CHAPTER XXII
THE SUN RISES
"Radiant daughter of the sun,
Now thy living wreath is won,
Crowned with fame! Oh! art thou not
Happy in that glorious lot?
Happier, happier far than thou,
With the laurel on thy brow,
She that makes the humblest
Lovely but to one on earth."
Mrs. Hemans.
The wise counsel and impressive instructions of her old acquaintance, the now calm, dignified, and subdued Rev. Mr. Wildair, soon brought forth good fruit. Georgia began to find the "peace which passeth all understanding." Now she looked forward with calm, patient expectation to her meeting with her husband, with the sweet promise ever in her mind, "seek first the kingdom of God, and all else shall be added unto you." With a sad heart Georgia noticed her old companion's thin, wasted face and form, the striking brilliancy of his eyes, the hectic flush of his pale cheek, and the short, hacking cough that impeded his speech, and felt that the inspired young missionary's days were numbered.
The day came at last when the decision regarding Georgia's picture was to be announced.
She tried to be calm and patient, but notwithstanding all her efforts in this direction, when Mr. Leonard started off to hear the decision that was to condemn or accept her picture, she was in a perfect fever of anxiety. She could not sit still, she could not taste breakfast; she walked up and down her room in irrepressible impatience, with two hot spots, all unusual there, burning on either cheek, and a wild, feverish light streaming from her eyes.
Noon came – twelve o'clock – Georgia looked at her watch unceasingly. He had promised to return between twelve and one, but one passed and he came not; two, and he was absent still; three, and in her burning impatience she was about to throw on her hat and shawl and hasten out in search of news, when the door was flung open, and Mr. Leonard, flushed, and panting, and perspiring, rushed in.
"Hurrah! you've done it! you've done it! you've got the prize, Miss Randall! Hagar's electrifying the whole of 'em and got herself to the top of the tree. If Abraham was around he'd feel pretty cheap just now, to see the fuss they're making about her. I knew you would get it, Miss Randall! Let me congratulate you! Hurrah!"
And Mr. Leonard, in his delight, waved his hat and gave a cheer that sent the widow shrieking into the room to see what was the matter. And there she found Mr. Leonard grasping Georgia by both hands, and shaking them with a zeal and vehemence quite startling, while Georgia herself, forgetting everything, even her success, in her sense of the ludicrous, was laughing until her cheeks were crimson.
Georgia smiled, but her cheek was flushed and her eye flashing with triumph. Never had she looked so beautiful before, and the old gentleman gazed at her with profound admiration as she stood like a triumphant young queen before him.
"You are right, Mr. Leonard, wonders never will cease. Some day, very shortly, I intend to give you a still greater surprise."
"Eh – how – what is it?" said the old man, puzzled by her radiant face.
"Never mind, sir. You shall know in good time. To-morrow I will go with you to 'receive my reward of merit.' I have never got one since I left school, but I don't know but that I rather like the idea after all."
As she spoke the door was opened, and the widow re-entered.
"Well?" said Georgia, inquiringly.
"There are two gentlemen in the next room who want to see you, if you please," she said.
"To see me!" said Georgia, in surprise.
"Yes'm; they asked for Miss Randall."
Georgia's heart throbbed, and her color came and went. A sudden faintness seized her, and she sank into a chair.
"Why, bless my heart! what's the matter?" said Mr. Leonard, in surprise; "it can't be the artists, you know, because they don't know your name or address. What does ail you, Miss Randall?"
"Show them in here. I will see them," said Georgia, faintly, raising her head and laying her hand on her heart to still its tumultuous throbbings.
Georgia's hour had come.
The door opened, and Georgia rose to her feet, deadly pale, with many emotions, as Dick Curtis and Mr. Randall entered.
"I was right – it is she!" cried Mr. Curtis, joyfully, as he sprang forward and caught both her hands in his. "Huzza! Oh, Mrs. Wildair, Mrs. Wildair! to think I should ever see you again!" said Dick, fairly ready to cry.
