A DECLARATION.
Arriving at Mr. Loring’s, Geoffrey sent his name up to the young ladies,
and a few minutes later Gladys came down alone.
How his heart bounded as she came tripping into the room, looking as
fresh and lovely as the morning itself.
She was dressed in a morning robe of white flannel, relieved by quilted
facings of pale blue silk, and fastened at the waist with a cascade of
ribbons of the same hue.
Her hair was carelessly knotted at the back of her head, where it was
pinned with a small shepherd’s crook of silver, while a few light rings
clustered lovingly about her forehead.
In spite of the dissipation of the previous evening, her eyes were
bright as stars, her cheeks flushed, and her manner animated.
“Dear old Geoff,” she cried, springing forward with a glad smile to meet
him, “I imagined you were on your way back to New Haven, to bury
yourself in Greek verbs and Latin nouns! What good fairy has sent you
here instead?”
“Love!” was on Geoffrey’s lips as he gathered both her hands in his, but
he restrained the word, and replied:
“Oh, I wanted to have a little talk with Uncle August, and so concluded
to remain over another day. I have come to act as your escort home.”
“How good of you! I was dreading to go alone.”
“How is your friend this morning?”
“Addie? poor child! she is laid up with a wretched headache; the dancing
and excitement were too much for her. Mrs. Loring was obliged to go out
early to her dressmaker, and as Addie is compelled to keep very quiet in
a darkened room, I was having quite a solitary time of it when you were
announced,” Gladys explained.
Geoffrey was secretly delighted at this, although sorry for Miss
Loring’s indisposition.
The coast was clear, so to speak, for him, and yet, now that everything
seemed so propitious for his suit, he almost feared to put his fate to
the test.
“I regret your friend’s illness,” he said, “but you are as bright and
fresh as if you had not lost an hour of sleep.”
“Yes, I do not feel in the least wearied,” Gladys returned, “and I had a
most delightful time. But the best of all was to have you here, Geoff. I
began to fear my evening was to be spoiled, you were so late.”
“Was my presence so necessary to your enjoyment?” the young man
earnestly questioned, a quick flush rising to his brow, as he searched
her lovely face.
“Indeed it was; I had set my heart upon having you here—it was almost my
first appearance in society, you know. How did I behave, Geoffrey?—like
a novice?” Gladys asked, archly.
“No, indeed; you were quite the woman of the world, and entertained your
admirers as composedly as if you had been accustomed to such homage for
many a season. Do you imagine that you would enjoy a fashionable life,
Gladys?”
“I think I would enjoy social life, to a certain extent, but I would not
care to devote all my time to keeping up style, or to live in a
fashionable whirl continually,” she replied, thoughtfully.
“And yet you are eminently fitted for just that kind of a life,”
Geoffrey said, thinking how few there were who could compare with her.
“How so?” she asked, flushing slightly.
“You are beautiful and graceful; you have winning manners and a
cultivated mind; you would shine anywhere,” he answered, an earnest
thrill in his voice.
“Flatterer! not one of my ‘admirers,’ last night, paid me such a tribute
as that,” retorted the fair girl, with a merry laugh, “and it is quite
unusual, I believe, for one’s brother to be so complimentary.”
“You forget, Gladys, that I am not your brother,” Geoffrey returned,
gravely, and wondering that she should have spoken thus, for she had
very rarely assumed that there was any kindred tie between them.
She could not have told herself what made her use the word, and she
remembered how she had repudiated Mr. Mapleson’s assumption of such a
relationship; but somehow, though her own heart thrilled to Geoffrey’s
assertion that he was not her brother, a sort of perverseness took
possession of her, and she continued, in the same strain, with a
half-injured air and a bewitching pout:
“One would think that you were rejoiced over the fact, to remind me of
it in such a way.”
“I am rejoiced over the fact.”
“Why, Geoff! After all these years!” and Gladys looked up in genuine
surprise, for the restraint that he had been imposing upon himself had
made his tone almost stern.
“Yes, after all these years; Gladys,” he went on, eagerly, feeling that
the supreme moment of his life had come, “can you conceive of no reason
why I should be glad? As a boy, before I realized what you would become
in the future, I was proud and happy to be allowed the privilege of
regarding you as my sister; but as a man I exult in the fact that no
kindred ties bind us to each other, for in that case I should have no
right to love you as I do, and my life would be bereft of its sweetest
hopes.”
Gladys darted one quick, searching glance into his face as he uttered
these impassioned words; then a burning blush suffused her face, and her
eyes drooped in confusion before the ardent light in his.
