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

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 know
The struggle and the agony
It 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 stood
In 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.

"I shall ask for her also, and then she can have no excuse for not seeing me," he resolved, firmly.

The next afternoon, at the earliest permissible hour, he presented himself at the door of Mrs. Fitzgerald's magnificent house, and sent in his cards for the two young ladies.

He was ushered into a dainty reception-room, fitted in blue, and waited with what patience he could for their appearance.

Presently the heavy portieres were swept aside by a plump, dimpled white hand, and Miss Carroll entered the room alone.

Cameron Clemens sprang to meet her, thinking that she had never looked more lovely in her becoming house gown of delicate blue, with lace and ribbons fluttering about it.

He offered his hand, and as she placed hers in it he saw a delicate pinkness about her eyelids that betrayed recent tears.

Pointing to a seat, she exclaimed:

"Isn't it surprising? Or—have you not heard?"

"I have heard nothing, Miss Carroll. Pray enlighten me."

"It is about Geraldine, you know."

"You do not mean that she is ill?"

"Oh, no, no—not ill. You remember how well she was last night. Well, after we came home Geraldine eloped," and the last word was almost a sob, for Cissy was terribly agitated.

A terrible fear came to him, and he faltered:

"Not with Standish?"

Cissy flashed her adorer a reproachful glance, exclaiming:

"Certainly not. Didn't Geraldine tell you last night how she hated and despised that wretch? She ran away to marry Harry Hawthorne, her betrothed, you know."

"Oh, yes, I've heard of him—fine fellow, they say. Tell me all about it."

"There isn't much to tell. Geraldine's mother was opposed to the match, because Mr. Hawthorne was poor. So this morning Geraldine was missing, and there was a note on her pillow, saying that she had gone away with her darling Harry, and they would be married right away. She hoped her mother would forgive her, as she (Geraldine) could not live without her dear boy."

"Plucky girl!" was Mr. Clemens' comment, and Cissy continued:

"Mrs. Fitzgerald is almost heart-broken, and very angry, too. She declares that she will never forgive her daughter."

"Is she so proud?" he asked, drawing his chair a little closer.

Cissy noticed the movement, and blushed prettily as she replied:

"As proud as a queen. But yet she is a magnificent woman, and I sympathize with her in her sorrow."

Before he could reply, there was an interruption, the cause of which we must explain.

Little Miss Claire, the pet and darling of the household, had run away from her governess in a willful mood and hidden herself where she could not be found. Miss Erroll, searching every room in turn for her naughty pupil, blundered suddenly upon the pair of lovers in the blue reception-room.

Cameron Clemens heard the sweep of her robe, and glanced hurriedly up.

The next moment he was upon his feet.

"You! You!" he burst out, with instant recognition, and in a tone of defiant hate.

It seemed to him in that startling moment, that Azuba Aylesford, the imperious actress, had come again, as she did years ago, to part him from his love, sweet Cissy.

She, on her own part, was so dazed by this unexpected rencontre, that for a moment she stood motionless, rooted to the ground by fear.

Cameron Clemens, gazing at her with eyes full of loathing, continued:

"How dared you follow me here? You have no claim on me now, nor ever can have again. I loathe you!"

His words assured both listeners that he thought the woman had followed him here to work evil to him, and with this explanation Miss Erroll's trance of terror gave way. She sprang to Cissy's side, pleading:

"Oh, for Heaven's sake! explain it all to him! He would not listen to me, I know, but he loves you. He will listen if you tell him the truth, and beg him not to betray me."

Cissy was paling and flushing alternately, as she sprang up, and said, tremblingly, to her lover:

"She did not follow you here. She is a member of this household—governess to Miss Fitzgerald's children. She is living an honest life, and would not wish her antecedents to be brought up against her now."

He answered, angrily:

"Why should either of us spare her now? She wronged us both, most bitterly, in the past, and did not scruple afterward to throw a blighting disgrace on my life."

"But I left you free to seek happiness with the woman you loved, so I did you a good turn after all, Cameron Clemens. You never loved me, and you did not grieve for me. You have even been friendly with the man who lured me from you!" Miss Erroll cried, eagerly.

He knew that much of her charge was true. He could deny only the last of it.

"Not friendly," he said, "for we had a bitter quarrel once. But he told me you had fled from him, refusing to become his wife, after I obtained my divorce. You were untrue to both of us. So why should we become enemies for the sake of a worthless woman?"

How she shivered with shame under the stinging contempt of his tones, for some womanhood lurked in her still, and she knew that she was not quite so black as she was painted.

But as she quailed before his righteous wrath, Cissy came generously to the rescue, her gray eyes dark with emotion, her cheeks suffused with blushes.

"Hush! do not utterly crush her with your scorn!" she cried. "Clifford Standish lied to you, the perjured villain! She did not refuse to marry him. He told her he had a wife already, and was tired of his liaison, so she fled from him in horror at her terrible position. She has been trying to lead a good life ever since, and we must not throw her back into temptation. I have forgiven her, and promised to keep her secret, and so must you."