"Mrs. Wildair! Why, what the – "
Mr. Leonard, in his astonishment, made use of an improper word, reader, so you will excuse me for not repeating it.
"My dear Mr. Curtis, I am truly glad to see you again," said Georgia, in a faltering voice – "more rejoiced than I have words to say."
"And this gentleman! I'll bet you a dollar, now, you'll say you don't know him," said Mr. Curtis, rubbing his hands gleefully.
"Not so, sir," said Georgia, taking a step forward and looking up in the pale agitated face of Mr. Randall, every feature of which was familiar to her now. "My dear, my long-lost brother! My dearest Warren!" And with a great cry she sprang forward and was locked in her brother's arms.
"Georgia! Georgia! my sister!" was all he could say, as he strained her to his breast, and tears, which did honor to his manly heart, dropped on her bowed head.
"Huzza! hip, hip, hurrah! it's all right now!" shouted Mr. Curtis, as he flourished round the room in a frantic extempore waltz of most intense delight, and then, in the exuberance of his joy, he seized hold of the astounded Mr. Leonard and fairly hugged him, in his ecstacy:
"Help! help! murder! fire!" yelled Mr. Leonard, struggling frantically in what he supposed to be the grasp of a maniac.
"There! take it easy, old gentleman!" said Mr. Curtis, releasing him, and cutting a pigeon's wing. "Tol-de-rol-de-riddle-lol! Don't raise such an awful row! Ain't there a picture to look at, my hearty? Hurrah! Oh, how happy I feel! And to think that I should have been the means of bringing them together – I, Dick Curtis, that never did anything right before in my life! Good gracious! Tol-de-rol – Hello? Where are you going so fast, old gent?"
Mr. Leonard, the moment he found himself free, had seized his hat, and was about to decamp, in the full feeling that a lunatic asylum had broken loose somewhere, when Georgia, looking up, espied him, and said:
"Mr. Leonard, don't go. My best friend must stay and share in my joy this happy day. Can you guess who this is?" she said, laying her hand fondly on her brother's shoulder, and looking up in his face, with a smile shining through her tears.
"Guess!" said Mr. Leonard, testily – "I don't need to guess, young lady. I know well enough it's young Randall, and I must say, although he is a namesake of yours, it doesn't look well to see you flying into his arms and hugging him in that manner the moment he comes into the house. No more does it look well for Dick Curtis to take hold of me like a bear, and dislocate every rib I have in the world, as he has done."
"No, I haven't, Mr. Leonard," interrupted Dick; "there's Mrs. Leonard, your chief rib – I haven't dislocated her, have I?"
Mr. Leonard's look of deepest disgust was so irresistible that Dick broke off and burst into a fit of immoderate laughter, snapping his fingers, and throwing his body into all sorts of contortions of delight, and his example proving contagious, both Mr. Randall and Georgia followed it, and all three laughed without being able to stop for nearly five minutes, during which Mr. Leonard stood, hat in hand, looking from one to the other, with a look of solemn dismay unspeakably ridiculous.
"Do not be shocked, Mr. Leonard," said Georgia, as soon as she could speak for laughter, "though really you are not so without cause. Did I not tell you I would surprise you oftener than you thought? Mr. Randall is my own, my only, long-lost brother."
"Her brother! Oh, ginger!" muttered Mr. Leonard, completely bewildered. "I might have known two such geniuses must be related to one another."
"For all you have kindly done for my sister, Mr. Leonard, accept my thanks," said Mr. Randall, as he came forward, with a smile, and shook him heartily by the hand.
"Well, what a go this is, anyway!" said Mr. Curtis, meditatively. "Only to think of it! And all through me – or, rather, through little Emily's picture! Why, it's wonderful! downright wonderful! – ain't it, Mrs. Wildair?"
