“I PROMISE.”
On returning to New York, Star learned that Ralph Meredith had sailed
for Europe a couple of days before their arrival.
The week that they had promised themselves for rest at home proved to be
a busy one instead, for considerable preparation was necessary for the
long journey they were contemplating, as it was to occupy three or four
months.
Star was glad to be at home again, and went flitting about the house,
full of business and life.
One day they were out making a few necessary purchases, when suddenly,
in one of the stores, they came upon Mr. Richards.
He looked aged and care-worn, neglected and unhappy. His face lighted
with momentary pleasure, however, when he caught sight of Mr. Rosevelt
and Star, and he came forward to greet them with extended hand.
“I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you once more,” he said,
heartily. “I am not going to reproach you either for running away from
us, for, unpleasant as it is for me to say it, I could not blame you
under the circumstances. But it is only within a week or two that I have
learned of the change in your life; and, Uncle Jacob, I am sincerely
glad that you did not lose your fortune, as we supposed.”
“Thank you. Then you do not feel aggrieved over the ruse I played upon
you?” replied Mr. Rosevelt, regarding him searchingly.
“Not at all; it was no more than right that you should wish to know who
was worthy to be your heir,” but he sighed heavily as he spoke, as he
remembered how unworthy his wife had proved herself to be.
“How goes the world with you?” Mr. Rosevelt asked, and noticing the
return of the care-worn look to Mr. Richards’ face.
“Rather discouragingly just now. I have met with some pretty heavy
losses lately; don’t know whether I shall be able to pull through all
right or not. A couple of weeks will tell the story, however.”
He spoke in a desperate tone, and there was a look in his eyes that made
Star shudder and involuntarily draw closer to Mr. Rosevelt.
“You don’t mean that you are in danger of going under?” he said, in
surprise, and remembering how his wife and daughter had flourished at
Newport.
“Just that,” Mr. Richards returned, nervously; “but if it was not for
the horror I have of debt, and the thought that others must suffer
through me, I would gladly lay down my arms and give up the battle; I am
tired to death of this endless struggle to keep up appearances. But,” he
added, trying to speak more cheerfully, “I won’t bore you with my
troubles. How well you are both looking; and Star—they tell me _you_ are
the author of ‘Chatsworth’s Pride.’ I declare I was never prouder of
anything in my life when I heard it. I always knew you’d make your mark
in the world.”
Star colored. She was a trifle sensitive regarding compliments of this
kind, and never talked about her book if she could help it, except with
those whom she was sure were her true friends.
But she thanked him gracefully, and then turned the conversation to some
other topic, while all the time she was wondering if there was not
something that she could do to help or comfort him in his trouble.
“Now that I have found you,” he said, later, “tell me where you live and
I will come to see you. I will not invite you to Brooklyn,” he
continued, with a frown, “for I know you could not come there with any
comfort, though I should be glad enough to see you there.”
While he was speaking, Star had drawn a little back, so that Mr.
Rosevelt was between her and Mr. Richards, and he could not see her face
at all.
“Uncle Jacob,” she whispered, close to his ear, “cannot we do something
to help him out of his trouble? He looks so wild and desperate that he
frightens me. He was always kind to me, and I’ll willingly give up
California or anything else you please.”
Jacob Rosevelt’s face flushed hotly at these words, and a strange gleam
came into his fine eyes. He appeared to take no notice of her plea, but
after giving Mr. Richards their street and number, continued:
“If you have no other engagement, George, come up and dine with us
to-night, and see how cozy we are. We have dinner at six, and as we
leave for California on Wednesday night, I am afraid we shall not see
you again.”
George Richards caught his breath with a sudden gasp at this
intelligence, and Star noticed again that frenzied gleam in his eyes
which had made her heart throb painfully.
“California, do you?” he said, trying to speak steadily. “Well, I will
come, of course, then; for life is uncertain, you know, and I may never
see you again,” he added, with a harsh, grating laugh. “Thank you for
the invitation, and as I have no engagement, I will be on hand in season
for dinner. But I must be off now, for I have agreed to meet a couple of
gentlemen at twelve, and it only wants fifteen minutes of that now.”
