AN INTERESTING STORY.
Jacob Rosevelt stood not far away during the conversation between Mr.
Appleton, Miss Meredith, and Star, and a proud light beamed in his eyes
as he listened to their praises of the girl whom he had learned to love
so well.
But it was nothing new to him that Star was an authoress; he had known
it for nearly a year.
That was the secret that she had whispered in his ear when, after Mrs.
Richards’ terrible accusations, they had been left alone and she had
begged him to go away with her to make a little home of their own,
telling him that what she should receive for her book, together with her
hundred pounds, would be ample for their support until she could
graduate and obtain a position as a teacher.
She had written it that first winter; for after Mr. Richards had vetoed
his wife’s plan of making her a servant, and insisted that she should be
sent to school, there had been many lonely hours which would have been
very irksome to her if she had not spent them in this way.
Her studies that winter were not hard; she had no associates to help her
pass the time pleasantly, and so her heart had overflowed in this way,
and she had penned the charming little romance which had at once set
everybody to wondering who the author might be.
This was the package with which she had stolen forth so early one
morning, taking it with fear and trembling, yet with something of hope,
to the great publisher.
When she was shown into his office and made known her errand there, he
looked at her in wonder, astonished at the temerity of one so young and
simple as she appeared to be in bringing her manuscript to him and
asking him to publish it.
But the deferential yet winning way in which she made her appeal, and
the influence of her loveliness, won a reluctant promise on his part “to
look it over.”
He did so, opening the neatly folded package with an amused smile, and
expecting after a casual glance at its contents to be nauseated with
some sickly sentimental love-story.
But he became strangely interested in it at once, and read on and on,
now with smiles, then melting into tears, until it was finished, and
pronounced a “little gem;” while he was convinced that a sensitive,
refined, and talented girl had thrown her heart, and perhaps something
of her own life, into those touching pages.
He sent a note to her at once, asking her to come and see him again, and
when she obeyed the summons, he questioned her about herself, how she
had come to write her book, and what incidents had suggested it.
She told him that the scene of her little romance was laid in
Derbyshire, England, and that many of the incidents were connected with
her childhood; and the tears sprang to his eyes as she related to him
something of the misfortune which overtook her in the death of her
mother, the subsequent loss of her father, and how she was obliged to
come, a stranger, to this country; of the tempestuous voyage across the
ocean, with its thrilling events, and that as soon as she could complete
her education she intended to become a teacher.
He was greatly interested in her, and told her that he should publish
her book, and if the first edition sold well, she should have a thousand
dollars, and a certain per cent. on all other editions.
It seemed like a fortune to Star, who had not thought of receiving
anything like such a sum, and she went back to her duties with a joyful
heart to await the issue of her book.
Mr. Appleton was so pleased with her that he saw her often after that,
and having received a card from her for the commencement exercises of
Professor Roberts’ seminary, he decided he would go; and the little
package which he had given her in the presence of Mr. Richards was a
copy of her book, which had just come to him from the hands of the
binders; and it was he, too, who, admiring her fine essay, begged it of
her and sent it, with those few flattering remarks which had so annoyed
Josephine, to the next morning’s papers.
Star had put no name to her work, telling Mr. Appleton that she did not
care to be known as its author; and he, too, thought it best, since it
was her first experience in literary matters; so, when she had told him
that her name was Stella, he had put a simple Star in place of it.
But the book had sold beyond even the publisher’s most sanguine
expectations, and when it became evident very soon that a second edition
must be published, he asked her to allow him to put her name to it, as
everybody was besieging him to know who wrote it.
But she was firm, and insisted upon having his promise that he would not
betray her until after her graduation and her eighteenth birthday.
When he wrote her a check for the promised thousand dollars, she had
taken it directly to Mr. Rosevelt.
“Now we need have no fears for the future,” she said, with a proud
smile, as she put it into his hand. “You must have every comfort, Uncle
Jacob—fruits, and wines, and everything nice, to make you strong and
well. There will be more coming, you know, as the other editions are
sold, and when I begin to teach I shall have my salary besides.”
The old gentleman was deeply touched by her thoughtfulness for him; he
could not speak for the choking sensation in his throat, but drew her
gently to him and kissed her fair forehead, feeling that she was the
only gleam of sunshine which his life contained.
