THE LAWYER’S REBUKE.
There was something strangely familiar about that slight, graceful form
and in those lustrous eyes—in that golden-crowned head, and the now
happy, smiling lips.
“Miss Gladstone, I am very glad to meet you,” she began, as she
cordially put out her hand to her; then turning abruptly, and speaking
with a slightly startled accent, she added:
“Archie, surely I have met her before?”
“Yes,” he answered, his face glowing; “I see that you have recognized
her.”
“Star,” and the tender inflection on that name told his mother
everything, “she has seen the picture that I painted when I was in
America, and she has now discovered who the original is.”
“Yes, my dear,” Lady Sherbrooke added, while she studied the beautiful,
flushed face; “I do recognize your countenance, and I am quite proud of
my son’s achievements as an artist. You are an American, I believe. I am
very happy to welcome you to England.”
Star’s heart beat rapidly at this cordial, almost tender greeting, and
wondered if she was indeed the same girl who, feeling so wretched and
forlorn, had entered that room only two hours before.
“No, mother; Miss Gladstone is not an American,” Archie explained. “She
is an English lassie, and we met on shipboard while crossing the
Atlantic; but more of that story anon,” he said, significantly. “Now,
will you entertain her for a few moments while I go and find Vivien?”
“With pleasure,” Lady Sherbrooke responded, her heart bounding to hear
those clear, joyous tones ringing through her son’s voice—sounds which
she had not heard before since his first return from America; while she
said to herself:
“This is the girl whom my son loves and will choose for his wife;” and
her heart warmed toward Star as it never had done before toward another
outside of her own family.
After finding his sister and taking her back to Star and his mother,
Lord Carrol sought Mr. Rosevelt and had a long talk with him, explaining
to him, as he had to his dear one, the unfortunate circumstances which
had conspired to separate them, and learning in return something of
their life during the past fourteen or fifteen months.
After this he rejoined the trio of ladies—those three beautiful women
whom he loved above everything else in the world.
“The ‘story’ that you were going to tell me, Archie, but did not, as you
were called away to London, is told. I read it in your face to-night,
and in that of the beautiful girl to whom you have introduced me. My
boy, I think now that you will be your own dear self once more,” Lady
Sherbrooke whispered, as he came and stood by her side, and his eyes, in
reply, told her more than his lips could have done; but he asked, in a
low, intense tone:
“Is she not rightly named Star?”
“She is charming; I have no fault to find with her personally. But her
family?” she questioned, cautiously.
“Is all right also, mother mine. I will tell you all about it
to-morrow.”
In a distant corner of the room Mrs. Richards and Josephine sat and
viewed this meeting, bitterest envy rankling in their hearts.
The angry girl had sought her mother upon leaving the anteroom, and told
her of Star’s presence there.
“I declare it is more than human nature can bear to be obliged to
encounter her everywhere. And to think that such a miserable,
insignificant little chit as she was when she came to us should win game
after game from us. She is a proverbial checkmate, I believe,” Mrs.
Richards said, complainingly. “But even if she does become Lady Carrol,”
she added, “I shall take care that she does not outshine us. Thank
fortune, we shall have a handsome income to flourish upon.”
“I hate her—I hate them both! and I wish I were _dead_!” Josephine
cried, passionately.
When Mr. Rosevelt, Lord Carrol, and his party were about retiring, they
encountered the Richardses in the great hall.
Mr. Rosevelt took no notice of them, although he would have greeted Mr.
Richards had he been with them, and they guiltily avoided him.
The young lord bowed coldly, and would have passed on, but Josephine, in
a sudden fit of desperation, laid her hand upon his arm, saying, in low,
fierce tones:
“I give you joy of your chambermaid bride! But beware! You will not feel
quite so jovial when all London rings with the fact that the proud Lord
Carrol has married a common house-servant!”
“Miss Richards,” he returned, haughtily, “even such a statement of facts
could not injure the fair, pure woman whom I have chosen for my wife;
but allow me to say that if you are so ill-disposed as to publish
anything of the kind, you will find, to your sorrow, that the shafts
from your venomous tongue will only serve to poison still further your
own life.”