“Have I startled you, my darling, by this confession?” Geoffrey went on.
“Have you never suspected how I have been growing to love you day by
day? At first, as I told you, I regarded you in a brotherly way. I was
delighted with your beauty, I was proud of your intellect. I loved and
reverenced you for your goodness and gentleness to me, and your patience
with me as an ignorant, simple-minded boy; but, as I grew older, a
deeper, more sacred love took possession of me, until I came to realize
that my future would be a miserable blank unless I could win your own
heart’s best love. I do not forget that I am nameless, dear, that I am
only a stray waif whom your father rescued from a hapless fate. I have
nothing to offer you save my great love and an energy and resolution
which will enable me to overcome every obstacle for your dear sake. Does
your heart respond to my plea, my darling? Can you give me a deeper and
holier love than that of a sister for a brother, and some day, when we
are both through with our studies, when I can obtain a position worthy
of your acceptance, become my cherished wife?”
He reached out, took the hands that lay clasped upon her lap, and drew
her gently toward him.
She lifted her sweet face to him for one brief instant, and their
glances met, soul answering to soul.
“Geoffrey! you have fairly taken my breath away,” Gladys whispered, “and
yet—and——”
His clasp tightened about her hands.
“‘And yet’—Gladys—what?” he breathed, eagerly.
Her bright head drooped lower to hide the crimson in her cheeks, but
there was no shrinking from him, as there must have been had not her
heart responded to his appeal.
“And yet, I know that you are far dearer to me than a brother could ever
be,” she confessed.
He dropped her hands, and the next moment his arms were around her.
He drew her close to his wildly bounding heart and laid her head upon
his breast.
“My own darling! that means that you love me even as I love you! Oh,
Gladys, how I have longed to hear this confession from your lips, and
yet I have never dared to betray the affection that has become a part of
my very life.”
“Haven’t you, Geoff?” Gladys asked, a mischievous smile wreathing her
red lips, which, however, he could not see.
“No; for I felt that it would not be right to do so. I feared that Uncle
August would feel that I had betrayed his confidence, and taken an
unfair advantage of his kindness. Besides, it galled me to feel that I
had nothing to offer you save my nameless self, without any definite
expectations for the future.”
“You imagine that you have been exceedingly circumspect, don’t you,
dear?” and now a pair of merry eyes were raised to meet his.
“Have I not? Have you suspected anything of this before, Gladys?” he
asked, quickly, a vivid crimson suffusing his face.
“I shall have to confess that I have—in a measure,” she replied.
“When? What made you?”
“Just before you went to college, when you told me that you were glad
you had been cast adrift upon the world.”
“I remember—when I said but for that I should never have known you. It
was very hard for me, then, not to tell you how well I loved you, but I
believed I did conceal it. Did it trouble you, Gladys?”
“N—o; still I was taken by surprise. I had never thought of loving you
in that way, or of your regarding me other than as a sister,” Gladys
replied, gravely.
“Then it set you thinking and you have been learning to love me since
that time?” Geoffrey asked, fondly.
“Not exactly ‘learning to love,’ Geoff, but I began then to realize the
fact that I did love you,” the young girl confessed, with brilliant
cheeks.
Geoffrey bent and kissed her red lips.
“Darling, I am glad I did not dare tell you then—I should have been very
premature,” he said, tenderly.
“How does it happen that you have ‘dared’ even now?” she asked,
roguishly.
“Because I confessed everything to Uncle August this morning, and he
bade me come and win my bride if I could,” was the smiling retort.
“Geoff! did papa say that,” cried the young girl, growing crimson again.
“Yes, those very words. Uncle August is a kingly man, and his permission
to let me speak to you has raised me from the depths of despair to the
very heights of joy.”
“Oh, Geoffrey, what an ardent figure of speech!” laughed the happy girl.
“Indeed it is not a figure at all, you sweet, brown-eyed fay. I did not
sleep a wink last night for wretchedness of mind.”
“And all for nothing, Geoff.”
“It was the fear of losing you, my darling. When I saw you so admired in
these very rooms last night, I said to myself, ‘some one else will win
her before I shall have any right to speak so,’ after lying awake all
night, I desperately resolved to make a clean breast of everything to
Uncle August. If he had told me he was unwilling to give you to me I
should never have come to Brooklyn again.”
“Geoffrey,” cried Gladys, clinging to him, “you would not have left us
like that.”
“I should, dear,” he answered, firmly; “I could not have remained in the
same house with you and know that I must never, by either word or look,
reveal the love I bear you. But all that is past. Uncle August seems
even happy in the prospect of our union. You love me—you are sure you
love me well enough, Gladys, to become my wife, with no regret
for—anything?” he pleaded, bending to look searchingly into her eyes.
