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

CHAPTER XX.
"LOVE IS THE BEST OF ALL."

 
This golden ring, love, take,
And wear it for my sake
When I am far away;
And nightly we will pray
The dear God's pity on our pain,
That we may meet again,
Our partings o'er, our sorrows past,
You mine, I yours, at last!
 

Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.

How much the two happy girls had to say to each other, when Hawthorne was gone!

It was long past midnight when they retired, and the joyous Christmas sounds were already filling the air. Even then they could not sleep, they had so many things to tell of all that had happened since they were parted from each other.

"I am quite cured of my passion for the stage. It seems to me that all actors must be deceitful villains!" cried Geraldine, and Cissy agreed with her, glad of her disillusionment.

"Do you think, Cissy," pursued Geraldine, "that I could get back my place at O'Neill's with you? Oh, I would be so glad to get back again!"

"We will try to manage it," replied Cissy. "One of the girls is to be married soon after New Year's, and perhaps you can have her place. I'll see about it as soon as I go back to the store; but we have Christmas holiday to-morrow."

"Yes; what a happy Christmas it will be for me!" cried Geraldine, thinking of what might have been, with a shudder. She laughed, to choke back a sob, and continued: "Let's hang up our stockings to-morrow night, as it's too late now, and fill them for each other as we did last Christmas."

"Agreed, my dear; it will be great fun," laughed Cissy, and added: "I suppose your Christmas gift from Mr. Hawthorne will be—an engagement-ring."

"Oh, Cissy, how nice that would be! Do you think he can afford it? Firemen aren't very rich, are they?" naively.

"I guess not; but of course he will give you a ring, even if it's a plain gold band, that will do also for a marriage-ring when the wedding comes off."

"No matter how simple a ring he gives me, I shall love it, and be proud of it, for his sake—just as proud of it as if it were a splendid diamond!" cried pretty Geraldine, tenderly, and then she laughed and said, further: "I used to be such a silly little goose, thinking I would never love and marry any man who could not give me silks and diamonds; but love has changed my nature, and I prize Harry's love more than anything on earth. Of course, I still admire beautiful, costly things, but I would not give him in exchange for a millionaire."

"You are right, dear. Although it is well to have love and wealth, too, yet love is the best of all, and I would not barter it for anything on earth," answered Cissy, so earnestly that Geraldine put her arm around her neck and whispered, coaxingly:

"Dear, you have always spoken so sweetly of love—and yet you do not seem to care for lovers yourself. Why is it? Have you never loved any one?"

Geraldine felt her companion tremble a little, then she replied, lightly:

"That is a leading question—as the lawyers say—and I don't believe I will answer it just yet. Wait—I will tell you another time."

And her answer only confirmed Geraldine in the belief she had cherished for a long time that there was a romance in Cissy's past—some love-story that had somewhat saddened her life and made her lips and eyes so sweetly pensive. From her own happy heart swelled up a silent prayer that love and joy might come soon to Cissy's life, with the same rich blessings it brought to her own.

"Now cuddle your head on your pillow, dear, and go off to the land of Nod, or you will not look pretty for your sweetheart to-morrow," commanded Cissy; and soon they were both fast asleep and wandering in the land of dreams, from which they did not return until the light of day peeped in at the windows.

"Good gracious! it must be eight o'clock! I've overslept myself this blessed Christmas morning. A good thing I don't have to go to the store to-day!" Cissy cried, springing out of bed and running to the window, where she thrust aside the curtain and peered out into the street.

A beautiful sight presented itself—a great city clothed in a resplendent mantle of deep snow, that had come between the dark and the dawn, and overhead a clear, blue sky and brilliant sunshine.

"Oh, how grand! how beautiful! and what glorious sleighing there will be to-day! Wake up, Geraldine, and see the beautiful Christmas morn!" cried the young girl, who, although she had so little of this world's goods, and did not expect a single Christmas gift, was unselfishly happy in the prospect of pleasure for others.

But they had scarcely finished their simple breakfast, gayly prepared by both their hands, when there was a knock at the door, and several packages were handed in for both of them—a little feast of fruit and confectioneries, jewel-box, with a dainty pin for Cissy, and another for Geraldine, with a ring. The gifts bore the card of Harry Hawthorne.

"Oh, how lovely in him to remember me like this! I shall fall in love with him myself! This dear brooch! How I adore it! See the dear little enameled violets, with dewy centers like real diamonds! Oh, how generous he is!" Cissy cried, rapturously, while Geraldine paled with emotion as she slipped over her finger a beautiful ring, and held it up for inspection.

Cissy went almost dumb at the sight, for the stone was a pure diamond of good size, and worth more than either girl had any idea of in their ignorance of the value of gems.