“We shall see!” she sneered.
“You will find,” he went on, as if he had not heard her, “that Miss
Gladstone is so far above you, both morally and _socially_, that it does
not lie in your power to do her the slightest injury.”
“We shall see, my lord!” the maddened girl repeated, vindictively; but,
without giving her time to say more, his lordship passed on to Star’s
side, and drawing her hand within his arm, led her away to her carriage.
* * * * *
The day came at last which was to decide Mrs. Richards’ claim to the
Thornton estates, and, according to appointment, she repaired to the
office of Compton & Bailey, in the highest of spirits, dressed in the
most magnificent style, and accompanied by Josephine, clad with equal
richness, and her husband.
“Well, Mr. Compton, my probation is ended at last,” she said, gayly, to
that gentleman, as she entered, and greeted him with her most gracious
manner.
“Ahem! I suppose we may say that it is,” he returned, in a strangely
embarrassed way.
“Well, then, I presume there is no need of further delay, and we can
take possession of the late Sir Charles’ property as soon as we choose,”
she remarked, too deeply engaged with thoughts regarding her own
brilliant future to notice his manner.
“Ahem!” the lawyer repeated, an uneasy expression on his face; “I _did_
expect that I could tell you to-day everything was all right and you
could go down to Halowell Park as soon as you liked; but——”
“But what?” Mrs. Richards demanded, with some show of impatience. “It
appears to me that you are somewhat mysterious this morning, when
heretofore you have acknowledged my relationship to Sir Charles Thornton
to be proved beyond a doubt.”
“Yes, madam, you have clearly proved, it cannot be contested, that you
were a relative of the late baronet’s; but—I am sorry—it will be a great
disappointment to you, doubtless, to learn at this late day that another
party has put in a claim for the estate, as being the nearest of kin.”
The lawyer heaved a sigh of relief when he had stumbled through this
piece of ill-news.
“What?” almost screamed Mrs. Richards, reeling where she stood.
She had never even thought of such a calamity.
“There is no nearer relative living,” she continued, with pale lips.
“You yourself said you were convinced of that.”
“And so I was, a month ago, madam; but I have been obliged to change my
opinion since then.”
“What—what has changed it?” she asked, trembling with fear and
excitement.
It would be too dreadful now, when the prize was almost within her
grasp, to lose it, and to be obliged to return poor and disappointed to
America.
“You remember, perhaps,” the lawyer said, avoiding meeting her eyes, for
they were wild in their expression, “that I told you that Sir William
Thornton—the late Sir Charles’ father—had a younger brother, Albert by
name——”
“Yes, but you said that he left home years ago to go as a missionary to
some outlandish place, where he died,” interrupted the anxious woman.
“Where it was _supposed_ he died,” said Mr. Compton, with significant
emphasis.
“Did he not die?—is he living?—has he returned?” his client gasped.
“No; he died some years ago; but he left a child. That child is living,
and has put in a claim for the estate.”
“But you told me he left no issue——”
“It was all supposition, madam, since we could learn nothing to the
contrary; but we have recently learned our mistake.”
“He shall not have the property; he may be an impostor. I shall contest
the point,” Mrs. Richards said, with frantic vehemence.
“Ellen, do be reasonable,” said her husband, sternly.
“Unfortunately for your peace of mind, madam, it is a point that cannot
be contested,” returned Mr. Compton; “and, if you will give me your
attention for a few moments, I will explain it to you.”
With a groan, Mrs. Richards sank into a chair, more wretched than she
had ever been in her life.
“Your mother,” began the lawyer, also seating himself, and motioning Mr.
Richards and Josephine to do the same, “was half-sister to the late Sir
Charles’ mother. That made her half-aunt and you half-cousin to him.
That relationship, however, would have been near enough to give you the
property had no nearer claimant appeared. Sir William Thornton, the late
Sir Charles’ father, and Albert were own brothers; consequently, the
child of Albert would be own cousin to the late Sir Charles, and being a
descendent on his father’s side, by far the nearest of kin. Have I made
it clear to you?”
He glanced as he spoke at Mr. Richards, who nodded, while his wife
covered her face and groaned aloud.
