Pretty Geraldine, the New York Salesgirl; or, Wedded to Her Choice

His first impulse was to return to America at once, his impatience to see her was so great; but he remembered that it would be almost impossible to do so now.

It was not yet two weeks since his father had been buried, and his mother and sister were very sad and lonely. They would be loath to have him leave them so soon. Besides, as the new lord, there were matters to be seen to that could scarcely admit of delay.

He remembered, too, that he had guests for whom he had planned a tour to London and Paris. It would not look well to desert them now. Business and hospitable duties would detain him here at least two weeks longer before he could return to America.

In the meantime, Geraldine was safe with her mother.

Standish, having received such a rebuff from Mrs. Fitzgerald would naturally relinquish his pursuit as hopeless. Indeed, the detective's news that the actor was engaged in a flirtation with the governess had seemed to be proof that he had given over his persecution of Geraldine. He was off with the old love and on with the new.

So our hero, believing that everything was working together for his happiness, permitted himself to indulge in a delightful conviction of security—a very mistaken one, as the sequel will show.

Smiling fondly on his anxious mother, he said:

"Mother, I have a very romantic plan for winning my pretty betrothed from her fireman lover, and I will explain it to you soon. But you must not reply to Mrs. Fitzgerald's letter until I give you leave."

CHAPTER XLVII.

LADY AMY'S LOVERS

"Her ruby lips hiding teeth of pearlThat dazzle me when she speaks,Her nut-brown hair in riotous curl,Her laugh, which sets all my senses awhirl,And the damask of her cheeks;Her Venus form, like a flower arrayed,In the garb of the blushing May,All bid me rejoice, and undismayed,Swear my heart shall ever lie true to this maid."

Lady Putnam was delighted to find that her son was not averse to the union with his fair American cousin.

Being an American herself, she had a fondness for her old home and her old friends, especially her kinswoman, Mrs. Fitzgerald.

So she heard with delight her son's avowal that he would cut out the humble fireman in the regard of pretty Geraldine.

She readily acceded to every condition he imposed on her in the furtherance of his plans.

Their conference over, he went to seek his friends, whom he found playing a game of billiards with his pretty sister, Lady Amy.

The young Americans were both charmed with the dainty beauty whose dark, curly tresses and laughing blue eyes were so like those of her brother that they showed their near kinship very plainly indeed.

The young lady herself was delighted with her brother's friends. She could not have decided which one she liked better.

When Leroy Hill, who was of a joyous, rollicking disposition, would entertain her with witty anecdotes of people he had seen, she would almost decide after all he was the more interesting of the two, and perhaps the handsomer, for his hazel eyes, with that twinkle of fun in them, were irresistibly fascinating.

But, then, Ralph Washburn, who was of a more thoughtful turn than his friend, and had large, serious, dark-gray eyes, would read to her selections from favorite poets, or sing to her in his rich, clear tenor, and the words would sink deep into her heart, and she would find herself musing:

"I almost like him better than Mr. Hill; but—I dare say they are both sad flirts."

To-day Ralph had been quoting to her some verses from a favorite poet of his own land, and as they gayly knocked the balls about the table, they seemed to sing themselves over persistently in her memory:

"Those dazzling dark-blue eyes!Laughing under shady lashes,Dusky fringed, like clouds of night,And with sudden rainbow flashes,They can hold your heart in thrallWith one sudden radiant glance;They can realize all visionsAnd all dreams of old romance."Those dazzling dark-blue eyes!How they haunt me in my dreams!With their glancing and their dancing,And their shy, coquettish gleams;They can soften as with love,They can flash with sudden scorn,They can droop like purple flowersMisty with the dews of dawn."Those dazzling dark-blue eyes,They grow sad at touch of sorrow;They grow radiant with joy,From her tender heart they borrowEvery feeling and emotionThat beneath the surface lies,And her very soul is speakingIn those dazzling dark-blue eyes."Those dazzling dark-blue eyes!I am captive to their charms!They are bright as stars at night,They are like the sun that warms.They are soft as velvet pansiesSparkling in the morning dew,They are all things under heaven,That are beautiful and true."