"Oh, Cissy, it is a real diamond, is it not? See how it glitters!" cried Geraldine, tremulously, as she turned her hand about, admiring the sparkling rays of light.

She was fairly overwhelmed with joy at this beautiful gift from her lover, and continued, breathlessly:

"Oh, it is so beautiful! I am so proud to have it! But—but—wasn't he rather—extravagant, Cissy? I should not have thought he could afford it, for surely it must have cost a hundred dollars at least—don't you think so?"

"More than that, in my judgment," cried Cissy, finding breath after her rapturous amazement, and continuing: "But it is none too pretty or costly for you, my beautiful darling, if he can afford it; and of course he can, or he would not have sent it. Perhaps he is not as poor as we thought. He looks like a prince in disguise, anyway, he's so stately and handsome!"

She paused, for Geraldine had found a note in the box, and was reading it.

"My Own Darling:—I am disconsolate this morning because I could not get leave of absence to come to you," wrote Hawthorne, fondly, "but I couldn't get a man to take my place at the engine-house to-day, and I daren't desert my post, for there have been two fires already this morning, and I was out with my engine in the driving snow of dawn, while you, I hope, were wrapped in slumber and sweet dreams of your adoring sweetheart!

"Isn't the snow fine? I shall try my hardest to get off in time to take you and Cissy for a grand sleigh-ride before the day is ended.

"I send you both some bon-bons and fruits, with a brooch for Cissy, and a ring for you. You will be asking yourself how can a poor fireman afford to give diamonds to his betrothed and her dear friend! Well, darling, both trinkets were heir-looms from my dead mother, who was richer in worldly goods than her son. So the little mystery is explained.

"God bless you and keep you, my beloved, until we meet again, which I trust and hope may be this afternoon.

"Devotedly,

Harry."

Geraldine gave her friend the note to read, then they discussed some of the dainties, while Cissy said, regretfully:

"If I had only known yesterday that I should have you with me to-day, I should have prepared a real little feast for our dinner, but I felt so lonely and sad I prepared nothing extra, and now I really must slip out and buy something good. What would you like, dear—a dear little chicken and some oysters? For a turkey would be too big for us two!"

"Oh, some oysters, please; I am so fond of them, and they are not so good out West, where I traveled so long," cried Geraldine, with real girlish delight, it seemed so jolly to be back with Cissy, playing at housekeeping again.

"I'll never leave my darling again until—I marry!" she thought, with kindling blushes, and while Cissy was gone she employed her time writing a very polite note to Mr. Cameron Clemens, the manager of the Clemens Company, resigning her situation, to take effect at once.

When she remembered Mr. Clemens, she felt a little remorseful over her denunciation of all actors last night, for she had found this one very kind and clever during her engagement with the company.

She went down stairs and engaged the landlady's son to take her note at once to the hotel where the manager was staying, and then tried to dismiss the matter from her mind, but she felt a little remorseful, for Laurel Vane was billed to appear again to-night, and she knew it could not go on, now that she and Standish had both withdrawn—that was, of course, unless the latter could get free from prison, which did not seem likely, considering the nature of the charge against him.

When Cissy came in, Geraldine said, happily:

"I feel as free as a bird, for I have sent in my resignation in the Clemens Company, and now I shall not have to leave you any more."

"Until Mr. Hawthorne steals you away from me," amended Cissy, kissing her rosy cheek before she hurried into the adjoining room to prepare her little Christmas dinner.

"Let me help you!" pleaded Geraldine.

"Oh, no, you shall be company come to dine to-day. And, besides, you must stay dressed up, to receive callers."

"But there's no one to call."

"Oh, yes, there is," and her words proved true, for before the day ended there came Mrs. Stansbury, with her three sisters, Carrie, Consuelo, and Mrs. Charles Butler, the lovely bride of whom Geraldine had been so horribly jealous.

How glad they all were to see her again; how they petted and made much of her, denouncing Clifford Standish for a real villain.

"And you're engaged to that splendid Hawthorne—how charming! Oh, you needn't blush! He told my husband this morning, and we all hurried off to wish you joy," cried volatile Mrs. Stansbury.

CHAPTER XXI.
"OH, GERALDINE, I'LL HAVE TO TELL YOU MY GUARDED SECRET!"

 
"I have a secret sorrow here—
A grief I'll ne'er impart;
It heaves no sigh, it sheds no tear,
But it consumes my heart."
 

At last the Stansburys were gone, but then some of the girls from O'Neill's dropped in. It was a merry, happy day to Geraldine, with but one shadow on its brightness—the absence of Hawthorne.

At every knock she started up, all blissful, blushing confusion, thinking that surely this time it was he, but each time she was doomed to a sad disappointment.

