OVER THE WORLD.
"They stood apart.
Like rocks which have been rent asunder,
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The works of that which once hath been."
COLERIDGE.
"Oh, Warren, what is fame compared to what I have found to-day?" she
said, sweetly. "What is fame, and wealth, and all worldly honors,
compared to a brother's love? But one thing more is needed now to make
me perfectly happy."
"I know what you mean, Georgia--your husband. Is it possible you care
for _him_ still, after all he has made you suffer?"
She looked up in his face, and he was answered.
"Then, for your sake, I am sorry he has gone," he said slowly.
"Gone?" she repeated, with a paling cheek. "Gone where?"
"To France, on some important mission from government that no one can
fulfill so well as himself, and--I have not the faintest idea of when he
will return."
"Now that I have told you all that has befallen me," said Georgia, some
half an hour later that same afternoon, as brother and sister sat side
by side at the window, "I want to hear your adventures and
'hair-breadth 'scapes by flood and field' since that sad night long ago,
when we parted last."
"I fear you are doomed to be disappointed, then, if you expect any such
things from me," said her brother, smiling. "My life has been one of
most inglorious safety so far, and I never had a hair-breadth escape of
any kind, since I was born."
"How strange it is that I could ever believe you dead," said Georgia,
musingly. "Miss Jerusha, too, to use her own words, constantly averred
that you had 'got taken in somewheres,' and never would hear for a
moment that you had perished in the storm."
"Well, Miss Jerusha was right," said Warren, "though really I need not
thank her for it, as I am quite certain, from your description, she is
the old lady that turned me out that same night. However, I forgive her
for that, and owe her a long debt of gratitude besides, for all she has
done for you. You remember, of course, Georgia, the company we used to
act with?"
"Yes, perfectly. Don't I remember my own performances on the tight-rope
and on horseback as the 'Flying Circassian?" she said, smiling.
"Well, when the old lady turned me off that night, I never felt more
like despairing in all my life. I was wretchedly clad--if you don't
remember it, _I_ do--and it was bitterly cold. Still, I would not go
back without help of some kind, so I staggered on and on through the
blinding storm, until at last, benumbed and helpless, I sank down on the
frozen ground, as I thought, never to rise again."
"Poor little fellow!" said Georgia, sadly, in whose mind the image of
the slight, delicate boy he was then rose uppermost.
Warren laughed at the epithet applied to one who stood six feet without
his boots, and went on:
"I suppose I had fallen into that sort of stupor which precedes freezing
to death, and was unconscious; but when next I awoke to the realities of
this exceedingly real world, I was in bed in a meanly furnished room,
and the first face I beheld was that of Betsey Stubbs, Georgia--the one
who used to figure on the bills as Eugenia De Lacy?"
"And always played the artless little girl, although she was thirty
years old," said Georgia, laughing. "Oh, I remember her."
"Well, there she was, and there I was with her, and with the company
again. It turned out that two of the men were passing along the road,
returning to the village--what do you call it?--Burnfield, and stumbled
over me, lying stiff and nearly frozen on the road. They knew me
immediately, and carried me off to where the rest of them were; and it
was resolved that they should decamp with me, for that old tyrant of a
manager thought it too much of a good thing to lose three at once. So,
in spite of my tears, and cries, and struggles and entreaties, I was
forcibly carried off a little after midnight, when the storm cleared
away, and brought back to the city.
"Well, Georgia, for nearly another year I remained at our old business,
and with the old set, too closely watched to think of escaping, and to
escape from them was now the sole aim of my life. The opportunity so
long sought for came at last. One night a chance presented itself, and I
was off; and fickle fortune, as if tired of making me a mark to poke fun
at, came to my aid, and I made good my escape from my jealous
guardians. For hours I wandered about through the city, until at last,
worn out and exhausted, I curled myself up on the marble door-steps of
an aristocratic mansion, and fell fast asleep.
