkers. Who may she be? Perhaps she is no one whom
I know.”
“She is Miss Gladstone, and your wife’s ward, I believe,” Lord Carrol
replied, and bending a grave look upon his host.
Mr. Richards nearly bounded from the piano stool upon which he had been
sitting at this startling intelligence, while outside that open window
there was a sound as of some one weakly sinking into a chair. But both
gentlemen were so deeply engaged in the subject under consideration that
they did not appear to hear it.
“Star!” ejaculated Mr. Richards, when he could recover his breath.
“Yes, sir; Miss Star Gladstone is the lady of whom I have told you,”
Lord Carrol replied, somewhat coldly, for he could not understand why
any one so lovely and accomplished in every way as Star was should have
been so slighted and ill-treated in his family.
“But I do not understand—I cannot see—I—I beg pardon; but, to tell the
truth, I am completely taken aback by what you have told me,” Mr.
Richards stammered, for it was to him a most astounding revelation.
“I expected that my communication would surprise you; but you cannot be
more so than I was upon learning to-night that Miss Gladstone is a
member of your family,” returned his lordship.
“But you tell me that you were intending to call upon her friends
to-morrow, and here you have been in the same house a day and a night
already.”
“True; but I was not aware of the fact until within the last hour. Miss
Gladstone gave me her address last Saturday evening. Here it is; you can
read it. It was late when I asked for it, and she wrote it hastily upon
this card.”
The young man passed it to his companion as he spoke, and Mr. Richards
read the street and number of his own residence.
“You will remember,” Lord Carrol continued, “that I am an entire
stranger in this place, and that I do not even know the name of the
street upon which you reside, as Mrs. Richards was kind enough to say
that some one should meet me at the station upon my arrival. I wished
very much to go to Star to-day, but courtesy demanded that I should not
disarrange Mrs. Richards’ plans. I fully intended, however, to ask you
to direct me to the place designated on that card to-morrow, never once
suspecting that I was already in the house where the lady of my choice
resides.”
“And has Star never mentioned our name to you?” Mr. Richards asked.
“No; she has been very reticent regarding everything connected with
herself save her studies and her music, and I have not thought to
question her on that point.”
Mr. Richards’ face clouded.
Star had good cause for being reticent, he knew, and the subject was
becoming an awkward one for him.
“You say you met her to-night?” he said.
“Yes; I went out for a stroll and a smoke after dinner, and came upon
her suddenly in the grounds. She appeared to be greatly distressed, and
I, never suspecting the cause, pressed her to tell me. She turned upon
me like an outraged queen, and denounced me in a manner that fairly took
my breath away. She believed me to be simply Archibald Sherbrooke, an
artist, until last night, when she saw me driven to your door and
received as Lord Carrol; and, having heard exaggerated reports of my
attentions to Miss Richards while at Long Branch, it is not strange that
she should resent the seeming deception, for appearances are certainly
against me. But a few words will set everything right, if you will
explain something of this to her and secure an interview for me.”
“Then it is our Star whom you want to marry, my lord,” Mr. Richards
said, reflectively, and as if he could hardly comprehend it even yet,
while he wondered if they could ever live through the tempest which his
wife would surely raise when she should discover that Star had won the
lover whom she was bending all her energies to secure for Josephine.
“Yes, hoping for your sanction, of course,” Lord Carrol answered, with a
rising flush, for he could read something of what was passing in his
host’s mind. “But, pardon me,” he added, fixing a look of grave
questioning upon his face, “now that I find she is the ward of your
wife, I cannot understand why I have not met her with the other members
of your family.”
“Ahem! Well,” began Mr. Richards, with evident embarrassment, “she has
been very deeply engaged with her studies ever since she came to us—is
ambitious, you know, and also spends a great deal of her time practicing
music, and my wife thought it would be best for her not to—to mingle in
company much until she had—um!—completed her education;” and Mrs.
Richards, sitting just outside that open window, where she had heard
every word of the above conversation, thanked the fates that for once
her husband had smoothed awkward things over for her quite comfortably.
Lord Carrol simply bowed in reply to this statement. It would not become
him to question the truthfulness of what he had heard, but since his
interview with Star, his opinion of the family had changed very
materially.