But from the constant ringing of fire alarms through the day she easily guessed what kept him from her side.

But when the afternoon was far spent, and the sunlight grew pale and cold, there was a masculine step at the door that made her heart throb quickly again with eager hope as she sprang to open it, thinking:

"I cannot be mistaken. He is come at last!"

But the next moment she stood face to face with the handsome manager, Cameron Clemens.

And as he entered there was a soft little swish of skirts as Cissy fled to the next room.

"How she hates anybody connected with the stage!" thought Geraldine, amusedly.

The manager had come to entreat her to reconsider her resignation.

He could get some one else to take the place of Standish in the play, if she would only go on, he said.

But Geraldine was obdurate. She told the manager frankly that she was engaged, and her betrothed objected to her return to the stage.

"I am very sorry for your disappointment," she said; "I like you, and you have been very kind to me, but my betrothed objects, you see, and that settles the case with me."

Mr. Clemens did not fly into a rage, as many another would have done in his place. He wished Geraldine joy, told her that the stage had lost an ornament in her withdrawal from it, presented her with the amount of salary still due her, and took a courteous leave.

He knew that he could put on another play, in which the remainder of the company could do very well that night, but he sorely regretted the loss of Geraldine, who had certainly proved a drawing card.

But he could not help the turn of events, so he went his way, bitterly disappointed, while Geraldine called into the other room:

"You can come back now, Cissy, for Mr. Clemens is gone. But, you silly girl, why did you run away? I wished you to know him, he is so nice and handsome!"

There was no answer from her friend, and she went back into the room.

There was Cissy, on a low seat in the darkest corner, and presently there came a low, stifled sob.

Geraldine flung herself on her knees by her friend, in great surprise and alarm.

"Oh, my darling girl! what ails you? Are you sick? Did the bonbons disagree with you?"

"No-o-o!" sighed Cissy.

"Then what is it, dear? Are you in trouble? Or were you angry because the manager came here? But this shall be the last of any stage visitors, I assure you! Or do you want me to go away, Cissy?" plaintively.

"Oh, Gerry, you will drive me mad with your questions! I'll have to tell you my guarded secret!"

CHAPTER XXII.
"THAT WOMAN SHALL PAY DEARLY FOR THIS!"

 
From my hand I tore in anger
That dear pledge, the wedding ring—
Swore that I would learn to hate him,
But it is so weak a thing,
This poor woman's heart, that, beating
Heavily within my breast,
Aches with jealous grief and anger,
Tortured with a fierce unrest.
 

Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.

Most bitter were the reflections of the elegant villain, Clifford Standish, during the long night in his prison-cell.

He knew too well that the charge against him was perfectly true, and that his boast to Geraldine that he would clear himself at court was absolutely false.

Two years before, he had secretly married a piquant variety actress, of whom he had soon wearied, but from whose fetters he could not get free.

Her life was absolutely irreproachable, and he could find no flaw in it on which to base an application for divorce.

And all of his flagrant violations of faith, although known too well to his wife, did not goad her to seek release from him.

She loved him, poor creature, with that dog-like devotion seen in some women of average intellect, who love the hand that smites them. She was romantic, and called it constancy; other women called it lack of spirit.

She could not and did not comprehend the baseness of the man she loved.

The end and aim of her poor, wrecked life was to win him back to the allegiance of which he had wearied so soon.

Although she dared not disregard his injunction not to reveal their marriage, she followed him about as often as her engagements would permit, trying to keep track of his movements.

When he was away from the city, she wrote him long love-letters, over which he laughed in heartless amusement.

It was one of these letters that he had pretended to read to Geraldine on the bridge at Alderson, claiming that it contained news of Hawthorne's marriage.

It was this woman who had prevented him from accompanying Geraldine to Newburgh, by threatening to reveal his fatal secret.

At length, driven almost mad by his fiendish conduct, she had thrown caution to the winds, and caused his arrest on the stage that night for desertion.

But she would have trembled with fear could she have heard his threats against her that night as he raged up and down his prison-cell, execrating her as the cause of his losing pretty Geraldine forever.

"A few more hours and my peerless girl would have been mine, all mine! Oh, to miss happiness by so slight a chance, it is horrible, and dearly shall that woman pay for this!" he swore.

But he knew that his wrath was futile, for she would have all the proofs of his conduct ready to cover him with shame in the morning.

The morning found him sullen, bitter, desperate. The policemen said afterward that his eyes looked actually fiendish when he was placed in the Black Maria to be conveyed to the court-house in Chambers street.

