FRUITLESS EFFORTS.
Mr. Richards and his family were thrown into considerable confusion by
the double surprise which this morning revealed to them.
He was really a kind man at heart, and had been very much troubled by
the way that his wife had conducted herself toward her aged uncle, and
also by her unfeeling usage of Star.
Mrs. Richards, however, found it difficult to conceal her satisfaction
at the turn events had taken. She kept her own counsel regarding her
knowledge of what had transpired during the interview between her
husband and the young lord; neither did she consider it necessary to
mention the stormy scene which had occurred at the lodge the previous
evening, in which she was so prominent an actor.
“Josephine shall have everything her own way now,” she thought,
exultantly; “at all events, _that girl_ shall never triumph over my
daughter by becoming Lady Carrol.”
Mr. Richards declared that he should go immediately in search of the
fugitives. He could not endure the thought that the delicate young girl
and feeble old man should go out into the world to earn their own
living, for this he supposed they would be obliged to do, since what
little money he knew Star to be possessed of could not support them both
a great while.
But Mrs. Richards indignantly objected to this proceeding.
“Let them alone,” she said, angrily; “they will not thank you for your
trouble, and doubtless would refuse to return if you should succeed in
finding them. I am sure they have shown precious little gratitude for
what we have already done for them. Uncle Jacob says in his note that it
has been very unpleasant for him here, and if such is the case, let him
go where he will fare better if he can find such a place. As for that
proud-spirited, independent girl, I never want to see her again; I am
glad to be rid of her.”
Mr. Richards did not reply to this tirade, but he felt very sorrowful,
for every day only seemed to reveal some new trait of selfishness and
heartlessness in his wife, which served to detract from his respect for
her.
Nothing of all this, however, was mentioned before their guests, and
when after breakfast Lord Carrol sought his host in the library to make
further arrangements for an interview with Star, he was astonished and
dismayed by the intelligence which he received regarding her secret
departure with Mr. Rosevelt.
“Have you any idea where they can have gone?” he asked, with a very
pale, anxious face.
“Not the slightest,” Mr. Richards answered, “and I am deeply concerned
about the affair. You will believe me, I am sure, when I tell you that I
admire Miss Gladstone exceedingly, although I am obliged to confess with
shame that her sojourn with us has not been made as pleasant as it might
have been.”
Mr. Richards made this confession with a lowering brow and in a stern
tone.
“I judged that she was not happy here from something that she dropped
last night,” Lord Carrol said, gravely. “And,” he added, with evident
embarrassment, “it is a delicate topic to touch upon, but I believe
plain dealing is best—she also stated that it is generally believed in
your household that I am here as a suitor for Miss Richards’ hand. I
trust, however, that there has been no such misunderstanding as this. I
enjoyed a very pleasant month at Long Branch with both your wife and
daughter. Perhaps I sought their society more than might have been
deemed proper unless I had serious intentions; but this was owing to the
fact that I discovered Mrs. Richards to be of English birth, and knowing
something of her friends abroad, it seemed to become a bond between us,
out of which a friendship naturally sprung. Mrs. Richards very kindly
invited me to make one of a party here, and I accepted her invitation—I
give you my word of honor upon it—with _only_ thoughts of friendship and
the pleasure of meeting congenial company, and with the intention, if
she ever came abroad, of returning her hospitality in the same spirit. I
hope—I trust, my dear sir, that my coming here thus has not been
misconstrued, or placed Miss Richards in an awkward position.”
The young man’s face shone with a look of real concern as he concluded,
and Mr. Richards was convinced that, notwithstanding his wife had
asserted that he would propose to Josephine, he had never entertained
any serious intentions regarding her.
“It is all right, my young friend,” he responded, heartily, and feeling
great respect for him for his straightforwardness. “I am satisfied that
you have been perfectly honorable, although I must confess that I was
greatly astonished last night to learn that Star was the object of your
affection. I regret sincerely the misunderstanding that has arisen
between you, but we will do what we can to find the missing girl, and I
trust that then it will not take long to effect a reconciliation.”