Now, as he stood by and heard her praises sung, and knew that she would
have the fame that belonged to her, he exulted over it; and when, a
little later, she came to him and slipped an envelope into his hand,
saying: “It is another check, Uncle Jacob, which Mr. Appleton has just
given to me. Please take care of it, for you are my banker, you know;
and,” a tear starting to her glorious eyes, “I believe I never expected
to be so happy again as I am to-night,” he thought his own cup of joy
was nearly as full as hers.
She was, indeed, a star after that all through the evening, and held a
right royal little court, receiving and making the acquaintance of the
admirers of “Chatsworth’s Pride,” until she became so weary that she
longed to get home to quiet and rest.
As soon as she could find an opportunity to do so, she drew Mr. Rosevelt
to President Hunter and made her adieu.
Just as she was turning away, some one touched her on the arm.
“Miss Gladstone, allow me to present my brother, Mr. Ralph Meredith.”
It was Miss Meredith—Grace Meredith she had told Star she was called—who
spoke, and looking up, she found a pair of brilliant dark eyes looking
into hers, a handsome face smiling down upon her, while a musical voice
acknowledged the introduction with evident pleasure.
“I expect you are _the ‘star’_ whom I have been wishing to know for a
long time,” he said, significantly, as he took the hand she held out to
him, and thought he had never seen a lovelier face in his life.
Star thanked him with a charming smile for his interest in her, and
introduced him to Mr. Rosevelt; then turned to Miss Meredith to escape
from the praises which she saw he was longing to pour into her ears.
The young man was somewhat chagrined at being thus summarily disposed
of, but he was too polite and good-natured to betray it, and did his
best to make himself agreeable to the old gentleman and win his
good-will.
Gradually, however, he managed to attract the attention of the young
ladies, and then the conversation became general, and they chatted
pleasantly for several minutes, until, at a look from Star, Mr. Rosevelt
declared they must go, “for he was not used to late hours, and Star, he
knew, was nearly worn out with the excitement of the day.”
Mr. Meredith regretted that they must leave, but begged, with his most
captivating smile:
“May I have the pleasure, Miss Gladstone, of coming with my sister to
call upon you?”
“Certainly,” Star answered, graciously, for she was pleased with both
brother and sister. “I shall be very happy to have you do so. We live——”
“Wait a minute, Star, and I will write our address down for them. It is
so difficult to remember numbers, I am afraid they will forget;” and
taking a leaf from a small notebook that was in his pocket, Mr. Rosevelt
wrote both street and number and passed it to young Meredith.
Star thought he looked surprised as he read it. Was it because of the
humble locality? she wondered.
They then exchanged good-nights and parted. When they reached the
street, Mr. Rosevelt said:
“I am going to call a carriage, dear, for I know you are just ready to
drop from weariness;” and Star did not object, for she was indeed
exceedingly tired.
When they reached home she insisted upon making a cup of tea for Uncle
Jacob, saying that he was not accustomed to such late hours and
dissipation; “and besides,” she added, with a smile, “she felt like
having a drop herself.”
But the old gentleman was so absent-minded over his tea, that she felt
almost guilty for having kept him up so late, and feared he would be ill
to-morrow.
She put away the tea things when they were through, and was about to
light her lamp to retire, when he stopped her, saying:
“Star, my dear, come and sit down upon this ottoman by me; I have
something I wish to say to you.”
She obeyed, wondering what had happened to make him look and speak so
gravely.
“Are you _really happy_ to-night, my child?” he asked, tenderly.
A startled look came into the girl’s eyes at this question, and her
heart leaped with sudden pain as her thoughts went bounding over the sea
to one to whom she had given the first grand passion of her soul.
“Uncle Jacob,” she answered, gravely, though he could see the quiver
about her lips, which she tried in vain to repress, “I am happier than I
ever expected to be again. It is useless to regret or mourn over the
past. I have tried to be sensible over it, but sometimes, I am afraid, I
have not succeeded very well,” she said, with a smile that was a trifle
bitter. “If,” she added, more brightly, a moment after, “that _one
episode_ could have been left out of my life, I believe there would be
nothing to mar it now.”
