DEFEATED.
When they were within a few feet of the upper door, Mrs. Richards
stepped toward them and stood directly in their path.
The hall was nearly empty, almost everybody being in the parlors or the
dancing-hall, so there was no one by just at that moment to witness what
transpired.
“What does this mean?” Mrs. Richards demanded, in a low but
authoritative tone. “Stella Gladstone, how is it that I find you here?
Uncle Jacob, where have you been all this time, and what strange freak
of fortune brings you here in this unaccountable fashion?”
Mr. Rosevelt started slightly on beholding his niece standing in that
excited attitude directly in his path; while Star grew pale at first,
for she had always stood somewhat in fear of the arrogant woman while
she was an inmate of her house. But remembering that everything was
entirely different now, she quickly recovered herself.
But for all that, she clung a little more closely to Mr. Rosevelt’s arm,
as if she was glad that he was there, though in no other way did she
betray how disagreeable this encounter was to her, or appear as if she
had ever met them before.
“Tell me what this means?” Mrs. Richards repeated, looking from one to
the other, noting Star’s delicate beauty with a pang of bitter jealousy,
her self-possession and grace; Mr. Rosevelt’s improved appearance, his
rich apparel, and more than all, the air of pride and fondness which
pervaded every look and attention which he bestowed upon his companion.
“Well, niece Ellen,” Mr. Rosevelt returned, in a quiet tone, while he
met her eye with a cold, steady glance that made her very uncomfortable,
“it appears that you are considerably excited over this unexpected
meeting. Suppose we retire to yonder anteroom, where we can converse
unobserved.”
He turned and led the way, with Star still upon his arm, to a small room
upon the opposite side of the hall; they entered, and he shut the door,
for he did not care that any one should overhear what passed between
them, nor did he intend that Ellen Richards should do or say anything
which should make them objects of remark.
“Now, Ellen, what is it that I am to account to you for?” he asked, in
the same quiet tone which he had before used.
She colored angrily, but she was determined to get at the bottom of the
matter.
“I have heard strange rumors to-night,” she remarked. “I am told that
Stella has become an authoress—that she is very popular, as well as her
book, and I want to know what it means. A year ago you were both
dependents upon my bounty; now I find you sailing about, like a couple
of meteors, among the other shining lights of society. I want an
explanation of the cause of this change.”
“Certainly, Ellen; since you desire it, I will explain with pleasure. We
left your house last October, as you doubtless will remember, and took
up our abode in New York city. Star entered the Normal College at once,
and by assiduous application to her studies, succeeded in completing the
course, and graduated in June, since when we have been trying to get all
the enjoyment out of life that we could. You have heard rightly, Ellen;
she did write that popular little book, ‘Chatsworth’s Pride,’ and it is
a source of pride to me that I have the honor of introducing in society
its popular author as my ward and heiress——”
“Your _heiress_!” Mrs. Richards cried, growing pale.
“Yes; Miss Gladstone is named as such in my will, which is now in the
hands of my lawyer,” the old gentleman replied, quietly.
His niece looked from one to the other in blank dismay. She had feared
she should hear something of the kind, but it was none the less a shock
to her when it came.
“Your heiress—heiress to _what_?” she demanded, sharply.
“To the whole of my fortune, madam.”
“Your fortune!” she sneered, but her voice was hoarse from passion and
baffled hopes. “A year ago it was—_beggary_!”
Mr. Rosevelt smiled serenely.
“_Apparently_, yes,” he answered. “But I was _then_, what I am _now_—a
millionaire. The mistake of your life-time was made then, Ellen; for if
you had cordially received the feeble old man who came to your house in
such a forlorn condition; if you had given him kindness and sympathy,
such as you were wont to do when he was rich and prosperous; if you had
shown him something of love and tenderness, instead of coldness and
contempt, making him feel that he was a burden and an intruder, _you_
would have had the bulk of my fortune, for your brother had already
forfeited his share. I thought that my final return to this country
would give me a good opportunity to test your and Henry’s sincerity, and
I resolved to do so. I went to him as a poor man; I was received coldly,
and made as uncomfortable as it was possible for any one to be made.
Then I said to myself, ‘Ellen’s womanly heart will prompt her to be kind
to me, if not for my own sake, for her father’s,’ and so I came to you
also in the guise of poverty.”
“It was mean—it was dishonorable to take advantage of me in that way,”
Mrs. Richards said, with white, quivering lips.
“Not at all. I wanted to _know_ you as you were, not what you pretended
to be. I do not need to tell you the result of my plan; we all know it
but too well. No one gave me a word of sympathy or kindness save this
dear girl”—he laid his hand tenderly on Star’s shoulder—“who did her
utmost to make the old man forget as far as was possible his bitter
disappointment, and who had already earned his love and gratitude by
saving his life, almost at the sacrifice of her own, during that
terrible voyage across the Atlantic. She has been like a sunbeam to me
from the first; and when I saw how unkind you all were to her also—how
you were betraying your trust and breaking your promise to her dying
father—I resolved that she should become my especial care for the
future.