"A hand grasping my shoulder and shaking me roughly awoke me after a
time, and as I started up, I heard a gruff voice saying:
"'Hallo! you little vagrant, what are you doing here?'
"I rubbed my eyes and looked up. An old gentleman, who had just alighted
from a carriage, stood over me, with no very amiable expression of
countenance, shaking me as if he would shake a reply out of me by main
force.
"I stammered out something--I don't know what--and terrified lest he
should give me into the hands of a policeman, I tried to break away from
him and fly; but the old gentleman held on like grim death, and seemed
not to have the slightest intention of parting with me so easily.
"'You're a pickpocket, ain't you?' said he, sharply.
"'No, sir,' said I, half-angrily, and looking him full in the face, 'I
am _not_.'
"'Then what brought you here,' persisted he, 'if you are not a juvenile
thief?'
"'I was tired, sir,' said I, 'and I sat down here to rest, and so fell
asleep.'
"The old gentleman kept his sharp eyes fixed on me as if he would read
me through, with a strange look of half-recognition on his face.
"'Please to let me go, sir,' said I, again struggling to get free.
"'What's your name, boy?' said the old man, without heeding me in the
slightest degree.
"'Warren Randall Darrell,' replied I.
"As if he had been struck, the old man loosened his hold and recoiled;
and I, seizing the opportunity, darted off, but only to find myself in
the grasp of a servant who stood holding the horses.
"'Not so fast, my little shaver,' said he, grinning; 'just you wait till
Mr. Randall's done with you.'
"'Mr. Randall!' repeated I, and instantly a sort of conviction flashed
across my mind that he might be my grandfather.
"At the same instant the old man approached me, and catching me by the
arm, gazed long and steadily into my face, plainly revealed by the light
of a street-lamp. I looked up in his agitated face quite as
unflinchingly, and so we stood for nearly five minutes, to the great
bewilderment of the coachman, who stared first at one and then the
other, as if he thought we had both lost our senses.
"'Tell me,' said the old man, after a pause, 'what was your mother's
maiden name?'
"'Alice Randall,' said I, my suspicion becoming certainty; 'and you are
my grandfather.'
"'What!' he exclaimed, with a start. 'Do you know me? Who told you I
was?'
"'No one,' said I; 'but I think so. My grandfather's name is Warren
Randall, and that is the name on your door-plate there. I was called
after him.'
"'You are right,' said he, in an agitated voice. 'I am your grandfather.
My poor Alice! You have her eyes, boy--the same eyes that once made the
light of my home. Where--tell me where is she now?'
"'I don't know,' said I, half-sobbing. 'She's dead, I'm afraid--she and
Georgia.'
"'Who is Georgia?'
"'My sister.'
"'And your father?' he said, with a darkening brow.
"'Is dead, too; has been dead this long, long time.'
"'And so you are an orphan, and poor and friendless,' he said, speaking
as much to himself as to me. 'Poor boy! poor little fellow! Warren, will
you come and live with me--with your grandfather?'
"I thought for a moment, and then shook my head.
"'No,' said I, 'I can't. I must find my mother and Georgia.'
"'Where are they?' he said, eagerly. 'I thought you told me they were
dead.'
"'I said I didn't know, and I don't. They may be dead, for it is over a
year since I saw them last. I was carried away from them by force, and
now I am going to seek for them.'
"'You!' said he. 'How can a little friendless boy like you find them?
No, no, Warren, stay with me, and let me search for your mother. I may
succeed, but you will starve ere you find them, or be put in prison.
Warren you _will_ stay?'"
"And you did?" said Georgia.
"And I did. I answered that what he said was true, and that he was far
more likely to succeed than I was. That night I slept in a princely
home, with servants to come at my call--with every luxury to charm every
sense around me. Was not that a sudden change, Georgia, from the
miserable quarters of the players?"
"Yes, indeed," said Georgia. "And what change did it make in you? Did
affluence spoil you?"