He lifted his hat and bowed to them, then turned away; but the
white-haired gentleman and the beautiful girl who stood looking after
him saw the aged, dejected look return almost instantly to his face, and
heard the heavy sigh that escaped his lips, telling of some fearful
burden of care that was wearing his life away.
“So you want me to help George Richards out of his trouble, do you,
Star?” Mr. Rosevelt said, on their way home, and his eyes rested fondly
on the graceful figure sitting by his side, driving her pretty gray
ponies.
“Perhaps it was presuming in me to ask you to do so, Uncle Jacob,” Star
answered, gravely, and flushing a vivid crimson; “but I feel very sorry
for him. He was kind to me in many ways while I was living with his
family, and but for him I should have been made a common servant.”
When George Richards was ushered into Jacob Rosevelt’s luxurious and
cozy dining-room that evening, where the table was laid with exquisite
taste for three, his eyes lighted, and the look of care vanished as if
by magic from his face.
Three times after dessert Star made Mr. Richards let her fill his tiny
cup with the delicious coffee; then she playfully told him that she
should not give him any more, but if he would come into the library, she
would try and see what she could do toward intoxicating him in some
other way.
“I have not forgotten how fond you are of music,” she added, smiling,
“and I want you to tell me if you do not think I have improved some
since you last heard me play.”
She slipped her hand through his arm and led him into the library, while
Mr. Rosevelt watched her with humorous eyes as she performed this labor
of love.
Seated at the piano, she whiled away another hour, making George
Richards forget everything disagreeable, and appear the pleasant, genial
gentleman whom she used to know.
“‘Richard is almost himself again,’ I think,” she thought, with a happy
little smile, as once, after a comic song which she sang to him, he
leaned back in his chair and laughed long and heartily.
But this could not go on forever, and finally Mr. Rosevelt gradually led
him to talk business, and asked him to tell him just what his trouble
was.
This changed everything, and he became at once the anxious, care-worn
man again.
“I do not like to trouble you, Uncle Jacob,” he said, uneasily. “You
have had your day of business, with all its cares and perplexities,
without bothering your brain with those of other people. I’m in a
terrible muddle, it is true; but—I guess there will be _some way_ out of
it;” and there came into his eyes that same wild, desperate look which
Star had noticed in the morning, and which made her shudder with a
terrible fear.
But Mr. Rosevelt insisted, and finally drew from him a true statement of
facts.
“I am sorry you are having such a hard time of it, George,” he said,
thoughtfully, when he had concluded. “How much would it take to relieve
you of your embarrassment?”
Mr. Richards cast a startled look at the old gentleman at this question;
then, while a deep flush mounted to his brow, he said:
“I can raise enough to meet all my present liabilities with ten thousand
dollars. I have tried to borrow it everywhere, but everybody seems to
have become suddenly shy of me for some reason, and I might as well be
without a dollar in the world as without the whole amount. If I _could_
raise it, it would set me on my legs again, for my credit would be good,
and, with care and patience, I believe I could retrieve my position.”
Star almost held her breath while she waited for Mr. Rosevelt’s reply to
this.
To her infinite surprise, he turned to her.
“My dear,” he said, gently, “you shall return some of the kindness of
which you told me this morning. I think you understand what I want you
to do.”
He glanced as he concluded toward the private drawer in his desk, where
he always kept his check-book, and she knew that he wanted her to go and
fill out a check for the amount that Mr. Richards had named.
She arose, went to the desk, unlocked the drawer with trembling fingers,
and drew forth the book.
Opening it, she filled out a check, as she had often done for him during
the last few months, then tearing it out, carried it to him, with a pen
filled with ink.
He turned it over and wrote his name on the back without a word, and
then returned it to her to sign.
She took it mechanically, but stood irresolute for a moment, looking at
him, while her cheeks grew crimson.
“Give it to him, dear; it is to be your gift,” Mr. Rosevelt said,
glancing at Mr. Richards, who sat staring at them both in blank
amazement.
A brilliant smile parted Star’s red lips; she shot a grateful look at
Uncle Jacob, and advancing to their visitor’s side, laid the check down
before him.