"Mrs. Wildair!" exclaimed Mr. Leonard, looking from Dick to Georgia with wide-open eyes. Then, as a sudden light broke in upon him. "Why, Heaven bless my soul!" he ejaculated. "Sure enough, they told me Randall's sister was Wildair's wife – the one that ran away. Great Jehosaphat! to think she should turn up again in such a remarkably funny way, and should prove to be our Miss Randall! I've a good mind to swear! – upon my life, I have!"
"And all through me, too, Mr. Leonard," said Mr. Curtis, exultingly; "if it hadn't been for me they might have gone poking round the world till doomsday and not found one another. If I don't deserve a service of tin plate, I shall feel obliged to you to let me know who does."
"Land of life and blessed promise!" exclaimed Mr. Leonard, who had originally come from "away down East," and when excited always broke out into the expletives of his boyhood, "how do you like it? Do tell, Curtis."
"Well, you see," began Mr. Curtis, with the air of one entering into an obtuse narrative, "Randall —his name's Darrell, but that's neither here nor there; 'what's in a name,' as that nice man, Mr. Shakespeare, says, or, rather, as he makes Miss Juliet Capulet say when speaking of young Mr. R. Montague, her beau. Randall, as I was saying, got hold of a picture of little Emily – I mean Miss Murray, a friend of mine – drawn by Mrs. Wildair there, while residing in your house and doing the governess dodge under the name of Randall too, which turns out to be a family name after all, and one day he accidentally showed it to me, and if I didn't jump six feet when I saw it, then call me a flat, that's all. Of course, I asked him no end of questions and found out where he got it, and then it was all as clear to me as a hole in a ladder, and I knew in a twinkling who 'Miss Randall' was. So we tore along here like a couple of forty-horse-power comets, and, after a whole day of most awful bother, we found out where she was. And here we came, and here we found her, and so, no more at present from yours respectfully, Dick Curtis." And Mr. Curtis made a feint of holding out an imaginary dress, like an old lady in a minuet, and courtesied profoundly to the company around.
"My dear Miss Ran – I mean my dear Mrs. Wildair, allow me to congratulate you," said Mr. Leonard, his face all in a glow of delight as he shook her warmly by the hand, "upon my life, I never was so glad in all my days. Good gracious! to think you should turn out to be such a great lady after serving as governess in our – Well, well, well! And that you should find your brother the same day you took the prize for the best picture in the Academy of Art. G-o-o-d gracious!" said Mr. Leonard, with a perfect shake on the word.
"What! Georgia taken the prize? It can't be possible that you are the successful candidate whose wonderful picture everybody is talking about?" exclaimed her brother, whose turn it was to be astonished.
"Mr. Leonard says so," said she, smiling.
"Oh, Jupiter!" ejaculated Mr. Curtis, thrusting his hands into his pockets and uttering a long, low whistle, indicative of an unlimited amount of amazement, "and you really and truly painted 'Hagar in the Wilderness?'"
"Yes, I really and truly did," smiled Georgia.
"Well," said Mr. Curtis, in a tone of resignation, "all I have to say is that nothing will surprise me after this. And that reminds me, I've quite forgotten an engagement down town, and must be off. Randall, don't you come. I know you have lots of things to say to your sister. Mr. Leonard, you have an engagement, too – don't say no – I'm sure you have – come along. By-by, Randall, old-fellow; good-day, Mrs. Wildair. I'll drop in again in the course of the evening. Now, Mr. Leonard, off we go!" and Mr. Curtis put his arm through Mr. Leonard's and fairly dragged him away.
"And so, instead of a poor unknown governess, I have found in my sister one with whose fame the whole city is already ringing," said Mr. Randall, when they were alone, as he looked proudly and fondly in her beautiful face. "Dear Georgia, how famous you are."
CHAPTER XXIII
OVER THE WORLD
"They stood apart.
Like rocks which have been rent asunder,
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The works of that which once hath been."
Coleridge.
"Oh, Warren, what is fame compared to what I have found to-day?" she said, sweetly. "What is fame, and wealth, and all worldly honors, compared to a brother's love? But one thing more is needed now to make me perfectly happy."
