The papers the next morning announced that Mr. Stuyvesant Carter while
taking a short cut through the lower quarter of the city, had been
cruelly attacked, beaten and robbed, and had barely escaped with his
life.
He was lying in his rooms under the care of a trained nurse, and was
recovering as rapidly as could be expected from the shock.
Michael reading it next morning after seeing Sam off to Kansas, lifted
his head with that quiet show of indignation. He knew that the message
must have been telephoned to the paper by Carter himself shortly after
he had escaped from the police. He saw just how easy it was for him to
give out any report he chose. Money and influence would buy even the
public press. It would be little use to try to refute anything he chose
to tell about himself.
The days that followed were to Michael one long blur of trouble. He
haunted Mr. Endicott’s office in hopes of getting some news of his
return but they told him the last letters had been very uncertain. He
might come quickly, and he might be delayed a month yet, or even
longer; and a cablegram might not reach him much sooner than a letter,
as he was travelling from place to place.
After three days of this agony, knowing that the enemy would soon be
recovering from his bruises and be about again, he reluctantly wrote a
note to Starr:
My dear Miss Endicott:
At the risk of offending you I feel that I must make one more
attempt to save you from what I feel cannot but be great misery.
The young man of whom we were speaking has twice to my knowledge
visited a young woman of the slums within the last month, and has
even since your engagement been maintaining an intimacy with her
which can be nothing but an insult to you. Though you may not
believe me, it gives me greater pain to tell you this than anything
I ever had to do before, I have tried in every way I know to
communicate with your father, but have thus far failed. I am
writing you thus plainly and painfully, hoping that though you will
not take my word for it, you will at least be willing to find some
trustworthy intimate friend of your family in whom you can confide,
who will investigate this matter for you, and give you his candid
opinion of the young man. I can furnish such a man with information
as to where to go to get the facts. I know that what I have said is
true. I beg for the sake of your future happiness that you will
take means to discover for yourself.
Faithfully yours,
Michael
To this note, within two days, he received a condescending, patronizing
reply:
Michael:
I am exceedingly sorry that you have lent yourself to means so low
to accomplish your end, whatever that may be. It is beyond me to
imagine what possible motive you can have for all this ridiculous
calumny that you are trying to cast on one who has shown a most
noble spirit toward you.
Mr. Carter has fully explained to me his presence at the home of
that girl, and because you seem to really believe what you have
written me, and because I do not like to have _anyone_ think evil
of the man whom I am soon to marry, I am taking the trouble to
explain to you. The young woman is a former maid of Mr. Carter’s
mother, and she is deeply attached to her. She does up Mrs.
Carter’s fine laces exquisitely, and Mr. Carter has twice been the
bearer of laces to be laundered, because his mother was afraid to
trust such valuable pieces to a servant. I hope you will now
understand that the terrible things you have tried to say against
Mr. Carter are utterly false. Such things are called blackmail and
bring terrible consequences in court I am told if they become
known, so I must warn you never to do anything of this sort again.
It is dangerous. If my father were at home he would explain it to
you. Of course, having been in that out-of-the-way Florida place
for so long you don’t understand these things, but for papa’s sake
I would not like you to get into trouble in any way.
There is one more thing I must say. Mr. Carter tells me that he saw
you down in that questionable neighborhood, and that you are
yourself interested in this girl. It seems strange when this is the
case, that you should have thought so ill of him.
Trusting that you will cause me no further annoyance in this
matter,
S.D. Endicott.
When Michael had read this he bowed himself upon his desk as one who
had been stricken unto death. To read such words from her whom he loved
better than his own soul was terrible! And he might never let her know
that these things that had been said of him were false. She would
probably go always with the idea that his presence in that alley was a
matter of shame to him. So far as his personal part in the danger to
herself was concerned, he was from this time forth powerless to help
her. If she thought such things of him,—if she had really been made to
believe them,—then of course she could credit nothing he told her. Some
higher power than his would have to save her if she was to be saved.
To do Starr justice she had been very much stirred by Michael’s note,
and after a night of wakefulness and meditation had taken the letter to
her mother. Not that Starr turned naturally to her most unnatural
mother for help in personal matters usually; but there seemed to be no
one else to whom she could go. If only her father had been home! She
thought of cabling him, but what could she say in a brief message? How
could she make him understand? And then there was always the world
standing by to peer curiously over one’s shoulder when one sent a
message. She could not hope to escape the public eye.
She considered showing Michael’s note to Morton, her faithful nurse,
but Morton, wise in many things, would not understand this matter, and
would be powerless to help her. So Starr had gone to her mother.
Mrs. Endicott, shrewd to perfection, masked her indignation under a
very proper show of horror, told Starr that of course it was not true,
but equally of course it must be investigated; gave her word that she
would do so immediately and her daughter need have no further thought
of the matter; sent at once for young Carter with whom she held a brief
consultation at the end of which Starr was called and cheerfully given
the version of the story which she had written to Michael.
