"PRAY, PERMIT ME TO ESCORT YOU HOME," SAID THE HANDSOME STRANGER,
STEPPING TO JESSIE'S SIDE AND RAISING HIS HAT WITH A PROFOUND BOW.
Jessie looked out on to the stage at the very pretty girl at whom her
companion was nodding.
"That is the one you mean?" she said.
"Yes; that's Celey Dunbar," returned her companion; "and I repeat that I
want to warn you about her. Celey was Manager Morgan's sweetheart last
season. We all thought he was engaged to her at one time, but he soon
tired of her. She is as fond of him as ever, though, and she'll make it
hot for you if you don't watch out.
"Now, you see the girl in the long gray cloak, going on with her part
out there? Well, that's Dovie Davis. Her husband is the handsome,
dashing young fellow over yonder, who is to be your lover in the play.
She's as jealous as green-gages of him, and while he is making love to
you, on the stage, she'll be watching you from some entrance, as a cat
would a mouse, and woe be to you if you make your part too real! The
other lady over there is keeping company with that good-looking fellow
she is talking to; so keep your eyes off him.
"The fellow in the long ulster and silk hat I claim as my especial
property. Don't look so dumfounded, goosie; I mean he's my beau. We
always manage to get into the same company, and it would be war to the
knife with any girl who attempted to flirt with him."
"You need not be afraid of my ever attempting to flirt with him," said
Jessie gravely.
"Well, it doesn't come amiss to learn a thing or two in season,"
returned Mally, with a nod. "All theatrical companies pair off like
that.
"The other two young gents who passed by the wing a moment ago, and were
watching you so intently, are married. Now, let me repeat the lesson
again, so as to impress it upon your mind: Celey Dunbar is Manager
Morgan's ex-sweetheart; Mrs. Dovie Davis is married; that gay, jolly
girl is Daisy Lee, the soubrette of the company; she'd cut out any one
of us if she could; but she's so merry a sprite we don't mind her,
especially as none of the fellows take to her particularly."
To Jessie that rehearsal seemed like a bewildering dream. The ladies of
the company looked at her coldly, but the gentlemen were wonderfully
pleasant to her. They talked to her as freely as though they had known
her for years, instead of only an hour. This embarrassed Jessie
greatly; she hardly knew how to take this unaccustomed familiarity.
After rehearsal was over, Manager Morgan took her back to her hotel,
frowning darkly at Celey Dunbar, who made a bold attempt to walk with
them.
"Be ready at seven o'clock sharp," he said, as he left her at the door.
Left to herself when dinner was over, Jessie sat quietly down in her
lonely little room to think.
She wondered how such people as she had met that day could play the
different parts in the beautiful story whose every incident Manager
Morgan had explained to her.
"Certainly it isn't very romantic," she thought, "to have the hero lover
of the play a married man."
Night came at last, and feeling more frightened than she had ever felt
in her life before, Jessie emerged from her dressing-room. Mally Marsh
accompanied her to the wing to see that she went on all right when her
cue was given.
"There's a big house out in front," whispered Mally. "Ah! there's your
cue now."
Out in the center of the stage stood a young man, exclaiming eagerly, as
he looked in their direction:
"Ah, here comes the little society belle now!"
"Go on; walk right out on the stage," whispered Mally, giving Jessie a
push.
Jessie never knew how she got there.
The glare of the foot-lights blinded her. The words her companion
uttered fell upon dazed ears. She tried to speak the words that she had
learned so perfectly, but they seemed to die away in her throat; no
sound could she utter. A great numbness was clutching at her
heart-strings, and she could move neither hand nor foot.
"Aha! our little beauty is stage-frightened," she heard Celey Dunbar
whisper from one of the wings of the stage, in a loud, triumphant voice.
"I am just glad of it. That's what Manager Morgan gets by bringing in a
novice. Ha! ha! ha!"
Those words stung Jessie into action, and quick as a flash the truant
lines recurred to her, and to the great chagrin of her rival in the
wings, she went on with her part unfalteringly to the very end.
Her beauty, and her fresh, sweet simplicity and naturalness quite took
the audience by storm, and the curtain was rung down at length amid the
wildest storm of applause that that theater had ever known.
The manager was delighted with Jessie Bain's success. The ladies of the
company were furious, and they gathered together in one of the entrances
and watched her.
"Stage life is coming to a pretty how-de-do," cried one, furiously,
"when women who have been before the foot-lights for ten years--ay,
given the best years of their lives to the stage--have to stand aside,
for a novice like that!"
"My husband plays altogether too ardent a lover to her!" cried Dovie
Davis, jealously. "I won't stand it! Either she leaves this company at
the end of a fortnight, or my husband and I do; that's all there is
about it!"
This appeared to be the sentiment of every woman in the company, and
they did not attempt to conceal their dislike as she passed them by
during the evening.
Just before the curtain went down, Manager Morgan received a telegram
which called him to Rochester. He had barely time to catch the train,
and in his hurry he quite forgot to leave instructions to have some one
see Jessie Bain to the hotel.
As Jessie emerged from her dressing-room she looked around for Mr.
Morgan. He was nowhere about.
"I thought you'd never come out of your dressing-room, ma'am," said the
man who was waiting to turn the lights out. "Every one's gone--you're
the last one."
"Has--has Mr. Morgan gone?" echoed Jessie, in great trepidation.
"Every one's gone, I said," was the saucy reply.
And the man turned the light out in her face, and she was obliged to
grope her way as best she could along the dark entry. After floundering
about the building for almost ten minutes, until the great tears were
rolling down her cheeks with fright, she at length called loudly to some
one to come to her assistance.