"It might have, if I had stayed long enough there," said Warren,
smiling, "for I, with all my perfections--and if you want a list of
them just ask Miss Felice Leonard--am not infallible. I gave him my
history, and he dispatched a trusty messenger to Burnfield, and upon his
return he told me that both my mother and sister were dead. I believed
him then, but I have since thought that, finding you provided for, he
wished to keep me all to himself, and make me his sole heir.
"I had so long thought, Georgia, that you and my mother were dead that
the revelations did not take me by surprise, and though I grieved for
awhile, the novelty of everything around me kept my mind from dwelling
much on my bereavement. My grandfather told me he intended to send me to
school, and, when he died, make me his sole heir, on condition that I
would drop the detested name of Darrell and take his. Not being very
particular about the matter, I readily consented, and two months
afterward I was sent to old Yale, where he himself had been educated,
there to be trained in the way I should go.
"Well, Georgia, I remained there four years, and won golden opinions
from the big wigs of the institution, and delighted the heart of my kind
old grandfather by my progress in the arts and sciences. A letter
announcing his sudden death recalled me at last. I hurried back to New
York in time to follow him to the grave, and, when the will was read, I
found myself sole heir to his almost princely wealth.
"Then I went to Europe and Asia, and saw all the sights, from the
pyramids of Egypt down, and wrote a book about my travels, as every one
does now who goes three yards from his own vine and fig-tree. Then I
came home, and lo! before I have been here three months, I find that my
sister, who was dead, comes to life again, and so--_finis_!"
"You should add, 'And they lived happy for ever after,'" said Georgia,
smiling, "only, perhaps, it would not be strictly correct. And now that
you have found your sister, what do you mean to do with her?"
"Make her mistress of the palatial mansion of the Randalls," said
Warren, promptly, "and settle one-half my fortune on her. _That_, Madam
Wildair, is my unchangeable intention."
"Oh, Warren, dearest. I will never hear of such a thing!" said Georgia,
vehemently.
"Well, if you will excuse me for saying so, I don't care in the least
whether you will or not--I shall do it. Not a word now, Mistress
Georgia; you will find that you will have to obey your brother, since
you have found him, and do for the future exactly as he tells you.
Besides, Georgia, Warren Randall's sister shall never go back penniless
to her husband," he said, proudly; "he shall find her his equal in
wealth, as in everything else."
"Oh, Warren!" she said, with filling eyes.
"Not a word about it now," he said, putting his fingers over her lips;
"to-morrow the world shall know you as you really are."
"Warren, listen to me," she said, taking his hand. "Until I meet
Richmond again, I intend to keep my _incognito_. Perhaps you may call it
an odd fancy, but I really wish it. No one yet knows my secret but Mr.
Curtis, Mr. Leonard, and Richmond's brother, and if I wish it they will
keep it a secret. Let me still be Miss Randall until he comes."
"But when will he come?" broke in Warren, half impatiently; "who knows?
It may be years or--Georgia," he added, suddenly, "suppose we go to
_him_, eh? When the mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go
to the mountain--rather that style of thing, isn't it? What do you say
to a trip to France, _ma belle_?"
"Oh, Warren!" she cried, catching her breath, her whole face growing
radiant with delight.
"I am answered," he said, gayly; "this day week we start."
"For where, may I ask?" said Mr. Curtis, lounging in. "Your chateau in
Spain? or on a wild-goose chase?"
"Something very like it," said Warren, laughing. "We are off to France,
in search of one Richmond Wildair, plenipotentiary and ambassador
extraordinary to the court of that distant and facetious region."
"Whew!" whistled Mr. Curtis, "I see, says the blind man. What a thing
conjugal affection is, to be sure! When do you go?"
"This day week, in the Golden Arrow. And for some inscrutable feminine
reason Georgia wishes you to preserve her secret inviolable until she
returns. She is still Miss Randall; you understand? You and Mr. Leonard
are not to mention she is Richmond Wildair's runaway wife."