“I would that it could have been so,” Mr. Rosevelt sighed. “But I want
you to listen to me for a little while. I know it is late, and you ought
to go to rest, but I particularly wish to tell you a short story of my
life to-night. It is a page which has been turned from sight for many
years, and no one has ever read it save myself. You are about entering
upon a new era in _your_ life. I have learned to love you very tenderly,
my child, and I want to bind you yet closer to me.”
“Why, Uncle Jacob, you do not think I have any idea of going away from
you, I hope,” Star said, in surprise.
“No, for I have grown to feel that you belong to me. I want you to think
so, too, and I am going to tell you why. Fate—or Providence, I suppose,
_you_ would say—has thrown us together in a strange way, considering all
things. Do you remember telling me, on board that ill-fated steamer,
that your name was Star Rosevelt Gladstone, and how surprised you were
when you learned that my last name was the same as your middle one?”
“Yes, sir; and I still think it a strange coincidence,” Star answered.
“Perhaps you will be more surprised when I tell you that you were named
_for_ me.”
Star looked up astonished at him.
“How can that be possible?” she asked.
“In this way,” Mr. Rosevelt returned, a shade of pain crossing his face.
“When your grandmother, Stella Winthrop—that was her name before her
marriage, was it not?”
“Yes; and that is all I know about her, Uncle Jacob,” Star answered,
with a troubled look. “Papa never said much about his friends. Indeed,
he did not appear to have any relatives, and never would allow me to
question him about them. Once I said something to him about my name, and
he remarked: ‘Your grandmother once told me that if ever I had a little
girl of my own, she would like me to call her Stella Rosevelt, and that
is how you came by it.’
“‘Where is my grandmother, papa?’ I asked.
“‘She is dead,’ he said, and immediately left the room, looking so pale
and miserable that I never dared ask him anything more about her.”
“It seems strange that _I_ should be the one to tell you about her,” Mr.
Rosevelt said, thoughtfully, “and I am puzzled to know why he should
have been so reticent. Did your father ever have any trouble with his
family?”
“Not that I know of; and yet,” Star said, flushing, “there _was_ some
trouble about his marriage with mamma, though that seems to have been on
the part of her family rather than his. Mrs. Richards once twitted me
about mamma—who was a sort of cousin to her—having married beneath her.”
“I do not see how that could have been, for the Mr. Gladstone who
married Stella Winthrop was a very wealthy and important man in the
county of Devonshire—at least, I was told so—and if your father was his
son, he might have married almost any one he chose, and have conferred
an honor in so doing. But this is not telling you my story.
“When Stella Winthrop was of your age, and I three or four years older,
we met at a large reception in London. That meeting was fatal to us
both, for we loved from that hour as true lovers ever love. For six
months the world was like Paradise to us, and then I was called away to
the far East on business for the firm with which I was connected. I am
an American, but most of my life has been spent abroad.
“If I was successful in my business undertaking, it was agreed that I
might claim my bride when I returned at the end of two years. The vessel
on which I sailed was wrecked—I have had more than one such experience
you see, my dear—and it was reported that every passenger on board was
lost, while only a very few of the crew lived to tell the story of the
disaster. But I was fortunate enough to secure a large cask, and with
this I managed to keep afloat for two days, when I was picked up by a
sailing-vessel bound for the Philippine Islands.
“My first work upon reaching land was to write to Stella and tell her of
my safety; but my letter never reached her. I also notified the firm
that I was all right, and should proceed directly about the business
upon which I had been sent, but they knew nothing of my connection with
Miss Winthrop, and accordingly did not communicate with her. I kept
writing at intervals to my beloved, but never heard anything in return.
At last, in despair, I wrote to the firm, telling them of my engagement,
and asking them to notify her of my safety and give her my address in
case she should have happened to lose the one I had given her. In reply,
they said that the Winthrop family had gone abroad for an indefinite
stay. Of course this was a great trial to me, and I was exceedingly
impatient; but my two years were over at last, and I turned my face
toward England once more. I had succeeded in my business beyond my most
sanguine expectations, and I looked forward to the immediate fulfillment
of my hopes when I should return.