“Well, I _am_ nonplussed, and I reckon that this state of affairs will
create quite a commotion when it becomes known,” Mr. Richards resumed,
after a few minutes of thought, during which his surprise seemed to
increase. “I never dreamed that our Star would ever step into such a
chair of state, although she is of good blood, I believe.”
“Of the best,” Lord Carrol returned, decidedly. “She told me upon one
occasion that her mother was a Miss Anna Chudleigh, of Chudleigh Manor,
Devonshire. I know something of them, and they were a fine family,
although I have been told that they were very much displeased at the
marriage of their only daughter with a clergyman of limited means.
But—have I your sanction to prosecute my suit with Miss Gladstone, and
will you arrange an interview for me?”
“Certainly; I shall do what you wish, and I must say that I am glad that
things are turning out so well for Star. _I_ have been very fond of her,
for she is a bright and winsome little body about the house. She is
talented, too, to say nothing of her beauty, and she will make you a
good wife. I congratulate you both, and there is my hand on it, my
lord,” Mr. Richards concluded, heartily, and extending his hand to the
young peer, which he took and cordially shook.
But Mrs. Richards, her heart filled with bitterest rage, felt as if she
could have strangled her husband with a good relish for taking such an
interest in Star’s prospects, while the gorgeous air-castle which his
own daughter had built was tumbling to the ground about his ears.
Mr. Richards then rose.
“I suppose you are anxious to see Star at once?” he said.
“Yes, if you please. I desire to make my peace with her as soon as
possible, for I know that she is deeply wounded, and I cannot rest until
she knows the truth.”
“Very well; I will go to her, and send her to the library. You will be
free from intrusion there,” Mr. Richards said, and immediately left the
room in search of Star.
He came back very soon, however, saying that she had not returned to her
room, and no one had seen her that day save Mrs. Blunt, who told him
that she had been very ill, and not able to attend school.
Lord Carrol’s face fell at this information, and he realized more
forcibly than ever what Star must have suffered from this unfortunate
misunderstanding.
“Perhaps it will be best for me to wait until to-morrow morning,” he
said, after a moment of thought. “She appeared so greatly excited when I
met her this evening, and has been so ill all day, it may be well for
her to get rest before exciting her any further. Yes, I will wait,” he
concluded, with a sigh, for he was deeply disappointed and anxious.
“Is Mr. Rosevelt a member of your family also?” he asked, after a
moment, and suddenly remembering that Star had told him they were
inmates of the same house.
“Yes; well, not exactly a member of my family,” Mr. Richards returned,
flushing over this, another awkward question. “He is my wife’s uncle,
and one of us; but his health is so poor, and noise affects him so
unpleasantly, that he prefers to have a room at the lodge rather than
here where there is so much gayety and confusion.”
Mrs. Richards, still an eavesdropper, heaved another comfortable sigh
over this rough place made smooth.
“You must have met Mr. Rosevelt also,” he added, as it came to him that
Star and his wife’s uncle had shared that dreadful experience at sea.
“Yes; and I think him a fine old gentleman. I must see him also
to-morrow,” his lordship returned; and then he went on to explain more
fully how he had made the acquaintance of these two unfortunates, and
described their sufferings and hardships so graphically that his
listener, who did not know onehalf, was deeply moved.
“Miss Gladstone was considered quite a heroine on board our steamer
after her rescue,” the young man said, “when the passengers learned with
how much fortitude she had conducted herself during the disaster and the
dreadful events following. The captain told me, with tears running down
his cheeks, how she had denied herself both food and drink in order that
the life of Mr. Rosevelt, who, she declared, had less vitality than
herself on account of his age, might be sustained. She did not even take
the rest which she needed, but watched and worked over him
unceasingly—in fact, she _saved his life_.”
“She is a noble girl—she is a splendid girl!” Mr. Richards returned,
tears in his own eyes, and his heart full of remorse over the life Star
had led since she came into his house. “She will make you the best
little wife in the world. God bless you both!”
Lord Carrol saw that he was sincere, and began to suspect where all the
trouble lay regarding Star. He was inclined to think, and rightly, that
jealousy or ill-will on the part of the petted Josephine and her proud
mother was the cause of her unpleasant position in the family; but he
inwardly resolved that it should be entirely different in the future, or
she should not remain there.
But he had been absent a long time from the gay company in the
drawing-room, and, feeling assured that he could not see his darling
that night, he returned to it, trying to wait with patience for what the
morrow would bring him.