“Now,” resumed Mr. Compton, “I will tell you, in as few words as I can,
the story of this younger brother, Albert Thornton. He was quite a
number of years Sir William’s junior, and at an early age dissented from
the established church and religion of his ancestors, and insisted upon
going as a missionary to Africa. This so enraged his father that he
disowned him, charging him never to show his face inside his ancestral
home again. Deeply wounded, but still adhering to his convictions of
duty, he went to Africa, but was obliged to return to England again in
the course of a couple of years, on account of failing health. He did
not, however, present himself in the home from which he had been
banished, for this neither his pride nor his wounded heart would allow
him to do. He therefore settled in a distant county, where he had charge
of a small parish at a merely nominal salary, during the remainder of
his life. Not long after his return he married a gentle and lovely girl,
and one child was born to them, who, recently seeing our advertisement
for the nearest of kin to Sir Charles, has presented a claim for the
estate.”
“Who is this child?—where is it?—where did it come from at this late
day?” questioned Mrs. Richards, who felt as if all the world was
slipping away from her.
“Wait one moment and I will introduce you,” the lawyer said, as, rising,
he gently retired to his inner office.
He returned almost immediately with a lady on his arm. Mrs. Richards
started to her feet and uttered a piercing scream the moment her eyes
fell upon her.
The lady was Star Gladstone!
“That girl again!” shrieked Mrs. Richards. “You don’t mean to tell me
that _she_ is the heir to Sir Charles Thornton’s property?”
“Yes, madam, this young lady and no other; but I was not aware that you
had the honor of her acquaintance,” responded Mr. Compton, with some
surprise, as he led Star to a seat.
“But her name is Gladstone——”
“Have a little patience and I will explain still further,” interrupted
the lawyer, who was beginning to be disgusted with one who gave way so
to passion.
“Miss Gladstone tells me that she has been known by that name all her
life; that until her eighteenth birthday she was not aware that she was
entitled to any other. But her father left a package of papers at his
death, containing a history of his life, with all the necessary proofs,
but charged her not to open it until she was eighteen years of age. In
this he related what I have already told you, and also the fact that
when he was a child, his father, through the death of a relative,
succeeded to the title and estates of the Thorntons of Devonshire, upon
condition that he assumed the name. Such things happen often here in
England, you know, as in the case of Lord Carrol, whom you are
acquainted with. When the elder Mr. Gladstone, or Thornton, died, of
course William, his eldest son, succeeded to the baronetcy. Albert, the
second son, upon his return and settlement in a parish of Derbyshire,
gave his name as Rev. Albert Gladstone, and under this name married a
Miss Chudleigh, who was also discarded by her family for wedding a poor
dissenting clergyman—one who was deemed far beneath her socially, as no
one suspected his connections with the Thorntons. After her death, and
when Mr. Gladstone found that he also had not long to live, he said he
could not reconcile himself to the thought of giving his orphan daughter
to the care of those to whom he had been a stranger so long, although
his own blood flowed in their veins; so he arranged to send her to a
distant relative of his mother’s in America, who agreed to take charge
of her and her education for her sake. This last, however, Miss
Gladstone has told me, and her residence in that country at the time of
the death of the late Sir Charles, and her ignorance regarding her
relationship to him, accounts for the fact that we have but just
discovered her claim. Everything is as plain as black and white can make
it. We have looked up the records, and find they correspond with the
papers in her possession, and among which is a certificate of her
parents’ marriage, and one of her own baptism, together with other
important documents; and now, I think, you cannot fail to perceive that
Miss Gladstone, being Sir Charles Thornton’s _own_ cousin, is the
nearest of kin, and we shall therefore be obliged to give her claim the
precedence. I regret, madam,” the lawyer concluded, in his blandest
tones, “that we did not learn of this in season to save you the trouble
and expense of such a long journey. However, I trust that you have
reaped enjoyment sufficient from the trip to compensate you in a measure
for your disappointment.”
Mrs. Richards looked blankly from one to another of the occupants of
that room, as if she could not, even yet, comprehend the magnitude of
the calamity which had so unexpectedly overtaken her.
