"TRUE LOVE NEVER DOES RUN SMOOTH."
Miss Rogers was quite overcome by the hearty welcome she received from
David Moore, the old basket-maker, and Bernardine, his lovely daughter.
It went straight to her lonely heart, because she knew it was genuine
friendship untainted by mercenary motives.
She shared Bernardine's humble yet dainty apartment, and fell quite
naturally into being a member of the household.
There was one thing which puzzled her greatly, and that was, the sighs
that would rend sweet Bernardine's breast while she was sleeping.
"The girl has some secret sorrow which she is hiding from the world,"
she thought, anxiously. "I must find out what it is."
She had been an inmate of Bernardine's home for a week before she
learned that the girl was soon to be wedded. Bernardine's father told
her, hinting triumphantly that that event would mean the dawn of a more
prosperous future for the family, as her intended husband was very
rich--had money to burn.
"Don't say much about him to Bernardine," he added, quickly; "for she's
not in love with him by any means."
"Then why is she going to marry him?" asked Miss Rogers, amazedly.
"He has money," replied David Moore, nodding his head wisely; "and
that's what sharp girls are looking for nowadays."
"I thought love was the ruling power which moved young girls' hearts,"
responded Miss Rogers, slowly. "At least, it used to be when I was a
young girl like Bernardine."
He laughed uneasily, but made no reply, as Bernardine entered the room
at that instant with an open letter in her hand.
"Jasper Wilde has returned to the city, father," she said, tremulously,
"and--and he is coming here this evening to see us."
As the girl uttered the words, Miss Rogers was quite sure she could
detect the sound of tears in her quivering voice.
"I am very glad," replied David Moore, endeavoring to speak lightly. "I
shall be mighty pleased to see my prospective son-in-law."
Bernardine drew back quickly, her lovely face pitifully pale, then
turned abruptly and hurried from the room.
Miss Rogers followed her. The girl went to her own apartment, threw
herself on her knees, and burying her face in the counterpane, wept such
bitter, passionate tears that Miss Rogers was alarmed for her.
"You poor child!" exclaimed Miss Rogers. "Sit down here beside me, and
tell me the whole story--let me understand it."
"I can not tell you any more. I met one whom I _could_ love,
and--we--parted. I sent him away because my father had declared that I
should marry this other one."
"Because of his wealth?" said Miss Rogers, in a strangely hard voice.
"No, no! Do not do my father that injustice. It was not because of his
wealth. I--I should have had to marry him had he been the poorest man in
the city."
"It is cruel, it is outrageous, to ask a young girl to marry a man whom
she detests. It is barbarous. In my opinion, that is carrying parental
authority too far. This marriage must not take place, Bernardine. It
would be wicked--a sin against God."
Although Miss Rogers did her best to probe into the mystery--for
Bernardine's sake--the girl was strangely obdurate. So she said no more
to her on the subject just then; but when she approached David Moore on
this topic, his incoherent replies puzzled her still more.
"I am much obliged to you for taking such an interest in Bernardine's
affairs; but let me warn you of one thing, Miss Rogers, while you are
under my roof, don't attempt to meddle with what does not concern you in
any way. By heeding my remark, we shall keep good friends. This marriage
must take place. The young fellow is good enough, and she'll get to like
him after awhile. See if she doesn't."
The harsh, abrupt manner in which he uttered these words told Miss
Rogers that little hope could be entertained from that source.
Bernardine had almost cried herself ill by the time Jasper Wilde's knock
was heard on the door.
Mr. Moore answered the summons.
"Is there any use in my coming in?" asked Wilde, grimly, coming to a
halt on the threshold. "Does your daughter consent to marry me? I could
not make head or tail out of your letter."
"Bernardine's answer is--yes," murmured the old man, almost
incoherently. "She consents for _my_ sake; though Heaven knows I'm not
worth the sacrifice."
"_Sacrifice!_" repeated Jasper Wilde in a high, harsh voice. "Come, now,
that's too good. It's me that's making the sacrifice, by cheating the
hangman and justice of their just due, Moore; and don't you forget it."
Sooner than he expected, Bernardine made her appearance.
Jasper Wilde sprung up to welcome her, both hands outstretched, his eyes
fairly gloating over the vision of pure girlish loveliness which she
presented.
She drew back, waving him from her with such apparent loathing that he
was furious.
"I do not pretend to welcome you, Jasper Wilde," she said, "for that
would be acting a lie from which my soul revolts. I will say at once
what you have come here to-night to hear from my lips. I will marry
you--to--save--my--poor--father," she stammered. "I used to think the
days of buying and selling human beings were over; but it seems not. The
white slave you buy will make no murmur in the after years; only I shall
pray that my life will not be a long one."
Jasper Wilde frowned darkly.
"You are determined to play the high and mighty tragedy queen with me,
Bernardine," he cried. "Take care that your ways do not turn my love for
you into hate! Beware, I tell you! A smile would bring me to your feet,
a scornful curl of those red lips would raise a demon in me that you
would regret if you aroused it."
"Your hate or your love is a matter of equal indifference to me,"
returned the young girl, proudly.
This remark made him furious with wrath.
"You love that white-handed fellow whom I met the last time I was here.
That's what makes you so indifferent to me!" he cried, hoarsely. "Speak!
Is it not so?"
"Yes," replied Bernardine, cresting her beautiful head, proudly. "Yes, I
love him, and I do not fear to tell you so!"
"Then, by Heaven! I will kill him on sight!" cried Jasper Wilde. "I will
not brook a rival for your affections! The man you love is doomed!"