Stuyvesant Carter could be very alluring when he tried, and he chose to
try. The stakes were a fortune, a noble name, and a very pretty girl
with whom he was as much in love at present as he ever had been in his
checkered career, with any girl. Moreover he had a nature that held
revenge long. He delighted to turn the story upon the man who pretended
to be so righteous and who had dared to give him orders about a poor
worthless girl of the slums. He set his cunning intellect to devise a
scheme whereby his adversary should be caught in his own net and
brought low. He found a powerful ally in the mother of the girl he was
to marry.
For reasons of ambition Mrs. Endicott desired supremely an alliance
with the house of Carter, and she was most determined that nothing
should upset her plans for her only daughter’s marriage.
She knew that if her husband should return and hear any hint of the
story about Carter he would at once put an end to any relations between
him and Starr. He had always been “queer” about such things, and
“particular,” as she phrased it. It would be mortifying beyond anything
to have any balk in the arrangements after things had gone thus far;
and there was that hateful Mrs. Waterman, setting her cap for him so
odiously everywhere even since the engagement had been announced. Mrs.
Endicott intended to risk nothing. Therefore she planned with the young
people for an early marriage. She was anxious to have everything so
thoroughly cut and dried, and matters gone so far that her husband
could not possibly upset them when he returned. Finally she cabled him,
asking him to set a positive date for his home-coming as the young
people wished to arrange for an early wedding. He cabled back a date
not so very far off, for in truth, though he had received none of
Michael’s warnings he was uneasy about this matter of his daughter’s
engagement. Young Carter had of course seemed all right, and he saw no
reason to demur when his wife wrote that the two young people had come
to an understanding, but somehow it had not occurred to him that the
marriage would be soon. He was troubled at thought of losing the one
bright treasure of his home, when he had but just got her back again
from her European education. He felt that it was unfortunate that
imperative business had called him abroad almost as soon as she
returned. He was in haste to be back.
But when his wife followed her cable message with a letter speaking of
an immediate marriage and setting a date but four days after the time
set for his arrival, he cabled to her to set no date until his return,
which would be as soon as he could possibly come.
However, Mrs. Endicott had planned well. The invitations had been sent
out that morning. She thought it unnecessary to cable again but wrote,
“I’m sorry, but your message came too late. The invitations are all out
now, and arrangements going forward. I knew you would not want to stop
Starr’s plans and she seems to have her heart set on being married at
once. Dear Stuyvesant finds it imperative to take an ocean trip and he
cannot bear the thought of going without his wife. I really do not see
how things could possibly be held off now. We should be the laughing
stock of society and I am sure you would not want me to endure that.
And Starr, dear child, is quite childishly happy over her arrangements.
She is only anxious to have you properly home in time, so do hurry and
get an earlier boat if possible.”
Over this letter Mr. Endicott frowned and looked troubled. His wife had
ever taken things in her own hands where she would; but concerning
Starr they had never quite agreed, though he had let her have her own
way about everything else. It was like her to get this marriage all
fixed up while he was away. Of course it must be all right, but it was
so sudden! And his little Starr! His one little girl!
Then, with his usual abrupt action he put the letter in his inner
pocket and proceeded to hurry his business as much as possible that he
might take an earlier boat than the one he had set. And he finally
succeeded by dint of working night as well as day, and leaving several
important matters to go as they would.
The papers at last announced that Mr. Delevan Endicott who had been
abroad for three months on business had sailed for home and would reach
New York nearly a week before the date set for the wedding. The papers
also were filled with elaborate foreshadowings of what that event was
likely to mean to the world of society.
And Michael, knowing that he must drink every drop of his bitter cup,
knowing that he must suffer and endure to the end of it, if perchance
he might yet save her in some miraculous way, read every word, and knew
the day and the hour of the boat’s probable arrival. He had it all
planned to meet that boat himself. If possible he would go out on the
pilot and meet his man before he landed.
Then the silence of the great deep fell about the traveller; and the
days went by with the waiting one in the city; the preparations hurried
forward by trained and skilful workers. The Endicott home was filled
with comers and goers. Silks and satins and costly fabrics, laces and
jewels and rare trimmings from all over the world were brought together
by hands experienced in costuming the great of the earth.
Over the busy machinery which she had set going, Mrs. Endicott presided
with the calmness and positive determination of one who had a great
purpose in view and meant to carry it out. Not a detail escaped, her
vigilant eye, not an item was forgotten of all the millions of little
necessities that the world expected and she must have forthcoming.