“Thank you,” the young lord said, but he looked very grave, for he did
not feel as if it would be a very easy matter to find Star. He knew that
underneath her usual gentleness and sweetness there lay a strength of
purpose and determination which would lead her to do thoroughly whatever
she undertook, and if she had gone away to hide from him it would take
both patience and sagacity to find her.
However, he resolved to devote all his time before the day set for his
return should arrive in searching for her; and acting at once upon this
decision, he sought Mrs. Richards and Josephine, telling them that, much
as he regretted doing so, he should be obliged to cut his visit short,
as business of importance called him unexpectedly away.
Josephine was bitterly disappointed and chagrined, for she was as yet in
total ignorance as to the cause of his departure, and Mrs. Richards for
the moment was rendered speechless from indignation. She had not once
thought that he would go away before the expiration of his week.
“We shall see you again, I trust, before you leave America,” Josephine
said, with her sweetest smile, as he took her hand at parting.
“Perhaps so; I cannot tell,” he answered, absently.
“We return to Brooklyn next week,” Mrs. Richards now managed to say. “If
you are in New York, you surely will find time to run over and call upon
us now and then.”
“Thank you. I may be able to do so,” he replied, courteously; and then,
with a somewhat formal bow, he went away to seek for his lost love.
“What under the sun is the matter with Lord Carrol this morning, mamma?
He does not appear like himself at all; and what has possessed him to go
away so soon?” Josephine cried, nearly ready to weep as the door closed
upon the man she loved, and she was left alone with her mother.
Mrs. Richards then related what she had overheard the previous evening,
and told her also of her subsequent interview with Star and Mr.
Rosevelt, and the news that had come to them that morning of their
flight.
Josephine listened to her in dumb amazement, hardly able to comprehend
the romantic story.
“That girl has done nothing but set everybody by the ears ever since she
entered this house,” she burst forth, at length, quivering in every
nerve with anger. “Lord Carrol in love with _her_! I cannot comprehend
it, and I think it is scandalous for him to confess it, after the marked
attention that he paid me at Long Branch.”
“I think so, too,” Mrs. Richards echoed, but rather faintly, for she
knew how Josephine had almost been thrown at him, so to speak.
“Well, I am glad she is gone,” the excited girl continued. “I hope now
that we shall be able to take some comfort. She bewitched papa with her
pretty face, her music, and pretended love of study. She was an artful
thing, making herself so conspicuous at school that even the newspapers
took it up, and was so puffed up on account of it that her airs were
insufferable. It is a mercy that Uncle Jacob lost his fortune before he
came to us, or she would have been likely to wheedle him out of it.”
“She has been as sly as a fox,” commented Mrs. Richards, wrathfully, her
ire against poor, unoffending Star waxing hotter and hotter, for she was
as bitterly disappointed to lose his lordship as a son-in-law as
Josephine was to lose him as a husband.
“I never heard anything like it. To think of his being engaged to her,
and we never suspecting such a thing! I’ll bet,” the refined young lady
continued, as a bright idea struck her, “that she went away to meet him
last Saturday, and that was why she was rigged out so. That must be the
secret of her insolence to me. She knew she was soon to become Lady
Carrol, and she was trying how it would seem to lord it over me.”
“You forget, Josephine,” interposed her mother, “that she did not know
anything about his title, and so you are all wrong in your surmises.”
“True,” she replied, somewhat crestfallen; “but when do you suppose he
engaged himself to her?”
“I am sure I do not know—very recently, he said. I tried to make her
tell me about it last night, but I couldn’t get a word out of her. One
would have thought, by the way that she faced me, that she was already
my lady somebody. But I reckon I fixed it so that she will not be at
present. I made her think that his lordship had told the story in a way
to make her appear as ridiculous as possible, and she has gone away,
believing him to be as faithless as it is in the power of man to be;”
and the hardhearted woman threw herself back in her chair with a sigh of
satisfaction at the thought.