"I know what you mean, Georgia – your husband. Is it possible you care for him still, after all he has made you suffer?"
She looked up in his face, and he was answered.
"Then, for your sake, I am sorry he has gone," he said slowly.
"Gone?" she repeated, with a paling cheek. "Gone where?"
"To France, on some important mission from government that no one can fulfill so well as himself, and – I have not the faintest idea of when he will return."
"Now that I have told you all that has befallen me," said Georgia, some half an hour later that same afternoon, as brother and sister sat side by side at the window, "I want to hear your adventures and 'hair-breadth 'scapes by flood and field' since that sad night long ago, when we parted last."
"I fear you are doomed to be disappointed, then, if you expect any such things from me," said her brother, smiling. "My life has been one of most inglorious safety so far, and I never had a hair-breadth escape of any kind, since I was born."
"How strange it is that I could ever believe you dead," said Georgia, musingly. "Miss Jerusha, too, to use her own words, constantly averred that you had 'got taken in somewheres,' and never would hear for a moment that you had perished in the storm."
"Well, Miss Jerusha was right," said Warren, "though really I need not thank her for it, as I am quite certain, from your description, she is the old lady that turned me out that same night. However, I forgive her for that, and owe her a long debt of gratitude besides, for all she has done for you. You remember, of course, Georgia, the company we used to act with?"
"Yes, perfectly. Don't I remember my own performances on the tight-rope and on horseback as the 'Flying Circassian?" she said, smiling.
"Well, when the old lady turned me off that night, I never felt more like despairing in all my life. I was wretchedly clad – if you don't remember it, I do – and it was bitterly cold. Still, I would not go back without help of some kind, so I staggered on and on through the blinding storm, until at last, benumbed and helpless, I sank down on the frozen ground, as I thought, never to rise again."
"Poor little fellow!" said Georgia, sadly, in whose mind the image of the slight, delicate boy he was then rose uppermost.
Warren laughed at the epithet applied to one who stood six feet without his boots, and went on:
"I suppose I had fallen into that sort of stupor which precedes freezing to death, and was unconscious; but when next I awoke to the realities of this exceedingly real world, I was in bed in a meanly furnished room, and the first face I beheld was that of Betsey Stubbs, Georgia – the one who used to figure on the bills as Eugenia De Lacy?"
"And always played the artless little girl, although she was thirty years old," said Georgia, laughing. "Oh, I remember her."
"Well, there she was, and there I was with her, and with the company again. It turned out that two of the men were passing along the road, returning to the village – what do you call it? – Burnfield, and stumbled over me, lying stiff and nearly frozen on the road. They knew me immediately, and carried me off to where the rest of them were; and it was resolved that they should decamp with me, for that old tyrant of a manager thought it too much of a good thing to lose three at once. So, in spite of my tears, and cries, and struggles and entreaties, I was forcibly carried off a little after midnight, when the storm cleared away, and brought back to the city.
"Well, Georgia, for nearly another year I remained at our old business, and with the old set, too closely watched to think of escaping, and to escape from them was now the sole aim of my life. The opportunity so long sought for came at last. One night a chance presented itself, and I was off; and fickle fortune, as if tired of making me a mark to poke fun at, came to my aid, and I made good my escape from my jealous guardians. For hours I wandered about through the city, until at last, worn out and exhausted, I curled myself up on the marble door-steps of an aristocratic mansion, and fell fast asleep.
"A hand grasping my shoulder and shaking me roughly awoke me after a time, and as I started up, I heard a gruff voice saying:
"'Hallo! you little vagrant, what are you doing here?'
"I rubbed my eyes and looked up. An old gentleman, who had just alighted from a carriage, stood over me, with no very amiable expression of countenance, shaking me as if he would shake a reply out of me by main force.