The same man who had turned out the gas on her now came grumblingly to
her rescue. At length she found herself out on the street.
Before she had time to turn and ask the man the way to the hotel, he had
slammed the door to in her face and turned the key in the lock with a
loud, resounding click, and Jessie found herself standing ankle-deep in
the snow-drift, with the wind whirling about her and dashing the
blinding snow in her face.
Suddenly from out the dark shadows of an adjacent door-way sprung a man
in a long ulster.
"Don't be frightened, Miss Bain," he exclaimed. "I have been waiting for
you almost an hour, to see you home."
Jessie started back in dismay. At that instant he half turned, and the
flickering light from the gas-lamp fell full upon his face, and she
recognized him as one of the members of the company--Walter Winans, whom
Mally Marsh had said was her beau.
Even had this not been the case, Jessie could never have admired so
bold-looking a fellow.
"Excuse me, but I am very sorry that you waited for me, Mr. Winans,"
said Jessie, coldly. "I can find my way back to the hotel alone."
"Phew! What an independent little piece we are, to be sure!" he cried.
"You're not expecting any one else, are you?" he inquired looking
hastily around.
"No," said Jessie, simply.
"Come on, then, with me," he said, seizing her arm and fairly dragging
her along.
Discretion seemed the better part of valor to Jessie. She thought it
would not be wise to offend the young man; and, to tell the truth, she
was rather glad to have some one to pilot her along through the terrible
snow-drifts.
"Let me tell you something," said Winans, without waiting for her
answer. "I have taken quite a liking to you, Jessie Bain--this is
between you and me--and I hope very much that the feeling will be
reciprocated, little girl. I'll be only too glad to escort you to and
from the theater every night, if you like. Don't let any of the girls of
this company talk you into the belief that they have any claim on me.
"You must not think it strange that I took an interest in you, little
Jessie, from the first moment I saw you," continued Winans, pressing the
girl's hand softly, as they pushed on bravely through the terrible
snow-drifts. "There was something about you very different from the rest
of the girls whom I have met."
"I trust you will not talk so to me, Mr. Winans," said Jessie.
"But I must," he insisted. "I must tell you all that is in my heart.
Surely you can not blame a fellow so very much for being unfortunate
enough to fall desperately in love with you!"
He had spoken the words eagerly, and it never occurred to him that they
had been uttered so loudly that any one passing might have heard them.
Suddenly from out the shadow of an arched door-way sprang a woman, who
planted herself directly in the snowy path before them.
"Stop!" she cried. "Don't dare advance a step further!" and quick as a
flash she drew a heavy riding-whip from the folds of her cloak. Once,
twice, thrice it cut through the snow-laden air, and fell upon Winans'
defenseless head.
Smarting with pain, he dropped Jessie's arm and sprang forward, and
attempted to wrest the whip from the infuriated young woman's hands.
"Take that! and that! and that!" she cried, again and yet again; and
with each word the blows rained down faster and faster upon his face and
hands.
There was but one way to escape, and that was in ignominious flight.
"So," cried Mally Marsh, as she turned to Jessie "this is all the heed
you paid to my warning, is it? If I gave you your just deserts, I would
thrash you within an inch of your life, for attempting to take my lover
away from me! Now listen to what I have to say, girl, and take warning:
You must leave this company at once. If you do not do so, I will not
answer for myself. Do not make it an excuse that you have no money.
Here!" and with the word she flung a bill in her face. "The depot is to
your right. Go there, and take the first train back to the city whence
you came. Go, I say, while yet I can keep my wrath in check."
Jessie stood there for a moment like one stupefied. She tried to explain
how it had happened, but her companion would not listen and walked away.
As one lost, Jessie wandered to the depot, where a policeman, noticing
her distress, drew her story from her. He said he knew of a most
respectable old woman who was looking for a companion and wrote her name
and address on a piece of paper for Jessie. The policeman readily
consented to allow her to remain in the station until morning. It was a
long and weary wait and at eight o'clock Jessie went to the house to
which the policeman had directed her.
A pompous footman conducted her to a spacious drawing-room, and placed a
seat for her.
After a long and dreary wait which seemed hours to Jessie, though in
reality it was not over twenty minutes, she heard the rustle of a
woman's dress. An instant later, a little white, shrivelled hand, loaded
with jewels pushed aside the satin _portieres_, and an old lady appeared
on the threshold.
Jessie rose hesitatingly from her seat with a little courtesy.
"You came in answer to my advertisement for a companion?" the little old
lady began.
"Yes, madame," returned Jessie.
"Where were you in service last?"
"I have never had a position of the kind before," said Jessie,
hesitatingly, "but if you would try me, madame, I would do my very best
to suit you."
"Speak a little louder," said the old lady, sharply. "I am a trifle hard
of hearing. Mind, just a trifle, I can not quite hear you."
Jessie repeated in a louder tone what she had said.
"Your appearance suits me exactly," returned Mrs. Bassett; "but I could
not take a person into my household who is an entire stranger, and who
has no references to offer to assure me of her respectability."
Jessie's eyes filled with tears.
"I am so sorry," she faltered; "but as I am a stranger in Albany, there
is no one here to whom I could apply for a reference."
"I like your face very much indeed," repeated Mrs. Bassett, more to
herself than to the girl; then, turning to her suddenly, she asked:
"Where are you from--where's your home?"
"A little village on the St. Lawrence River called Fisher's Landing,"
returned Jessie. "My uncle, Captain Carr, died a week ago, and I was
forced to leave my old home, and go out into the world and earn my own
living."
"Did you say you lived at Fisher's Landing?" exclaimed the old lady,
"and that Captain Carr of that place was your uncle?"
"Yes, madame," returned Jessie.