That fiendish look was still in his eyes when they started to transfer him from the vehicle to the court-house, and—how it exactly happened they never could tell—but the seemingly quiet prisoner whom they had not thought it necessary to handcuff, suddenly struck out with two athletic fists, landing one startled policeman on the snowy pavement, and the other one flat in the gutter. Then he fled like a professional sprinter, and nobody tried to stop him, perhaps because they pitied the poor devil, and wished him his liberty this glorious Christmas morning.

CHAPTER XXIII.
CISSY'S SECRET

 
Ay, but, darling, speak his name;
Give to sorrow words and tears;
This strange silence, proud and cold,
Fills my heart with anxious fears.
Curse him, bairnie, or forgive him,
For I know Love's subtle art;
The grief that's never spoken
May sometimes break the heart.
 

Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.

"I must tell you my guarded secret," sobbed Cissy, to Geraldine, and the latter put a loving arm around her, whispering, tenderly:

"Yes, tell me all, dear; for maybe it will ease your sore heart. You know the poet says:

 
"'Give sorrow words—the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break.'"
 

The last rays of the setting sun stole in and rested like a blessing on the dark and golden heads close together, then faded out, and left the little room in gloom as Cissy sighed:

"Oh, I thought I was getting over it; I thought I was contented again until his voice and face brought back the cruel past!"

"Whose voice and face, dear Cissy? Oh, do you mean Mr. Clemens? Did he have anything to do with your secret sorrow?"

"Everything!"

"Oh, dear, and was that why you rushed away when he entered the room?"

"Ye-es," sobbed Cissy.

"Why, this grows very interesting," exclaimed Geraldine, who dearly loved a romance. "Why, I never even dreamed of your knowing Cameron Clemens! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, I did not wish to do so. I did not mean to resurrect my sorrow from the grave where it has rested for years. Oh, why have I promised to tell it now?" began Cissy, suddenly repenting her weakness.

"Oh, darling, I'll never, never breathe it to a living soul, poor dear. Now go on, that's a sweet girl! Was Mr. Clemens your lover?"

But as the last word left her lips there came a loud, impatient double knock upon the door, making both spring up in surprise and alarm.

"Oh-h!" cried Geraldine.

"Oh-h!" echoed Cissy.

Then they smiled at each other in the deepening gloom, and Geraldine exclaimed:

"How that knock startled me! But, of course, it's Harry at last."

He was Harry to her now, her darling, and how sweet the name sounded from her rosy lips.

"Of course it is Harry. Run to the door, dear," returned Cissy, secretly glad of an interruption to the story she had promised to relate to her friend.

All in a moment she had repented it, and wished to keep the secret still.

So she was glad of the opportune interruption.

"Run to the door, dear. Do not keep him waiting," she urged, and Geraldine flew blithely to open the door for her lover, as she had done a dozen times before that day, meeting each time, as she did now—blank disappointment.

A man stood before her, to be sure, but he was an utter stranger—good-looking and well-dressed, with a bearded face and a hat pulled low over his eyebrows.

"Are you Miss Harding?" he asked, in a low, muffled voice.

"Yes."

He handed a note to her; and forgetting, in her wonder, to ask him in, she took it, and leaving him at the open door, crossed over to the window to read it by the dim and failing light of the waning day.

It ran simply:

"My darling, there have been so many fires to-day I've been on a dead run, and am almost tired out; but I didn't forget my promise to take you for a sleigh-ride, and the thought of you has been singing in my fond heart all day. It's late, I know—past five now, and I can't get off duty at the engine-house until six o'clock; but I thought I would take time by the forelock and be ready to take you for a little spin, if you don't mind the hour. So my friend, Jem Rhodes volunteered to go to the livery stable and get a sleigh for me, and bring you down to the engine-house by six o'clock, so I could take the reins the minute I'm free.

"Will you come with my good friend, Rhodes, dear? A clever fellow to do us this good turn, is he not?

"Hastily and fondly,

H. H."

In the dim light the writing looked the same as that she had received that morning from her lover. Not a doubt crossed her mind.

She hastily explained the case to her friend.

Cissy could see no objection to the plan, and she was rather relieved that Geraldine was going, so that she could not tease her for the love-story she was now reluctant to tell.

"It seems all right," she said, encouragingly.

Geraldine flew to get on her warmest wraps, and Cissy invited Mr. Rhodes to come in to the fire.

"I will light the gas," she said, hospitably, but he shrank back into the shadowy hall.

"No, thank you, I must go down and look after the horses. Please tell the young lady to hurry," he said, in that strange, muffled voice, retreating down the stair-way as he spoke.

Geraldine was ready in a minute, and Cissy went down with her to the sleigh, an elegant turn-out, with two horses.

"Don't stay too late, dear, or you may take cold," cautioned Cissy, tenderly; and then they kissed each other good-by, little dreaming how long it would be, poor dears, before they met and kissed again.