“My first duty on reaching London was to acquaint my employers with the
result of my transactions, and my next thought was for Stella—my bright
Star. Never for an instant had I doubted her fidelity; I believed she
would be as true to me as I was to her, and my heart beat high with hope
as I bounded up the familiar steps leading to her home and rang the
bell. I asked for Miss Winthrop of the maid who answered my summons, and
she stared at me as if she thought me demented.
“‘Miss Winthrop?’ she repeated. ‘There is no Miss Winthrop, sir; she was
married and went away nearly a year ago.’
“‘Married!’ The word was like a thunderbolt to me, and in an instant all
the light went out of my life—my heart was paralyzed. I staggered from
the place, and hid myself from every one for a week. Then I gained
something of calmness and courage to go out among my friends and try to
learn how it happened that Stella Winthrop had married. As I told you
before, it was reported that every passenger on the vessel in which I
sailed was lost. Those of the crew who were saved affirmed that such was
the case, and my betrothed had believed that I was dead.
“She grieved herself almost to death over my loss, and her parents,
fearing they would lose her also, took her abroad and traveled for many
months. It was during this absence that the firm received my letter
relating to her, but were unable to learn her address, as she was moving
from point to point, and so could not communicate with her.
“Six months after learning my fate, she met Mr. Gladstone in Paris. He
fell in love with her, and offered himself to her. He was a gentleman in
every sense of the word, was kind and sympathetic, and she liked him as
a friend. She told him the story of her grief, and that she could never
marry. He did not sneer at her ‘girlish folly,’ as many would have done,
but comforted her, speaking so kindly and regretfully of me that he won
even a warmer place in her heart. He was patient with her, and when at
length a second time he asked her to marry him, she told him that she
could never love him as she had loved me, but if he could be content to
take her with what respect she could give him, and the duty she would
strive to yield him, she would become his wife. He told her he would be
content, and they were married—a year and three months after I sailed on
the fatal voyage.
“They traveled several months longer, and when at length on their return
to London, only three or four months before I arrived there, she learned
that I had not perished, but was soon expected back, the shock nearly
killed her a second time. Her husband was all kindness and attention,
took her immediately away again, and showered everything that wealth
could buy upon her; and after a time children were born to her, and
those new ties aroused her to her sense of duty as a mother. I never saw
her, for I had not courage to look upon her dear face, knowing that she
was the wife of another; for I never ceased to love her, with an
affection that amounted to idolatry. They told me that she had two
children—two noble boys, one of them resembling her, the other his
father—that she was a tender, faithful mother, and very much beloved by
every one who knew her.
“That was forty years ago, Star, and for thirty I have not heard one
word concerning either her or her family; but I have lived my life out
alone; I could never take any one to my broken heart; and perhaps, if
your belief is true, my child, and I can ever be made clearly to see it,
I may find my lost love somewhere in the great future; but I do not need
to tell you that my past has been one long season of longing and regret,
of sadness and loneliness.”
His voice broke, his lips quivered painfully, and it seemed for a moment
as if he must break down utterly.
Star softly slipped one of her small hands into his, and the sympathetic
little act comforted him greatly. His closed over it in a strong, yet
tender clasp.
“You pity the old man’s weakness, don’t you, dear?” he said, with a sad
smile; “but it is not easy to open the secret chambers of one’s heart
when they have been closed for forty years.
“When I first saw you,” he continued, after a moment, “there was
something in your face that touched me—a light in your eye, a sheen on
your hair, that somehow smote a familiar chord in my heart. I watched
you, although you were not aware of it, and felt sorry for you during
that dreadful storm at sea; for your white face and great, startled eyes
appealed to me as nothing had done for many a year. But I would not
yield to it. I had shut my heart to every one; I had vowed that I would
never love any one again, and I mistrusted every one who sought to win
me to a better mood. But when that lurch of the boat threw you directly
into my arms, and you clung to me in such a helpless way, I could not
resist you, and some good angel prompted me to gather you close to me
and make you rest upon me. When you told me your name, the shock nearly
unmanned me—‘Star Rosevelt Gladstone,’ you said—and I knew as well as if
I had been told, that you were in some way connected with _my_ lost
Star, and I watched over you all the night through, feeling almost as if
some sweet spirit had been sent from her to me, to give me a little ray
of comfort at the end of my long, loveless life.