Since Ralph Washburn had repeated those lines to piquant Lady Amy her eyes had been very shy when they met his glance, hiding their light under the long-fringed lashes, and he smiled when he saw that he had the power to bring that bashful color to her cheek.

It took Lord Putnam but a few minutes to decide that he would not confide to his friends yet the fact that Geraldine was found. He did not want to jeopardize his plans for winning her as simple Harry Hawthorne.

But at heart he was exceedingly anxious to return to America, so he made his plans to begin to-morrow the sight-seeing tour he had planned for Ralph and Leroy. In a few weeks they could see and enjoy a great deal; then he would be free to pursue his courtship of Geraldine. In the meanwhile she would be safe with her mother, and if her heart were disturbed by suspense over his fate, it would only make it grow fonder, so that when they met again it would only be to find a joyous welcome awaiting him.

"'Tis said that absence conquers love,But, oh, believe it not;I've tried, alas, its power to prove,But thou art not forgot.Lady, though fate has bid us part,Yet still thou art so dear,As fixed in this devoted heartAs when I clasped thee here."I plunge into the busy crowdAnd smile to hear thy name,And yet as if I thought aloud,They know me still the same.And when the wine-cup passes round,I toast some other fair—But when I ask my heart the sound,Thy name is echoed there."E'en as the wounded bird will seekIts favorite bower to die,So, lady, I would hear thee speak,And yield my parting sigh.'Tis said that absence conquers love,But, oh, believe it not;I've tried, alas, its power to prove,But thou art not forgot."

When her brother and his friends had gone up to London it seemed very lonely to Lady Amy at Raneleigh.

"Mamma, I hope you will take me to America some time for a long visit; I like Americans so much!" she cried, artlessly.

"So do I," returned her mother, and then she sighed softly to herself.

Who can tell what memories stirred her heart of days of bellehood in New York, when, for plain ambition's sake, she had put aside a plain, untitled lover to wed Lord Putnam and reign at Castle Raneleigh? They had told her, her maneuvering relatives, that love would be sure to come after marriage.

"But what if I already love another?" the beautiful belle had said, pale with anxiety.

"You will soon forget him on the other side of the ocean, and Lord Putnam will have all your heart," they answered.

They were old in experience, and she was young, so she took their advice, and married her titled lover. Perhaps their assurances proved true, perhaps not. At any rate, she was a faithful wife.

But she was not by any means a disconsolate widow.

And at her daughter's praise of Americans, the proud woman's heart echoed every word, and her thoughts flew across the sea to the old home, and the old days, and the old love.

Perhaps he was dead now. She had not heard of him for many years.

Or if he were not dead, he was probably married to another, to some true-hearted girl who prized love above all else.

There was a sting in the thought, and Lady Putnam sighed and turned away without promising her daughter to take her to America. She had no desire to return to the scene of her old triumphs. She wanted sleeping memories to keep still in the grave where they were buried.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

EVERY WOMANLY IMPULSE IN HER NATURE CRIED OUT AGAINST SUCH A CRUEL WRONG

"The villain who foully abused her,Though the husband to whom she was wed,After pledging his heart and his hand,Like a monster reviled and abused her,And she died in a far away land."Francis S. Smith.

"You are in luck, my boy," chuckled Clifford Standish, to himself.

He had just read in a New York newspaper of the death of his deserted wife.

No pity stirred his cruel heart as his eye ran over the few paragraphs that told him in a sensational manner of the cause of her death.

Deserted by her husband, in ill-health, and unable to work, penniless, friendless, the unhappy woman had frozen to death in a miserable attic-room during the prevalence of a terrible blizzard.

He was guilty of her death, he knew, yet not one twinge of remorse tore his cruel heart for the fate to which he had consigned that true and tender wife.

She was out of his path forever, leaving him free to carry out his wicked designs, and he rejoiced exceedingly.

Fate seemed to favor him, although for a while things had looked exceedingly dark.

But that was when he had discovered that his murderous knife-thrust had not killed Harry Hawthorne.

He had been terribly alarmed at first, fearing that Hawthorne would set the authorities on his track, and that he would have to fly the city.

But, for some unknown reason, his victim had stayed his hand in vengeance, and by careful reconnoitering he found that he had left the city.

