“Oh, it’s Jane! Come on!” called Judith, dragging in her wake such of
the girls as she could collect from the study hall. “Come on and hear
all the news.”
At that moment the party from New York, Mrs. Weatherbee, Jane and their
distinguished guest, Mme. Nalasky, were being shown in to the halls of
old Wellington. There, just across the polished floor within the
confines of the cozy office, Helen and her guest awaited, expectantly,
and with evidence of suppressed excitement.
“Here we come!” announced Jane, who led the way. “Helen—you here? We
stopped at your house,” then seeing the strange young man, Jane
repressed her joyous enthusiasm.
Madam Nalasky was holding back a little, at the urgent request of her
secretary, Marie, who openly rebelled that Madam should so endanger her
voice with all this excitement. Mrs. Weatherbee was saying a private
word with Miss Bennet, and that left Jane with Helen and the stranger.
Jane had volunteered to go on ahead to prepare Helen for the news. She
stood now, debating how to undertake her task.
“Helen, you can never guess who is here?” she finally blurted out in
true school girl fashion. “Have you ever heard of the fairies?”
“Of a fairy godmother—yes,” replied Helen with surprising promptness.
“I want to introduce to you. Miss Allen, my childhood
friend—Stanislaus,” she said simply.
The young man bowed, and Jane smiled, as she accepted the introduction.
But her eye was over her shoulder on the door where Mme. Nalasky was
being held back.
“Oh, Helen, I am all excited,” admitted Jane. “We have such wonderful
news. We have found—guess whom?”
“Oh, not my Matka! Do not tell me my dreams are all come true. It
cannot be my mother!” and Helen, too overcome to say more grasped Jane
and clung to her, trembling visibly.
“There is a lady here who cannot wait another moment to see you, may
I——”
But the tide could no longer be stemmed and in rushed Mme. Nalasky.
“My baby! My own darling!” exclaimed the singer, brushing into the room
and embracing the astonished Helen.
Jane drew back, and stood near Stanislaus, who was viewing the scene
with quite as much astonishment as it were possible for a young man to
experience. At the moment Jane could not refrain from indulging her
old-time delight of clapping her hands. As if that were a signal,
Judith and her followers actually entered the room in battle formation.
Mrs. Weatherbee was about to expostulate, when Madam Nalasky turned
smiling to the group.
“Ah, this is all too beautiful! Like a grand opera climax. I would not
have the young ladies leave, if you please, madam,” to Mrs. Weatherbee.
“May they not all hear our wonderful story? I think of a certainty, the
companions of Miss Allen must indeed be worthy of so much pleasure.”
Judith almost chuckled. Jane dragged her in nearer and squeezed her
hand. Drusilla, Dicky, Weasie, Gloria, besides all the others waiting
impatiently in the big hall could hear their invitation to take part in
the climax of the grand opera. Helen was dumbfounded. She stood staring
at the woman beside her, as if she could not trust her senses. Then
Marie, the faithful protector of talent, stepped up and deliberately
led her mistress to a chair. Madam did sit down. She knew Marie’s
power, but from the small throne she might still direct that girls’
opera.
She motioned Helen to come nearer, and then begun in true stage fashion
to unfold the tale.
“This little girl,” she said, “is my own sweet daughter. When I left
her in Petrograd at a conservatory she was in the care of the very
wonderful man, my uncle. I had been—somewhat with the nobility, was
obliged to leave the beautiful Poland, and too soon my kind old
uncle—he who had taken Helka to watch over, was gone also!”
Stanislaus stood there like a guard, Jane thought, and as Madam
described the scene it was truly one of dramatic value.
“When my uncle was gone, my baby was lost to me entirely. I had no way
of finding her as these Russian artists who wanted her for her talent
had put her in another conservatory. She showed talent so early in her
baby life when her dear father would play his beloved violin,” she
paused at this memory, then proceeded. “I searched the whole country
and at last found she had come to America.”
She stopped while Stanislaus was exchanging significant looks, but he
did not venture to interrupt the narrative. Jane was having all she
could do to keep the girls in check, for Judith tugged at her sleeve.
Weasie had pulled off her coat, while Gloria was making such eyes,
across the room, poor Jane felt almost helpless, under the silent
demands of her constituents. She wigwagged, and blinked, but had no
reason to believe they would restrain themselves if this recital did
not soon come home to Jane.
“When I found she came to America I followed,” went on Madam. “But not
one word was I able to get of the child until to-day, this wonderful
young girl came to me to ask me to sing at this concert—” indicating
the surrounding as Wellington. “How, can you say, she was not sent to
me directly, when all these years I have sought in vain, and every clue
I would come to I soon would lose in some mysterious way—perhaps always
arranged by those enemies?”
“May I speak, Madam—Matka?” Helen corrected herself. “You do not know
how I reached America. It was through this young man, who like me was
left at that awful conservatory. He got the passports and I came to
America with him and his good old aunt.”
Everyone now turned to the embarrassed Stanislaus.
“But that was very little, Madam,” he said with his gallant sweeping
bow. “I only got the passports and we came here to study more safely. I
had hoped to reach my good old friend, Madam Strutsky, but she had
gone, my aunt had found the school for young ladies, and there Helka
went. From there I also lost her.”
“Helen! Helen!” exclaimed Jane. “How could we guess we had such a lost
and found girl among us?”
“Ah, but my friend,” and Helen stepped forward, still keeping up the
stage effect, “I have been through much trouble, and have found many
friends, but it was Jane Allen who saved me when all the others were so
far away. Even my good, kind Stanislaus had left me for the time, when
she came, and everyone here knows how she has quietly worked to keep me
from despair in the dark hours.”
“Please! please!” interrupted Judith. “If I do not speak, Mrs.
Weatherbee, something dreadful will happen. You see, I was with Jane
from the beginning of this episode, and I feel I should be permitted to
say something for the girls. You would not close a scene like this
without a chorus?”
“Judy!” begged Jane, thinking of that dreadful glee stuff about the
girl, and her name was Jane, “Please don’t start any cheering.”
“Oh, _no_,” but her voice said “Oh, _yes_.” Then, “You just wait until
the girls get their breath. I am emoting like a six cylinder.”
Jane glanced over the heads of those surrounding her, and in the hall
caught sight of Marian Seaton’s face. It was strained and saddened, and
the look returned to Jane’s pleaded silently for the unhappy outcast.
“Oh, Marian,” called Jane instantly. “Do come in and let us tell you
that the story in the _Bugle_ helped wonderfully to untangle—the
tangle. After all, it did no damage, but good.”
“But the good came through you,” said Marian, entering the room. “Jane,
I am sorry, and have told Helen so.”
“Now, come on, girls, and all join the circle,” exclaimed Jane, smiling
as she took Marian’s hand. “We will have a wonderful time after
dinner.”
THE END