“When, the next morning, you told me that your grandmother had named
you, and that her name was Stella Winthrop, I had not a doubt; I felt
convinced that you must be the child of one of her sons. You thought it
merely a strange coincidence, but I knew better, and all my boasted
coldness and hardness melted away, and I began to love you then and
there. When that dreadful explosion occurred, and you urged me to save
myself, as ‘doubtless I had dear friends’ and ‘you had no one to love
you’—when you refused to leave me, and took up your station by my side
to die with me, as we both believed, I felt as if something of the
spirit of my lost love was shining through you. Then your tenderness
toward, and your care of me—your heroic self-denial and efforts to save
my life while we were helplessly afloat on the mighty ocean—your sweet
voice singing those hymns of faith and cheer, completed the conquest of
my hardened nature. I can never make you understand how disappointed I
was, on arriving in New York, to find you gone. I meant to tell you
something of myself, and learn your own destination, so that I might see
you once in awhile.
“But I never forgot you; and when I visited my nephew in the West, and
met only coldness and neglect, simply because of my misfortunes, I could
not help contrasting it with your kind attention to an entire stranger.
“I left those heartless people and came to my niece, and met with the
same reception, when before they had always fawned at my feet, flattered
and humored me as if I had been something more than common clay.
“I felt forsaken; no one loved me, no one wanted me; I was a burden and
incumbrance. But just then you appeared to me, and your heavenly
kindness made my poor old heart glow again. Still, I was so embittered
by finding my only brother’s children so heartless and selfish, that I
was not quite sure of you. It made me mistrust everybody, and I feared
you might grow to be like them. But for that I should not have remained
a day beneath Ellen Richards’ roof; I should have gone my own way again
as soon as I became rested and recruited. Do you remember how you came
to me the next morning after my arrival, and cheered me with your merry
chat and your thoughtful little gift? I said, ‘Surely this child must be
artless—she must be true;’ but I resolved to stay awhile and test and
study you, and you have been a blessing to me from the first. My dear, I
began to love you for my lost Star’s sake; now I love you for your own.
There, you have all my story now, and you must go to rest, for to-morrow
will be your birthday, and we must celebrate a little in honor of it,”
Mr. Rosevelt concluded, patting her softly on the shoulder.
Star lifted a flushed and tearful face to his.
“Uncle Jacob!” she cried, tenderly; “it seems as if you are _really_
that to me now; and I am so glad that you have told me how you have
loved my grandmother, and I shall try more than ever after this to make
your life as bright as possible. I do not see how any one could ever
have treated you unkindly or disrespectfully.”
Uncle Jacob smiled fondly at her.
“I know there is one at least who treats me kindly for my own sake, and
who would share all her laurels with me. My child, I was very proud of
you to-night.”
“And I of you,” Star added, quickly. “I never saw you look so nice—so
like an _aristocratic_ old gentleman.”
He laughed, such a bright, hearty laugh that she wondered to see him so
pleased over her little compliment.
“Now, good-night,” he said, rising; “I want you to be as fresh as
possible to-morrow.”
He led her to the door of her room, and then, with a softly breathed
“God bless you!” sought his own.
God bless you! Those words rang in Star’s ears. Was he beginning to
believe in her God, after all? She hoped so—she _prayed_ so.
But she did not go directly to bed, as he bade her; his story had
strangely stirred her heart, and she could not rest until she had
decided some questions that were troubling her.
She opened a drawer of her dressing-case, and taking that worn portfolio
to which we have before referred from it, unlocked it, and drew forth a
sealed package.
“Papa told me to wait until I was eighteen before I opened and read it,”
she said, musingly; “but a few hours can make no difference, and I feel
now as if I must know if he was _her_ son, and why he never would tell
me anything about his family.”
With reverent fingers she broke the seals, a sob rising to her lips as
she thought whose hand had fastened them there, and how tenderly it used
to stroke her hair and call her “My bright little Star.”
The package contained several papers, and it took her more than an hour
to examine them; but when she had read them through, there was a look of
wonder in her large blue eyes and an almost blank expression on her
white face.