“Yes, I am sure, Geoffrey. I have never tried to analyze the affection
which I have always cherished for you, but I know, now, that it has not
been of that calm nature which a sister would feel for her brother. I
have been happier at your coming, I have been lonely and have drooped
whenever you went from home, and I can understand now why it has been
so,” Gladys answered, dropping her head again upon her lover’s breast.
“My own darling! How wonderful it is that this priceless boon should be
granted me to crown all the other good gifts that I have received,” he
said, in a thrilling voice; then added: “But, Gladys, I must remind you,
as I have already reminded your father, that you will have to become the
wife of a nameless man. Will that never trouble you?”
“Surely, the name that my father has bestowed upon you will do very
well, will it not?”
“That was just what he also said, dear; but will the mystery that
enshrouds me never make you uncomfortable or unhappy?”
“No; I am well content with you just as you are.”
“But—have you never thought that there may be some story of wrong—of
shame, even—connected with my early life? If we should discover it to be
so, some time in the future, would you not regret having given yourself
to me. Gladys, dear as you are to me, I could better face a separation
now, than such a regret by and by.”
“Such a story of wrong could never harm you, dear Geoff. All the shame
or guilt, if any, would rest upon others—the perpetrators of it. But I
have no fear that you will ever be troubled by any such discovery. I
believe you will yet learn your parentage and feel honored by it.
However, it will never change or mar my love for you,” Gladys replied,
with grave earnestness.
Geoffrey’s face was luminous.
“This noble spirit is just what I might have expected from you, Gladys;
yet, I confess, I am very sensitive over the mystery of my birth, and I
should never have been fully satisfied without knowing just how you feel
about it. Oh, my love, the future looks very bright before us, though
the next two years will seem very long to me.”
“Why, Geoff! I thought study was a positive delight to you,” Gladys
returned, in surprise.
“And so it is, but it frets me to feel that, even after I get through
college, it will perhaps be years before I can attain a position that
will warrant me in asking Uncle August to give you to me finally.”
“What kind of a position would satisfy your conscientious scruples,
Geoffrey?” Gladys asked, demurely.
“I would not feel willing to take you from a home of affluence to one of
poverty—you must never miss the luxuries to which you have been
accustomed,” he said, thoughtfully.
“Do you expect to find the treasure of a Monte Cristo somewhere?” his
companion asked, in the same tone as before.
“Oh, no; I expect to provide a home and competence by my brains and
hands; but it will take time——”
“How much?”
“Years perhaps.”
“How many?”
“Five or six, maybe, if I am successful; more if I am not; I shall start
off to ‘seek my fortune’ just as soon as I can take my degree.”
“Meantime, what is to become of your humble servant?”
“You?—why, Gladys, you will have your home and friends the same as now.”
“And you will be out in the world, somewhere, working for me?” she said,
sitting erect and turning her gaze full upon him.
“Of course; that is to be expected; doesn’t it please you?”
“No. I am no hot-house plant that requires a tempered atmosphere in
order to thrive and grow! Do you think that I can afford to let you
spend the best years of your life away from me, toiling to give me
luxuries, while you deny yourself even the comforts and companionship of
a home? My father and mother began life in an humble way, and built up
their fortune together. I am of no finer clay than they or you; if I am
not calculated to share your burdens as well us your pleasures, I am not
worthy to be your wife at all,” Gladys concluded, with an energy and
decision that made Geoffrey regard her with surprise.
“Why, Gladys, what would people think of me if I should ask you to marry
me before I could provide you with a comfortable home?” he asked.
“I do not expect you will do that; but comfort and elegance are not
necessarily one and the same. With the comfortable home provided, we
will begin life together, and win our luxuries and elegance hand and
hand; it is not a mutual love where one gives all and the other
nothing.”
“My darling, I had no idea there were such intensely practical ideas in
this small head of yours,” said Geoffrey, laughing, but with a very
tender face.
“Had you not? Well, then, perhaps, I may astonish you again some time,”
she returned, laughing, too. “But,” she added, “I think we are both
rather premature in our plans, considering that we have two years more
of school before us. Besides, it is time I was getting ready to go home
with you, and we must not sit here talking longer.”
Later in the day the lovers returned to Brooklyn, where they were
received with many smiles and significant glances, for both August
Huntress and his good wife were greatly delighted by the prospect of a
union between these two, upon whom all their fondest hopes had so long
been centered.