Standish could not comprehend why his rival had thrown up the game like this; but he finally concluded that Geraldine's altered position in life had caused her to break off her engagement with the young fireman.

But, whatever the cause, he rejoiced at the issue, and prepared to take advantage of it by getting Geraldine again into his power.

His passion for the beautiful girl and his determination to possess her grew and strengthened from hour to hour and from day to day. All he had felt for others in the past compared to this grand passion, was

"As moonlight unto sunlight,And as water unto wine."

And now he swore to himself that he would possess her by a tie none could dispute. He would marry pretty Geraldine, the dainty heiress, and teach her to love him. Surely, he said to himself, out of his measureless conceit, she could not find it hard to love him. She had been very near to it once.

But in this fancy he was quite mistaken. His attentions had simply flattered her girlish vanity. Her heart had not been touched.

He waited impatiently for the letter from Miss Errol, planning the kidnaping but it did not come.

The miserable woman, although distracted by fears for her own safety, had not yet brought herself to the point of consenting to become a party to Geraldine's ruin.

Every impulse in her woman's nature cried out against doing such a cruel wrong to the fair young girl she admired so much.

So she delayed replying to his letter, until, angered by her delay, he wrote again:

"You have not replied to my letter. Of course you know the terrible risk you run by your silence. But I will give you one more chance.

"Meet me at the nearest corner just after dark this evening, and I will unfold to you my plans, in which you must co-operate.

C. S."

CHAPTER XLIX.

ONLY PRIDE

"I have loved thee—fondly loved thee!No one but God can knowThe struggle and the agonyIt cost to let thee go.But woman's pride usurps my heart,And surges to my brow.To see thy cold indifference!We must be strangers now."Francis S. Smith.

"Will no answer ever come?" sighed Geraldine, as she watched the papers, day after day, for an answer to her personal.

"Hope deferred maketh the heart sick," it is said, and her suspense was cruel and torturing. Not even Cissy's presence could assuage her pain, although it was borne in torturing silence.

One morning, while she was searching the newspaper columns, as usual, her eyes gleamed with a sudden light of pleasure, and she looked up at Cissy, exclaiming:

"Only think, dear—the Clemens Company will begin a week's engagement in Chicago to-morrow evening."

The quick color flew to Cissy's face, but she nodded with apparent indifference.

Geraldine continued:

"They will play 'Laurel Vane.' Oh, do you remember the night in New York when I played it, Cissy, and our terrible interruption by the appearance of the men who arrested Mr. Standish? I was very unhappy that night, for I believed that Harry Hawthorne had married Daisy Odell, as that wretch declared. Oh! how it all comes back to me now—my jealous misery when I stood at the wings watching you all in Mrs. Stansbury's box! But, oh, the happiness that came to me later, when I learned the real truth!"

She leaned her fair head down on Cissy's shoulder, and sighed:

"No girl ever loved a man as fondly as I love my darling Harry, and the mystery of his fate is breaking my heart."

Mrs. Fitzgerald entered the library at that moment, and Geraldine looked up quickly, saying:

"Mamma, cannot we have a box at the theatre to-morrow night? There is a play that I specially wish to see."

"Certainly, my dear, if I can find you some lady to chaperon you and Cissy. You know I cannot accompany you, because of my deep mourning."

The box was secured, and a chaperon found in the person of a very old lady, a distant relative of the Fitzgeralds, who had fallen into comparative poverty, but who would enjoy the outing all the more since she could not well afford to give herself the pleasure of a box, and was too proud to use a low-priced seat.

The next evening found the three in their box at the Columbia—Mrs. Germyn, the old lady, looking the chaperon to the life in her black velvet and point lace, set off by her silvery puffs of hair. The two young girls—Geraldine in silvery-blue brocade and pearls, Cissy in white, with gold ornaments and flowers—were the cynosure of all eyes. Not a face in the crowded and fashionable audience could compare with theirs in beauty.

When the curtain rose on the first act, it was not long before the company discovered Geraldine and Cissy in the nearest box. They were surprised and mystified, for no whisper of Geraldine's good fortune had reached her old associates. It had been whispered about that she had eloped with the missing actor, Clifford Standish, and some had pitied and others condemned.