“It is a shame, anyhow. Everything has gone wrong, and I—I really was
fond of him,” Josephine confessed, with a passion of tears.
Mrs. Richards’ face darkened. She never could tolerate anything which
interfered with the desires and whims of her only child.
“Well, we will not give up hope, even yet,” she said, trying to speak
comfortingly. “We shall go back to Brooklyn next week, and we will try
to see him as often as we can. We will visit his studio, and look at his
pictures and those of his friends, and if he is unsuccessful in his
search for that girl, he may turn to you again for comfort.”
“I cannot get over it that _she_, with her great eyes and yellow hair,
should have attracted him and won him, when we have strained every nerve
and spent hundreds for him,” Josephine said, angrily.
At this moment a servant entered the room and handed her a note.
She opened it eagerly and read it.
Her face flushed a deep crimson, and, with a passionate gesture, she
instantly tore it in two.
“What is it?” questioned her mother.
“It is too dreadful!” the spoilt beauty cried, stamping her foot; “and I
believe that girl will be the death of me yet.”
“Tell me what it is,” persisted Mrs. Richards, growing pale.
“It is a note from Lord Carrol himself,” Josephine answered, her cheeks
still hot from mortification and anger. “When we were at Long Branch, he
noticed this cameo ring that I wear—I happened to put it on the last
night that we were there, unfortunately—and said that it was very much
like one which belonged to a friend of his. He appeared rather strangely
when he said it, and told me that his friend’s name was Archibald
Sherbrooke. Of course I can understand now why he would not say that it
had belonged to him. I told him that it was given to me by a relative,
and he did not appear like himself after that.”
“But how came you by it—who gave it to you?” interrupted her mother, who
had never noticed the ring until now, for Josephine had so many trinkets
that she could not keep track of them all.
The girl flushed again, guiltily.
“To tell the truth, it belonged to Stella,” she confessed, reluctantly,
“and it was such an exquisite little thing that I took a notion to have
it. I offered to buy it of her, but she wouldn’t hear a word of it,
saying she ‘prized it too highly as the gift of a friend.’ But I was
bound to have it, and went to her room one day and took it, and had it
made into a ring, for it was in the shape of a pin. Of course I intended
to return it sometime, but I meant her to understand that a girl in her
dependent position had no business to refuse so simple a request. The
initials A. S., with two strawberry leaves, their stems crossed, are
engraved on it, and I knew, when he described it to me, that it was ‘his
friend’—or rather himself, as it appears now—who had given it to her. I
heartily wish now that I had let it alone. But just listen to this.”
Miss Richards took the pieces of the note, which she had held crumpled
in her hand, and putting them together, read the following:
“Oct. 10th, 188—.
“MISS RICHARDS:—Doubtless before you receive this you will have
learned that Archibald Sherbrooke—whom I represented to you as my
friend, for reasons which you cannot now fail to understand—and Lord
Carrol are one and the same person. Under the former name, which was
the only one which belonged to me at that time, I became acquainted
with Miss Gladstone on shipboard, and was so pleased with her that, at
parting, I exchanged souvenirs with her, giving her a little cameo
which I prized very highly. It is the same one which you have had made
into a ring. When I met Miss Gladstone a short time since she remarked
that she had ‘lost’ my gift; last night she told me _how_ she had
‘lost’ it, and I would respectfully ask you to send it to the inclosed
address, that I may return it to the owner, should I be so happy as to
find her.
“Very respectfully,
“ARCHIBALD SHERBROOKE, Bart., and
Lord CARROL, of Carrolton.”
“Why on earth can’t you let other folks’ things alone, Josephine?” cried
Mrs. Richards, when her daughter had finished reading this formal note,
and feeling almost faint from mortification upon learning of this
disgraceful episode in her life. “I’m sure,” she added, reproachfully,
“you have trinkets enough without taking the only thing a poor girl
had.”