"I stammered out something – I don't know what – and terrified lest he should give me into the hands of a policeman, I tried to break away from him and fly; but the old gentleman held on like grim death, and seemed not to have the slightest intention of parting with me so easily.
"'You're a pickpocket, ain't you?' said he, sharply.
"'No, sir,' said I, half-angrily, and looking him full in the face, 'I am not.'
"'Then what brought you here,' persisted he, 'if you are not a juvenile thief?'
"'I was tired, sir,' said I, 'and I sat down here to rest, and so fell asleep.'
"The old gentleman kept his sharp eyes fixed on me as if he would read me through, with a strange look of half-recognition on his face.
"'Please to let me go, sir,' said I, again struggling to get free.
"'What's your name, boy?' said the old man, without heeding me in the slightest degree.
"'Warren Randall Darrell,' replied I.
"As if he had been struck, the old man loosened his hold and recoiled; and I, seizing the opportunity, darted off, but only to find myself in the grasp of a servant who stood holding the horses.
"'Not so fast, my little shaver,' said he, grinning; 'just you wait till Mr. Randall's done with you.'
"'Mr. Randall!' repeated I, and instantly a sort of conviction flashed across my mind that he might be my grandfather.
"At the same instant the old man approached me, and catching me by the arm, gazed long and steadily into my face, plainly revealed by the light of a street-lamp. I looked up in his agitated face quite as unflinchingly, and so we stood for nearly five minutes, to the great bewilderment of the coachman, who stared first at one and then the other, as if he thought we had both lost our senses.
"'Tell me,' said the old man, after a pause, 'what was your mother's maiden name?'
"'Alice Randall,' said I, my suspicion becoming certainty; 'and you are my grandfather.'
"'What!' he exclaimed, with a start. 'Do you know me? Who told you I was?'
"'No one,' said I; 'but I think so. My grandfather's name is Warren Randall, and that is the name on your door-plate there. I was called after him.'
"'You are right,' said he, in an agitated voice. 'I am your grandfather. My poor Alice! You have her eyes, boy – the same eyes that once made the light of my home. Where – tell me where is she now?'
"'I don't know,' said I, half-sobbing. 'She's dead, I'm afraid – she and Georgia.'
"'Who is Georgia?'
"'My sister.'
"'And your father?' he said, with a darkening brow.
"'Is dead, too; has been dead this long, long time.'
"'And so you are an orphan, and poor and friendless,' he said, speaking as much to himself as to me. 'Poor boy! poor little fellow! Warren, will you come and live with me – with your grandfather?'
"I thought for a moment, and then shook my head.
"'No,' said I, 'I can't. I must find my mother and Georgia.'
"'Where are they?' he said, eagerly. 'I thought you told me they were dead.'
"'I said I didn't know, and I don't. They may be dead, for it is over a year since I saw them last. I was carried away from them by force, and now I am going to seek for them.'
"'You!' said he. 'How can a little friendless boy like you find them? No, no, Warren, stay with me, and let me search for your mother. I may succeed, but you will starve ere you find them, or be put in prison. Warren you will stay?'"
"And you did?" said Georgia.
"And I did. I answered that what he said was true, and that he was far more likely to succeed than I was. That night I slept in a princely home, with servants to come at my call – with every luxury to charm every sense around me. Was not that a sudden change, Georgia, from the miserable quarters of the players?"
"Yes, indeed," said Georgia. "And what change did it make in you? Did affluence spoil you?"
"It might have, if I had stayed long enough there," said Warren, smiling, "for I, with all my perfections – and if you want a list of them just ask Miss Felice Leonard – am not infallible. I gave him my history, and he dispatched a trusty messenger to Burnfield, and upon his return he told me that both my mother and sister were dead. I believed him then, but I have since thought that, finding you provided for, he wished to keep me all to himself, and make me his sole heir.