So many and curious were the glances that went from the stage to the box where beautiful Geraldine was sitting, robed like some princess, in all the trappings of wealth and state.

The young girl enjoyed it thoroughly, and presently she whispered to her friend:

"I'm going to send a message to Cameron Clemens to come to our box at the first wait. You won't mind, will you?"

Cissy's heart leaped quickly under the lace and flowers of her corsage.

"Oh, Geraldine, you know I do not wish to meet him," she whispered back, while the half-deaf old chaperon lent both her ears to the play.

"Cissy, you are the proudest girl I ever saw! How can you be so cruel to poor Mr. Clemens? You are as much in fault as ever he was, for I am sure that nothing stands between your hearts now but your own abominable pride."

"Oh, Geraldine, how can you jump at things so? I dare say he has forgotten me now, and is in love with some other lady—that beautiful leading lady, Miss Mills, for instance."

"Why, Miss Mills has a husband whom she fairly adores. You needn't be jealous of her, darling. So I'm going to invite Mr. Clemens into our box to talk to us. You needn't be friendly with him if you don't choose. I'll introduce you as the veriest stranger, if you wish."

"Very well," answered Cissy, for she knew that the willful beauty would have her own way.

Geraldine's romantic heart was set on the reconciliation of the two long estranged lovers; so she sent the message at once, and Mr. Clemens came to the box at the end of the first act.

"Aren't you surprised to see me here, Mr. Clemens?" cried Geraldine, shaking hands with him cordially, then presenting her friends: "Mrs. Germyn, and my friend from New York. Miss Carroll, Mr. Clemens."

The estranged lovers, both pale as ashes, bowed to each other like strangers, without a sign that they had met before to-night.

CHAPTER L.

"LOVE MAKES FOOLS OF US ALL!"

"How lovely she looked as she stoodIn a robe of pink gossamer dressed,Her curls waving in the night air,And the jessamine flowers on her breast.Those dark eyes, so tender and sweet,That red mouth so temptingly small,Those bright, perfumed ringlets—heigho!What fools such things make of us all!"May Agnes Fleming.

Geraldine watched the meeting between the estranged lovers with a knowing little smile.

Their sudden pallor and emotion, even the constraint of their meeting, assured her that love was not dead in their hearts.

The ashes still smoldered, and needed but a breath to blow them into flame again.

Geraldine loved Cissy so dearly that she longed to help the girl to happiness again, and she determined to leave nothing undone to reconcile her to her lover.

When they were seated again, she said, brightly:

"You must promise to call on me to-morrow, for I have dozens of questions to ask you, and much to tell you, and I know you will not have time to listen to it now."

"I will come with the greatest pleasure," he replied, his handsome face glowing with delight, for he guessed that at her home he should meet Cissy again.

Geraldine understood his thought, and said, quickly:

"Miss Carroll is staying with me for an indefinite period, and I mean to give her a good time in Chicago. Perhaps you remember that we roomed together in New York when we were both working-girls?"

He smiled affirmatively, and she continued:

"Perhaps you have not heard that I have found my lost mother since I left New York?"

"No; is it true? Let me congratulate you," he cried, warmly, and then Geraldine ran over her adventures briefly, for she knew that he must soon leave her to return to his duties.

"But I shall come back at the end of the second act," he said, as he hurried away.

He was with them every minute he could spare, and Cissy was very angry with herself, for the traitorous throbbing of her heart told her so plainly how dear he was to her yet, in spite of the years in which she had been teaching her heart to forget him.

He was amazed when he heard the story of Clifford Standish's wickedness.

"I knew the man had a bad heart—his desertion of his wife proved that—but I did not dream he would go to such lengths as you tell me. What must have been your fate had you not met your mother so opportunely?" he exclaimed to Geraldine.

"What, indeed!" she shuddered, and then a low cry from Cissy made her turn her head.

"Look! there is the wretch now!" cried Cissy, excitedly.

They followed her glance, and saw the face of Clifford Standish peering at them from behind a pillar in the orchestra circle.

When their indignant eyes turned on him, he realized that he was being observed, and hastily dodged from sight.

They saw him no more that evening, but when they left the theatre he was near enough to have touched Geraldine with his hand.