One glance at the figures, and the overburdened man bowed his head upon
the table with a groan.
“I cannot take it! I cannot take it—and from _you_, of all persons!” he
said, brokenly.
“Why not from her?” Mr. Rosevelt asked, huskily. “All that I have
belongs to this dear girl, and, as I have told her many times, I live
only to make her happy. _She_ asked me to do this to-day after we had
met you, because, she said, you had been kind to her in the past, and
she longed to help you out of your trouble. So take it as her gift, my
boy; make the best use of it that you can, and welcome.”
George Richards groaned again, while he reached forth and grasped the
old man’s hand, wringing it in silent gratitude, yet overwhelmed with
shame and remorse as he remembered all that he and the fair-haired,
gentle girl standing beside him had suffered while they were members of
his family.
He had no words of thanks to offer for this generous help in time of
need, but if ever a world-weary heart was relieved of a burden too heavy
to be borne, his was, when at length he folded that precious bit of
paper and put it away for future use.
When he arose to take his leave, he took both of Star’s hands in his and
drew her aside, where he could speak to her alone.
“But for you,” he said, in unsteady tones, “I should have been a ruined
man a week hence. To tell you that I am _ashamed_ to receive this gift
from you does not express half what I feel, when I look back and
remember your position in my family. But you have bestowed it so kindly
and delicately that it would be churlish in me to refuse it; and you
have taught me a lesson which, God helping me, I will never forget—a
lesson of forgiveness and charity; and _no one_ in my house shall ever
be treated unkindly again, no matter what their position may be,” he
concluded, with stern resolution.
“Please forget all the past, Mr. Richards,” Star returned, sweetly, but
with evident embarrassment. “I never entertained any feeling save that
of gratitude and good-will toward you, for you proved yourself
interested in my welfare in more instances than one while I was with
you. But,” she added, solemnly, while she clung tightly to his hands,
and looked into his eyes with an expression which made them droop
guiltily before her, “will you not promise me that, no matter how dark
the future may be to you, no matter what trials or disappointments may
come to you, you will never again meditate _doing yourself an
irreparable wrong_?”
A streak of dusky red shot across the man’s forehead, while his veins
filled out hard and full.
“Star,” he stammered, “what do you mean?—what do you know?”
“_You_ know what I mean. I read it in your eyes, I heard it in the tones
of your voice this morning. But, oh! my friend,” and her voice was full
of tears, “remember that you are ‘bought with a price’—you are _not your
own_. Promise me.”
He raised her hands and kissed them reverently, and two hot tears rolled
over his cheeks and dropped upon them in the act.
“I promise,” he whispered, hoarsely. “My child, I should indeed have
been ruined, body and soul, but for you. God bless you!”
Star and Mr. Rosevelt followed him to the door as he went out, both
trying to cheer him with kind wishes for the future.
“Good-night and good-by,” the young girl said, in tones that sounded to
him like an angel’s voice, as she stood in the door-way and watched him
go down the steps. “Be sure to come and see us again when we return; the
latch-string is always out, as they say at the West, for our friends.”
A mighty sob burst from the overcharged heart of George Richards as he
reached the street, and the tears—tears of mingled remorse, gratitude,
and relief—rolled thick and fast over his face.
“Thank God,” he murmured, fervently, “for the light of that ‘star’ in
the midst of what was worse than Stygian darkness. But for its friendly
beams and cheering influence, I should have been lost indeed.”
He had proceeded some distance, when he stopped short and seemed about
to retrace his steps.
“How thoughtless of me!” he muttered, impatiently. “I meant to tell her
all about Lord Carrol. He deserves to be set right with her, and she
deserves—well, _nothing_ can be too good for her; but they knocked
everything out of my head by their unexampled generosity. I will not go
back to-night,” he added, after thinking a moment; “I will write her
to-morrow the whole story.”
But the morrow brought its busy cares and perplexities, and his
resolution was forgotten. After that it was too late, for he did not
know where to address her during her absence; and so Star still believed
her lover to be false, and still mourned her shattered idol.