“I do not need to recall to your memory the last night that we spent in
your house in Yonkers. It must be as fresh to you as it is to me. You
taunted us both with our poverty and dependence. You drove _her_ to
desperation by your unjust accusations and your heartless language. She
could not endure that kind of a life any longer, and she knew that I
also was anything but happy; so she came to me, told me the secret of
her success as an author, and of the income which her book bade fair to
bring her, and begged of me to go with her to share her substance,
asking in return only the comfort of congenial companionship and the
protection which my presence would give her. I was sorely tempted, as I
have told her, to confess the part I had been playing, and proclaim her
my heiress on the spot. But I thought, considering all things, it would
be better to wait until she was through with school, while I wanted to
study her a little more closely before committing my all to her. She has
stood the test most nobly. She has been the light of our home. She has
labored early and late to minister to my comfort and happiness, and
_now_ she is going to reap her reward. Everything that I _can_ do for
her to make her life bright, I _shall_ do while I live, and when I am
gone, she will have the fortune which, under different circumstances,
would have been mostly yours.”
Mrs. Richards was pallid with anger, mortification, and bitter
disappointment when Mr. Rosevelt concluded.
It was a terrible blow to her to lose this great fortune, and remorse
for her heartless treatment of her uncle was gnawing keenly at her
heart-strings.
Mr. Richards had met with heavy losses in his business of late, and it
was only by straining every nerve, calculating, and contriving, that she
and Josephine had been able to come to Newport at all that season, and
it was simply maddening to think that Star, whom she had so disliked
from the first, should have won, by little acts of kindness, what she
would have spared no pains to secure had she once suspected the truth.
“Well, miss, you have played your cards very cleverly, haven’t you?” she
finally found breath to ejaculate, and turning with blazing eyes upon
the fair girl who, all unwittingly, had usurped her place in her uncle’s
affection and will.
Mr. Rosevelt’s face grew stern.
“She certainly has, Ellen,” he said, before Star could speak, even had
she wished to do so, “especially as she could not, by any means, have
known that there was anything worth winning by her acts of devotion and
self-denial. And now let me tell you, that true kindness and sympathy
will _always_ win, where arrogance and pride will only gain contempt,
and lead to disappointment and regret.”
“Uncle Jacob, you cannot mean what you have said. Surely you will not
discard those of your own blood, your kin, for the offspring of a
stranger!” Mrs. Richards said, appealingly.
Mr. Rosevelt looked down at Star with a tender, tremulous smile.
“The offspring of a stranger!” he repeated, softly; then added: “Ellen,
there is a stronger bond uniting this dear child to me than _ever_ bound
me to either of my brother’s children.”
“What do you mean?” cried his niece, in a startled tone.
“Surely, at _your_ age, you do not contemplate——”
Mr. Rosevelt stopped her with a motion of his hand before she could
complete her sentence.
“No; you are wide of the mark; although I am not surprised that a
designing woman like yourself should jump at such an absurd conclusion.
But, lest you should wound her by your foolish insinuations, I will tell
you that Star is the granddaughter of the only woman whom I ever loved;
and, therefore, you perceive that I had additional cause to be
displeased with you on account of your unkindness to her.”
“Really, Mr. Rosevelt, you have more of sentiment in your composition
than I gave you credit for. There _was_ a love passage, then, in the old
bachelor’s life!” sneered Mrs. Richards while an angry flush mounted to
her brow.
Then, with more bitterness than she had yet betrayed, she continued,
with a look at Star:
“I can congratulate Miss Gladstone upon being more successful in
wheedling you out of your fortune than she was in her maneuvers to
become Lady Carrol.”
This was a cruel thrust, and wholly unexpected on the part of either Mr.
Rosevelt or Star.
A shiver of agony ran through every nerve of her body at this rough
probing of the still unhealed wound, and a painful crimson shot over her
beautiful face.
But it quickly subsided, leaving only the bright spots on her cheeks.
She arose from the chair where Mr. Rosevelt had placed her, drew herself
up proudly, her eyes gleaming as bright as the diamonds in her ears,
and, entirely ignoring the coarse woman’s malicious thrust, she looked
up at her companion, and said, in her clearest, sweetest tones:
“Uncle Jacob, I believe we were going out to see the illumination.”
“True, child, true,” he said, taking her white-gloved hand and laying it
upon his arm, while he cast a dark look upon his niece for her cowardly
attack. “Come, we will go at once;” and with a formal inclination to
Mrs. Richards and her daughter, but with an angry gleam in his eyes, he
led Star from the room, shutting the door, with no gentle sound, after
them.
“Did you ever hear anything like it!” Mrs. Richards said, hopelessly,
after they had gone.
“No, indeed; and it is just as you suspected—he was _playing_ poverty
all the time,” Josephine answered.
“Oh, if I could only have known it!” groaned her mother, to whom the
calamity appeared to grow more appalling every moment.
“He makes a perfect fool of himself over that girl,” snapped Josephine,
ill-naturedly. “Just think of the amount of money it must have cost to
deck her out to-night.”
“I am going back to our hotel,” Mrs. Richards said, rising, with a
desperate air. “I am not going to stay here to see her play the fine
lady and crow over us.”
“I’m ready to go. I’ve had enough of this thing, and I never did like
the —— House very well, anyway,” replied her daughter, in no amiable
tones.