Tears were falling from Bernardine's eyes and sobs were trembling on the
tender lips, she could restrain her feelings no longer, and, catching up
the thin, shriveled-up figure of the dear little old spinster in her
arms, she strained her to her heart and wept.
"Ah, my dear girl. _You_ are the good angel who took me in and cared for
me, believing me to be a pauper.
"And now know the truth, my darling Bernardine. I, your distant
kinswoman, am very rich, far above your imagination. I have searched for
you since that fire, to make you my _heiress_--heiress to three millions
of money. Can you realize it?"
Bernardine was looking at her with startled eyes, her white lips parted
in dismay.
"Now you can understand better why I am here as the guest of Margaret
Gardiner and her proud mother? The wealthy Miss Rogers, of New York, is
believed to be a valuable acquisition to any social gathering. I loved
your mother, my fair, sweet, gentle cousin. I should love you for her
sake, did I not love you for your own."
"You will make the necessary arrangements to leave Mrs. Gardiner's
employ at the earliest moment, my dear, for I wish you to take your
place in society at once as my heiress."
But much to Miss Rogers' surprise, Bernardine shook her head sadly.
"Oh, do not be angry with me, dear Miss Rogers," she sobbed, "but it can
never be. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind
intentions, but it can never be. Heaven did not wish me to be a favorite
of fortune. There are those who are born to work for a living. I am one
of them. I have no place in the homes of aristocrats. One fell in love
with me, but he soon tired of me and deserted me."
"He will be glad enough to seek you again when you are known as my
heiress," declared Miss Rogers, patting softly the bowed, dark curly
head.
"No, no!" cried Bernardine; "if a man can not love you when you are
poor, friendless and homeless, he can not love you with all the
trappings of wealth about you. I say again, I thank you with all my
heart and soul for what you are disposed to do for me; but I can not
accept it at your hands, dear friend. Build churches, schools for little
ones, homes for the aged and helpless, institutions for the blind,
hospitals for those stricken low by the dread rod of disease. I am young
and strong. I can earn my bread for many a long year yet. Work is the
only panacea to keep me from thinking, thinking, thinking."
"Nay, nay," replied Miss Rogers; "let me be a judge of that. I know
best, my dear. It will be a happiness to me in my declining years to
have you do as I desire. The money will all go to you, and at the last
you may divide it as you see fit. Do not refuse me, my child. I have set
my heart upon seeing you the center of an admiring throng, to see you
robed in shining satin and magnificent diamonds. I will not say more
upon the subject just now; we will discuss it--to-morrow. I shall go
down and join the feasters and revelers; my heart is happy now that I
have found you, Bernardine. Early to-morrow morning we will let Mrs.
Gardiner and her daughter Margaret into our secret, and they will make
no objection to my taking you quietly away with me--at once. Do not let
what I have told you keep you awake to-night, child. I should feel sorry
to see you look pale and haggard to-morrow, instead of bright and
cheerful."
With a kiss, she left Bernardine, and the girl stood looking after her
long afterward, wondering if what she had just passed through was not a
dream from which she would awaken presently.
The air of the room seemed to stifle Bernardine. Rising slowly, she made
her way through one of the long French windows out into the grounds, and
took a path which led in the direction of the brook around which the
alders grew so thickly.
She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, she hardly noticed which
way her footsteps tended. All she realized was, that she was walking in
the sweet, rose-laden grounds, away--far away--from the revelers, with
the free, cool, pure air of Heaven blowing across her heated, feverish
brow.
"An heiress!" She said the words over and over again to herself, trying
to picture to herself what the life of an heiress would be.
If she had been an heiress, living in a luxurious, beautiful home, would
Jay Gardiner have deserted her in that cruel, bitterly cruel, heartless
fashion?
She never remembered to have heard or read of the lover of a wealthy
heiress deserting her. It was always the lovers of poor girls who dared
play such tricks.
How shocked Jay Gardiner would be when he heard that she was--an
heiress!
Would he regret the step he had taken? The very thought sent a strange
chill through her heart.
The next instant she had recovered herself.
"No, no! There will be no regrets between us now," she sobbed, hiding
her white face in her trembling hands. "For he is another's and can
never be anything more to me save a bitter-sweet memory. To-night I will
give my pent-up grief full vent. Then I will bury it deep--deep out of
the world's sight, and no one shall ever know that my life has been
wrecked over--what might have been."
Slowly her trembling hands dropped from her face, and, with bowed head,
Bernardine went slowly down the path, out of the sound of the
dance-music and the laughing voices, down to where the crickets were
chirping amid the long grasses, and the wind was moaning among the tall
pines and the thick alders.
When she reached the brook she paused. It was very deep at this
point--nearly ten feet, she had heard Miss Margaret say--and the bottom
was covered with sharp, jagged rocks. That was what caused the hoarse,
deep murmur as the swift-flowing water struck them in its hurried flight
toward the sea.
Bernardine leaned heavily against one of the tall pines, and gave vent
to her grief.
Why had God destined one young girl to have youth, beauty, wealth, and
love, while the other had known only life's hardships? Miss Rogers'
offer of wealth had come to her too late. It could not buy that which
was more to her than everything else in the world put together--Jay
Gardiner's love.
The companionship of beautiful women, the homage of noble men, were as
nothing to her. She would go through life with a dull, aching void in
her breast. There would always be a longing cry in her heart that would
refuse to be stilled. No matter where she went, whom she met, the face
of Jay Gardiner, as she had seen it first--the laughing, dark-blue eyes
and the bonny brown curls--would haunt her memory while her life lasted.
"Good-bye, my lost love! It is best that you and I should never meet
again!" she sobbed.
Suddenly she became aware that she was not standing there alone.
Scarcely ten feet from her she beheld the figure of a man, and she
realized that he was regarding her intently.