"I had so long thought, Georgia, that you and my mother were dead that the revelations did not take me by surprise, and though I grieved for awhile, the novelty of everything around me kept my mind from dwelling much on my bereavement. My grandfather told me he intended to send me to school, and, when he died, make me his sole heir, on condition that I would drop the detested name of Darrell and take his. Not being very particular about the matter, I readily consented, and two months afterward I was sent to old Yale, where he himself had been educated, there to be trained in the way I should go.
"Well, Georgia, I remained there four years, and won golden opinions from the big wigs of the institution, and delighted the heart of my kind old grandfather by my progress in the arts and sciences. A letter announcing his sudden death recalled me at last. I hurried back to New York in time to follow him to the grave, and, when the will was read, I found myself sole heir to his almost princely wealth.
"Then I went to Europe and Asia, and saw all the sights, from the pyramids of Egypt down, and wrote a book about my travels, as every one does now who goes three yards from his own vine and fig-tree. Then I came home, and lo! before I have been here three months, I find that my sister, who was dead, comes to life again, and so —finis!"
"You should add, 'And they lived happy for ever after,'" said Georgia, smiling, "only, perhaps, it would not be strictly correct. And now that you have found your sister, what do you mean to do with her?"
"Make her mistress of the palatial mansion of the Randalls," said Warren, promptly, "and settle one-half my fortune on her. That, Madam Wildair, is my unchangeable intention."
"Oh, Warren, dearest. I will never hear of such a thing!" said Georgia, vehemently.
"Well, if you will excuse me for saying so, I don't care in the least whether you will or not – I shall do it. Not a word now, Mistress Georgia; you will find that you will have to obey your brother, since you have found him, and do for the future exactly as he tells you. Besides, Georgia, Warren Randall's sister shall never go back penniless to her husband," he said, proudly; "he shall find her his equal in wealth, as in everything else."
"Oh, Warren!" she said, with filling eyes.
"Not a word about it now," he said, putting his fingers over her lips; "to-morrow the world shall know you as you really are."
"Warren, listen to me," she said, taking his hand. "Until I meet Richmond again, I intend to keep my incognito. Perhaps you may call it an odd fancy, but I really wish it. No one yet knows my secret but Mr. Curtis, Mr. Leonard, and Richmond's brother, and if I wish it they will keep it a secret. Let me still be Miss Randall until he comes."
"But when will he come?" broke in Warren, half impatiently; "who knows? It may be years or – Georgia," he added, suddenly, "suppose we go to him, eh? When the mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain – rather that style of thing, isn't it? What do you say to a trip to France, ma belle?"
"Oh, Warren!" she cried, catching her breath, her whole face growing radiant with delight.
"I am answered," he said, gayly; "this day week we start."
"For where, may I ask?" said Mr. Curtis, lounging in. "Your chateau in Spain? or on a wild-goose chase?"
"Something very like it," said Warren, laughing. "We are off to France, in search of one Richmond Wildair, plenipotentiary and ambassador extraordinary to the court of that distant and facetious region."
"Whew!" whistled Mr. Curtis, "I see, says the blind man. What a thing conjugal affection is, to be sure! When do you go?"
"This day week, in the Golden Arrow. And for some inscrutable feminine reason Georgia wishes you to preserve her secret inviolable until she returns. She is still Miss Randall; you understand? You and Mr. Leonard are not to mention she is Richmond Wildair's runaway wife."
"I'm dumb," said Mr. Curtis, shutting his lips as firmly as though they were never to be opened on earth again. "Neither tortures, nor anguish, nor bad pale ale shall tear from this lacerated heart the fearful secret. Are you going to see after that prize of yours to-morrow, Mrs. Wild – gee Whittaker! I mean Miss Randall," said he, dropping his tone of stage agony, and speaking in his natural voice.
"Most decidedly," said Georgia, smiling.
"And then you are going to throw yourself away on our painfully clever friend Wildair again, and leave all your friends here in Gotham to pine away, with tears in their eyes and their fingers in their mouths," said Mr. Curtis, in a lugubrious tone; "it's something I never expected of you, Mrs. Wil – pooh! I mean Miss Randall, and I must say I, for one, never deserved it."