“I do not believe one word of it. It is all a piece of fraud to cheat me
out of my rights,” she cried at length, while her own blazing eyes
threatened to annihilate the beautiful girl, her successful rival, who
sat opposite with downcast eyes, and feeling really sorry, in spite of
all that she had suffered at Mrs. Richards’ hands, for her distress over
this terrible defeat.
“Do not allow yourself to become unreasonable over the matter, madam, I
pray. There has not been, I assure you, even the suspicion of a fraud,”
Mr. Compton said, his own eyes beginning to take fire at this assertion.
“The papers are all there on my table; everything has been written out
in the plainest manner, and copies made of all the records which go to
prove what I have told you. You can examine them, if you choose; but
there cannot be the slightest doubt regarding Miss Gladstone’s claim.
She alone inherits everything belonging to the late Sir Charles
Thornton.”
“Oh, she has been the bane of our lives; she has ruined and upset every
plan that we have made since the day when she first set foot in our
house—since she came to us like the beggar that she was,” sobbed the
wretched woman, giving way utterly to her misery.
“Ah! then _you_ are the woman to whom Albert Thornton confided his
orphan daughter when he knew that he could not live?” said Mr. Compton,
quickly, his keen mind at once grasping certain facts which Star, from a
feeling of delicacy, had withheld from him, when, to her surprise, she
learned that Mrs. Richards had also come to England to claim the
Thornton estates.
“That has nothing to do with the case. She has _ruined_ us, and that is
enough to think about for one day, I should imagine,” she retorted,
angrily, and flushing.
“Ellen!” and Mr. Richards spoke very sternly; “you are as unreasonable
as a child. Star has been kindly disposed from the first. It is _you_
who have tried to ruin _her_—who have oppressed and sought to degrade
her in a way that is a shame to you and your promises to her dead
father. It is a bitter thing to be obliged to condemn my own wife thus
publicly, but I cannot calmly listen to your calumniations of her, for,
instead of being our ruin, she has been our salvation. Only this fall,
when my business was tottering, and my reason with it—when I was upon
the verge of bankruptcy—of self-destruction—I confess it with shame and
sorrow now—_she_ came to me like a beam of light and saved me from
becoming both a bankrupt and a suicide. She gave me, or caused to be
given to me, a check for ten thousand dollars, which set me upon my feet
again. She spoke, too, such solemn, gentle words to me as I shall never
forget, and which kept me from the horrible pit into which I was
stumbling, and we owe all that we are and have to her. To go still
farther back, you owe your life to her mother. Josephine was saved from
a dreadful death by Star’s bravery; and, instead of hating her because
unforeseen circumstances have raised her to a high social position, we
should rejoice that it is so. Star, my dear girl, you have at least one
grateful heart in my family.”
He went over to her side and put out his hand to her, though he was so
deeply moved that it shook like a leaf, and she took it with streaming
eyes, and wholly unable to utter a single word in reply.
What a wreck that heartless woman had made of his life, she thought. He
was naturally a kind and tender-hearted man, and deserving of a better
fate than had been his.
But his wife bridled angrily, losing all control over her tongue.
“I wish I had never set eyes on her face; and I wish your hand had been
palsied before it ever took that ten thousand dollars from her. She came
into our family and stole your heart from me by her arts and sly
speeches; she wheedled out of Jacob Rosevelt the fortune that should
have been mine; she tricked Josephine out of the man who should have
married her—who _would_ have done so but for her; and now she has come
to steal the inheritance which ought to have been mine. I _hate_ her,
and I _curse_ her from the bottom of my heart!”
“Then you are a thoroughly bad woman, and I am thankful that Sir Charles
Thornton’s estate is to pass into more worthy hands. Much as I
sympathize with and respect your husband, madam, I cannot permit my
young client to be insulted in my presence, and I have the honor to wish
you a very good-morning.”
Mr. Compton said this very spiritedly, his fine face flushing with
indignation, his lips curling with contempt, while he walked to the door
of his office and held it open, with such an air of stern determination
that Mrs. Richards did not dare to disregard this very emphatic
invitation to take her departure, and she walked wrathfully, but utterly
crushed by her bitter disappointment, from the room.