"I'm dumb," said Mr. Curtis, shutting his lips as firmly as though they
were never to be opened on earth again. "Neither tortures, nor anguish,
nor bad pale ale shall tear from this lacerated heart the fearful
secret. Are you going to see after that prize of yours to-morrow, Mrs.
Wild--gee Whittaker! I mean Miss Randall," said he, dropping his tone of
stage agony, and speaking in his natural voice.
"Most decidedly," said Georgia, smiling.
"And then you are going to throw yourself away on our painfully clever
friend Wildair again, and leave all your friends here in Gotham to pine
away, with tears in their eyes and their fingers in their mouths," said
Mr. Curtis, in a lugubrious tone; "it's something I never expected of
you, Mrs. Wil--pooh! I mean Miss Randall, and I must say I, for one,
never deserved it."
"Mr. Curtis, you--you were in Burnfield since I was," said Georgia,
hesitatingly, and coloring deeply; "how was Miss Jerusha and Emily
Murray?"
"Well they were both in a state of mind--rather," said Mr. Curtis. "Miss
Jerusha flamed up, and blew us all, sky high, in fact raised the ancient
Harry, in a way quite appalling to a person of tender nerves--myself,
for instance--and gave Richmond what may be called, without
exaggeration, particular fits! As for little Emily," said Mr. Curtis,
turning red suddenly, "she--she didn't scold anybody, but she cried and
took on so that I felt--I felt a sort of all-over as it were--a very
peculiar feeling, to use a mild phrase, if you observe."
"Dear little Emily," said Georgia, sighing.
"That's just what I said," said Mr. Curtis, eagerly "but she didn't pay
any attention to it. I suppose you know I--I went--I mean I asked--that
is I offered--pshaw! what d'ye call it--proposed," said Mr. Curtis,
blushing, and squirming uneasily in his chair.
"No, I did not know it," said Georgia, with difficulty repressing a
smile.
"But I did though, and she refused me--she did, by Jove!" said Mr.
Curtis, dolorously.
"What bad taste the girl must have," said Mr. Randall.
"You're another," said Mr. Curtis, fiercely; "she's no such thing! How
dare you insinuate such a thing, Mr. Randall? There never yet was born a
man good enough for her; and if you dare to doubt it, I'll be hanged if
I don't knock you into the middle of next week--now then!"
Mr. Curtis was as fierce as a Bengal tiger. Mr. Randall threw himself
into a chair, and laughed immoderately.
"My dear fellow, I cry you mercy, and most humbly beg Miss Emily
Murray's pardon. I look forward some day to being acquainted with her
myself, and if I find her all that you say, I shall consider the
advisability of making her Mrs. Warren Randall."
"You be--shot!" growled Mr. Curtis, striding savagely up and down.
"She's not to be had for the asking, I can tell you; and after refusing
_me_, it's not likely she'd have anything to do with you. Mrs.
Wildair--oh, darn it!--Miss Randall, I mean, when you see your husband,
tell him his mother is very ill, and if he does not hasten home soon he
will not see her alive. A precious small loss that would be though,"
said Mr. Curtis, in parenthesis--"a stiff, sneering, high-and-mighty old
virago! Don't see, for my part, what Rich meant by ever having such a
mother!"
* * * * *
One week later, Warren Randall and his sister were on board the Golden
Arrow, _en route_ for Merrie England. Fair breezes soon wafted them to
the white cliffs of that "right little, tight little" island, and
Georgia for the first time set foot on a foreign shore.
But now, in her impatience to rejoin and be reconciled to her husband,
she would consent to make no stay; so they immediately crossed the
channel into France, and posted at once for Paris. And there the first
news they heard from the American consul was that Mr. Wildair had left
a fortnight before for St. Petersburg.