"Mr. Curtis, you – you were in Burnfield since I was," said Georgia, hesitatingly, and coloring deeply; "how was Miss Jerusha and Emily Murray?"
"Well they were both in a state of mind – rather," said Mr. Curtis. "Miss Jerusha flamed up, and blew us all, sky high, in fact raised the ancient Harry, in a way quite appalling to a person of tender nerves – myself, for instance – and gave Richmond what may be called, without exaggeration, particular fits! As for little Emily," said Mr. Curtis, turning red suddenly, "she – she didn't scold anybody, but she cried and took on so that I felt – I felt a sort of all-over as it were – a very peculiar feeling, to use a mild phrase, if you observe."
"Dear little Emily," said Georgia, sighing.
"That's just what I said," said Mr. Curtis, eagerly "but she didn't pay any attention to it. I suppose you know I – I went – I mean I asked – that is I offered – pshaw! what d'ye call it – proposed," said Mr. Curtis, blushing, and squirming uneasily in his chair.
"No, I did not know it," said Georgia, with difficulty repressing a smile.
"But I did though, and she refused me – she did, by Jove!" said Mr. Curtis, dolorously.
"What bad taste the girl must have," said Mr. Randall.
"You're another," said Mr. Curtis, fiercely; "she's no such thing! How dare you insinuate such a thing, Mr. Randall? There never yet was born a man good enough for her; and if you dare to doubt it, I'll be hanged if I don't knock you into the middle of next week – now then!"
Mr. Curtis was as fierce as a Bengal tiger. Mr. Randall threw himself into a chair, and laughed immoderately.
"My dear fellow, I cry you mercy, and most humbly beg Miss Emily Murray's pardon. I look forward some day to being acquainted with her myself, and if I find her all that you say, I shall consider the advisability of making her Mrs. Warren Randall."
"You be – shot!" growled Mr. Curtis, striding savagely up and down. "She's not to be had for the asking, I can tell you; and after refusing me, it's not likely she'd have anything to do with you. Mrs. Wildair – oh, darn it! – Miss Randall, I mean, when you see your husband, tell him his mother is very ill, and if he does not hasten home soon he will not see her alive. A precious small loss that would be though," said Mr. Curtis, in parenthesis – "a stiff, sneering, high-and-mighty old virago! Don't see, for my part, what Rich meant by ever having such a mother!"
One week later, Warren Randall and his sister were on board the Golden Arrow, en route for Merrie England. Fair breezes soon wafted them to the white cliffs of that "right little, tight little" island, and Georgia for the first time set foot on a foreign shore.
But now, in her impatience to rejoin and be reconciled to her husband, she would consent to make no stay; so they immediately crossed the channel into France, and posted at once for Paris. And there the first news they heard from the American consul was that Mr. Wildair had left a fortnight before for St. Petersburg.
It was a disappointment to both, a bitter one to Georgia, and Warren felt it for her sake. To follow him was the first impulse of both, and they immediately started for the Russian capital.
But fortune still inclined to be capricious, and to doom Georgia's new-found patience to another trial. Mr. Wildair's political mission required dispatch, and a few days before their arrival he had gone. From the minister they learned that his first destination was a return to Paris, from thence to Baden Baden, and it was more than probable he would visit London and then return home.
"Well, Georgia," said Warren, "you see fate is against you, and has doomed you to disappointment. Nothing remains now but to make the best of a bad bargain and start on a regular sight-seeing tour, and 'do' Europe, as Curtis would call it. And, after all, perhaps it is for the best you did not meet him. He is now rapidly rising to political distinction, and his meeting with you might distract his thoughts, and would certainly keep him from entering heart and soul into the political arena as he does now. Besides, having lost you for so long, he will know how to value you all the more when you do return. Come, Georgia, what difference, after all, will a year or two make in a life? Don't think of returning now, but let us continue our tour."