Nothing that could make the wedding unique, artistic, perfect, was too
hard or too costly to be carried out. This was her pinnacle of
opportunity to shine, and Mrs. Endicott intended to make the most of
it. Not that she had not shone throughout her worldly career, but she
knew that with the marriage of her daughter her life would reach its
zenith point and must henceforth begin to decline. This event must be
one to be remembered in the annals of the future so long as New York
should continue to marry and be given in marriage. Starr’s wedding must
surpass all others in wonder and beauty and elegance.
So she planned, wrought, carried out; and day by day the gleam in her
eyes told that she was nearing her triumph.
It did not disturb her when the steamer was overdue one whole day, and
then two. Starr, even amid the round of gaieties in her young set, all
given in her honor, found time to worry about her father; but the wife
only found in this fact a cause for congratulation. She felt
instinctively that her crucial time was coming when her husband reached
home. If Michael had dared to carry out his threats, or if a breath of
the stories concerning young Carter’s life should reach him there would
be trouble against which she had no power.
It was not until the third morning with still no news of the vessel
that Mrs. Endicott began to feel uneasy. It would be most awkward to
have to put off the ceremony, and of course it would not do to have it
without the bride’s father when he was hurrying to be present. If he
would arrive just in time so much the better; but late—ah—that would be
dreadful! She tightened her determined lips, and looked like a Napoleon
saying to herself, “There shall be no Alps!” In like manner she would
have said if she could: “There shall be no sea if I wish it.”
But the anxiety she felt was only manifested by her closer vigilance
over her helpers as swiftly and hourly the perfected preparations
glided to their finish.
Starr grew nervous and restless and could not sleep, but hovered from
room to room in the daytime looking out of the windows, or fitfully
telephoning the steamship company for news. Her fiancé found her most
unsatisfactory and none of the plans he proposed for her diversion
pleased her. Dark rings appeared under her eyes, and she looked at him
with a troubled expression sometimes when she should have been laughing
in the midst of a round of pleasures.
Starr deeply loved her father, and some vague presentiment of coming
trouble seemed to shadow all the brightness of life. Now and then
Michael’s face with its great, true eyes, and pleading expression came
between her and Carter’s face, and seemed to blur its handsome lines;
and then indefinite questions haunted her. What if those terrible
things Michael had said were true? Was she sure, _sure_? And at times
like that she fancied she saw a weakness in the lines about Carter’s
eyes and mouth.
But she was most unused to studying character, poor child, and had no
guide to help her in her lonely problem of choosing; for already she
had learned that her mother’s ways and hers were not the same; and—her
father—did not come. When he came it would be all right. It had to be,
for there was no turning back, of course, now. The wedding was but two
days off.
Michael, in his new office, frankly acknowledged to himself these days
that he could not work. He had done all that he could and now was
waiting for a report of that vessel. When it landed he hoped to be the
first man on board; in fact, he had made arrangement to go out to meet
it before it landed. But it did not come! Was it going to be prevented
until the day was put off? Would that make matters any better? Would he
then have more time? And could he accomplish anything with Mr.
Endicott, even, supposing he had time? Was he not worse than foolish to
try? Mr. Endicott was already angry with him for another reason. His
wife and Starr, and that scoundrel of a Carter, would tell all sorts of
stories. Of course he would believe them in preference to his! He
groaned aloud sometimes, when, he was alone in the office: and wished
that there were but a way he could fling himself between Starr and all
evil once for all; give his life for hers. Gladly, gladly would he do
it if it would do any good. Yet there was no way.
And then there came news. The vessel had been heard from still many
miles out to sea, with one of her propellers broken, and laboring along
at great disadvantage. But if all went well she would reach her dock at
noon of the following day—eight hours before the time set for the
wedding!
Starr heard and her face blossomed, into smiles. All would go well
after all. She telephoned again to the steamship company a little while
later and her utmost fears were allayed by their assurances.
Mrs. Endicott heard the news with intense relief. Her husband would
scarcely have time to find out anything. She must take pains that he
had no opportunity to see Michael before the ceremony.
The young man heard and his heart beat wildly. Would the time be long
enough to save her?
Noon of the next day came, but the steamer had not yet landed, though
the news from her was good. She would be in before night, there was no
doubt of it now. Mr. Endicott would be in time for the wedding, but
just that and no more. He had sent reassurances to his family, and they
were going forward happily in the whirl of the last things.
But Michael in his lonely office hung up the telephone receiver with a
heavy heart. There would be no time now to save Starr. Everything was
against him. Even if he could get speech of Mr. Endicott which was
doubtful now, was it likely the man would listen at this the last
minute? Of course his wife and daughter and her fiancé could easily
persuade him all was well, and Michael a jealous fool!
As he sat thus with bowed head before his desk, he heard footsteps
along the stone floor of the corridor outside. They halted at his door,
and hesitating fingers fumbled with the knob. He looked up frowning and
was about to send any chance client away, with the explanation that he
was entirely too much occupied at present to be interrupted, when the
face of the woman who opened the door caught his attention.