It was a disappointment to both, a bitter one to Georgia, and Warren
felt it for her sake. To follow him was the first impulse of both, and
they immediately started for the Russian capital.
But fortune still inclined to be capricious, and to doom Georgia's
new-found patience to another trial. Mr. Wildair's political mission
required dispatch, and a few days before their arrival he had gone. From
the minister they learned that his first destination was a return to
Paris, from thence to Baden Baden, and it was more than probable he
would visit London and then return home.
"Well, Georgia," said Warren, "you see fate is against you, and has
doomed you to disappointment. Nothing remains now but to make the best
of a bad bargain and start on a regular sight-seeing tour, and 'do'
Europe, as Curtis would call it. And, after all, perhaps it is for the
best you did not meet him. He is now rapidly rising to political
distinction, and his meeting with you might distract his thoughts, and
would certainly keep him from entering heart and soul into the political
arena as he does now. Besides, having lost you for so long, he will know
how to value you all the more when you do return. Come, Georgia, what
difference, after all, will a year or two make in a life? Don't think of
returning now, but let us continue our tour."
"I am at your disposal, my dear Warren," said Georgia, with a smile and
a sigh. "As you say, after all, a year more or less will not make a
great deal of difference, and I am particularly anxious to continue our
tour. Therefore, _mon frere_, do with me as you will."
With an account of that tour, dearest reader, I will not weary your
patience--already, I fear, too much taxed. All "grand tours" are
alike--the same sights are seen, the same incidents occur, the same
scenery and pictures are looked at and gone into raptures over, and the
same people are met everywhere. The summer was spent traveling slowly
through France and Germany, and the winter was passed in Italy. Early in
the spring they visited Switzerland; and, almost imperceptibly, two
years passed away.
And where, meanwhile, was he whose willful blindness and haughty pride
had brought on his own desolation? Where was he, widowed in fate though
not in fact?--where was Richmond Wildair?
Home again, drowning thought and his intolerable remorse in the giddy
whirl of political life. He had returned in time to close his mother's
eyes, and hear her last words--a wild appeal for Georgia, the wronged
Georgia, to forgive her. And then, with all the power of his mighty
intellect, he had given himself up to the life he had chosen, that life
for which Heaven and nature had so well qualified him--a great
legislator--and that life became to him wife, and home, and all. Already
he had taken his seat in the Senate, and, though perhaps the youngest
there, stood foremost among them all, crowned with his lofty genius as
with a diadem. The knowing ones whispered that at the next election he
was certain of becoming Governor of his native State, and certainly, as
far as popularity went, there could be little doubt of it. Never was
there a young statesman, perhaps, who in so short a time had risen so
rapidly to distinction, and won such "golden opinions" from all sorts of
people.
Of almost all concerning his wife he was profoundly ignorant. One thing
he knew, and that was that she, and no other, had painted the wonderful
picture about which the artistic world was still raving. Hagar, in her
mighty grief and dark despair, the wild, woeful, anguished form writhing
yet majestic in her great wrongs, was Georgia as he had seen her last.
And, as if to make conviction doubly sure, the picture bore her
initials. One consolation it brought to him, and that was that she still
lived. Every effort in human power he had made to discover her, but all
he could succeed in learning was that a tall, dark, majestic-looking
lady, bearing the name of Miss Randall, had received the prize; but
nothing more was known of her. Then he sought for her brother, and heard
he had gone to Europe, but whether alone or not he could not discover. A
score of times within the day would Dick Curtis be on the point of
telling him all, until the recollection of his promise would stop him,
and he would inwardly fume at not having made a mental reservation at
the time. Still, these tortures of doubt, and uncertainty, and hope, and
despair served Richmond just exactly right, he argued, and would teach
him, if he ever did find Georgia, to treat her better for the future.
And so, while Georgia was roaming over the world, Richmond was rising to
still higher fame and eminence in his native land; and neither dreamed
how each had searched, and sought, and sorrowed in vain for the other.