He had come to the theatre from his interview with Miss Erroll, and had triumphed over her bitterest prejudices by representing that his wife was dead, and that he really meant to marry Geraldine once he got her into his power.

"I will teach her to love me after marriage," he boasted; and the poor governess, who had once loved him madly, and was still somewhat under the glamour of that old passion, did not doubt his power to win Geraldine's heart. She knew how fascinating he could be when he chose.

For one moment, indeed, a jealous pang tore her heart, and she said, pleadingly:

"If your wife is dead, as you say, Clifford, you ought to marry me. You owe it to me, after all I gave up for your sake. You know I trusted in your promises."

"You were a fool for your pains," he replied, with brutal frankness. "You had knowledge enough of the world to be sure that a silly married woman who deserts her husband for another man will surely reap what she has sown."

"You swore you would marry me when Cameron Clemens secured a divorce."

"You were very silly to believe me, Azuba. I was only amusing myself with your credulity. A man never means the vows he makes in an affair of that kind. The time is sure to come when he will meet some pure young girl, and give her the best of his heart. Then he despises the weak victims of his past passions."

"As you despise me?" she demanded, bitterly.

"It would not be polite to say so," he replied, indifferently, and hearing her stifled sob, he added, impatiently: "Bah, Azuba! I have quite got over my old fancy for you, and your sniveling cannot warm over the old coals. I never really loved you—never knew the power of love until I met pretty Geraldine, and the only way for you to get a kind thought from me is to help me to win the little beauty."

Crushed and humiliated by his scorn, she would have defied him if she had dared, but she was in his power, and dared not do it; so, ere they parted, the plot for Geraldine's abduction was made, and nothing remained but to carry it out that night.

"Do not dare to fail me, or the weight of my vengeance will crush you," he said, threateningly, and with a shudder she promised to obey.

They parted, and he hurried to the theatre, where she had told him Geraldine had gone.

Securing a seat in the orchestra circle, in the desirable concealment of a pillar, he alternately watched the heiress and the play.

An angry sneer curled his lips as he saw the new leading man in the play was even superior to himself in the role of the hero.

"So I can never get back my position in that company," he mused. "Well, no matter! I shall marry the heiress, and if the old woman cuts up rough and won't give us any of her daughter's money, we can go on the stage, and the elopement will be an advertisement for us."

As he watched Geraldine in all her beauty, sitting with her friends, his passion for her grew deeper, and he mentally hugged himself at the thought of how soon he would have her in his power.

When her carriage rolled away, and he noted the lingering glance sent after it by Cameron Clemens, he sneered, grimly:

"Bah! what fools love makes of us all! There is Clemens as madly in love with that hateful Cissy Carroll as I am with pretty Geraldine. He has been in love with her ever since Azuba Aylesford forced them apart, to marry him herself. Egad! I did them a good turn when I flattered Mrs. Clemens into eloping with me; and if the Carroll girl ever gets him back she may thank me for ridding him of his incumbrance, though she hates me like poison!"

He turned away with a harsh laugh, and went his way through the gloomy shadows of the winter night, like a thing of evil omen.

And in all that vast city of Chicago where crime stalks abroad under the cover of darkness, there was not a soul more lost to goodness than that of this man.

CHAPTER LI.

STARTLING NEWS

"Say an encouraging word to the weary,They to whom life seems all darksome and dreary;One kindly sentence the sad heart will lighten,One smile of love the existence will brighten."Say an encouraging word to the erring;Sin-blasted, hunted down, crushed, and despairing;Even when vice his worst form is revealing,One word in season may wake better feeling."Francis S. Smith.

Cameron Clemens had indeed gazed with longing eyes after the carriage that bore Miss Carroll away from his sight.

The old love, stifled so long by hopeless pain and absence, had leaped to life again full-grown within his fond heart.

And although Cissy had been painfully shy, seldom speaking to him, and then only in her role of a new acquaintance, he had read in her glance that she did not despise him now. Something had come over her that looked almost like forgiveness of his fault. He began to have a little hope of winning her after all.

"I will try my fate once more, if she is as gentle when we meet again as she was to-night," he resolved, joyously.

He could not sleep that night for thinking of Cissy's looks and words, and wondering if he should see her to-morrow when he called on Geraldine.