“Isn’t your commiseration somewhat ill-timed, mamma, for the ‘poor
girl,’ now that she is not here to reap the benefit of it?” sneered the
dutiful young lady. “I don’t care; it is an elegant trifle, anyhow, and
I’ve half a mind to keep it, in spite of his lordship’s demand,” she
added, defiantly, as she held up her hand, on which the ring gleamed,
and regarded it covetously.
But she did return it, nevertheless; she did not quite dare to retain
it, particularly as she could not relinquish all hope of winning the
young lord even yet.
Mr. Richards, accompanied by Lord Carrol, proceeded with all possible
dispatch to New York, and thence to Brooklyn, where they went directly
to the seminary which Star attended, and inquired for her.
It was only half-past ten when they arrived there, but early as it was,
Professor Roberts told them that she had come at the usual hour and
severed her connection with the school, and very much to his regret, he
added, as he considered her one of the most promising members of the
senior class.
Both gentlemen looked blank at this information; they did not suppose
Star would be so energetic to cover all traces of her flight.
She had asked, the professor said, for a recommendation, that she might
more easily enter some other, as she hoped to be able to complete her
course, although she did not tell him where she was going.
“And I did,” he continued; “I gave her the very best one that could be
put into words, for she deserved it. But what is this you tell me—that
she has left her home without the knowledge of her friends?” and he
appeared deeply troubled.
“Yes; but it is only on account of a slight misunderstanding, and one
which would have been very easily explained if she had not been quite so
hasty; and I hope we shall be able to find her and make it right very
soon.”
“I trust so; I am very sorry to part with her,” said the professor,
gravely, while he measured the young lord with his keen eyes,
mistrusting that he was somehow concerned in the mystery. “I had
anticipated taking her through the course and presenting her with her
diploma. I tell you, sir, Miss Gladstone bids fair to become a most
brilliant woman. Why, the essay which she read at our last commencement
would have been a credit to the most profound literary talent in the
country.”
Lord Carrol’s eyes glowed at these praises of his darling; but Mr.
Richards winced under them, for his conscience was smiting him keenly
for ever having allowed Star to occupy so questionable a position in his
family.
“You will oblige me if you will account for her absence in some casual
way, if you are questioned about it,” he said. “I should be sorry to
have anything unpleasant said of her.”
“Certainly; you may rely upon my being very discreet, for _her_ sake,”
Professor Roberts returned, somewhat stiffly.
He bowed his visitors out, and then returned to his duties; but all day
long, and for many days, he missed the bright, earnest face of his “most
promising scholar,” her brilliant recitations, and the respectful
attention which she had always given him.
As for Mr. Richards and Lord Carrol, their way seemed suddenly hedged
up; they did not know which way to turn next. They knew it would be very
difficult to find any one in the great city of New York, and it was
possible that the fugitives had left the metropolis, although Mr.
Richards, knowing how ambitious Star was to complete her education, was
inclined to think she would remain there until she had accomplished this
end.
Still Lord Carrol was determined not to relinquish his search for her,
and he neglected painting and everything else, riding from one end of
the city to another day after day, unweariedly visiting schools on week
days, and haunting churches on Sunday, until the day of his departure
arrived; but all his efforts were unavailing and fruitless.
An advertisement was inserted in all the daily papers.
“Star, let me justify myself!” That was all; and Star, in her
hiding-place, read it many times with curling lips and scornful eyes.
“There can be no justification,” she said; “one man bearing two names
and deceiving two girls, can never be justified.”
But her heart ached none the less, for, with shame she owned it, she
loved him still. The days seemed endless, her duties arduous and
monotonous; she grew thin, her step lost its elasticity, and she was as
miserable as even Josephine, in her most malicious mood, could have
wished.
November came, and with it the day of Archibald Sherbrooke’s sailing for
England.
No one ever returned to his native land with a sadder heart and deeper
regret than the young Lord of Carrolton, and he would not have gone even
then, but that some urgent business connected with his uncle’s estate,
and his duties as his heir, imperatively demanded it. He would have much
preferred to remain and search for the fair girl whom he loved so
devotedly.
But he resolved to return to America at the earliest possible date and
resume his efforts to find her.