Stella Rosevelt

On returning to New York, Star learned that Ralph Meredith had sailed for Europe a couple of days before their arrival.

The week that they had promised themselves for rest at home proved to be a busy one instead, for considerable preparation was necessary for the long journey they were contemplating, as it was to occupy three or four months.

Star was glad to be at home again, and went flitting about the house, full of business and life.

One day they were out making a few necessary purchases, when suddenly, in one of the stores, they came upon Mr. Richards.

He looked aged and care-worn, neglected and unhappy. His face lighted with momentary pleasure, however, when he caught sight of Mr. Rosevelt and Star, and he came forward to greet them with extended hand.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you once more,” he said, heartily. “I am not going to reproach you either for running away from us, for, unpleasant as it is for me to say it, I could not blame you under the circumstances. But it is only within a week or two that I have learned of the change in your life; and, Uncle Jacob, I am sincerely glad that you did not lose your fortune, as we supposed.”

“Thank you. Then you do not feel aggrieved over the ruse I played upon you?” replied Mr. Rosevelt, regarding him searchingly.

“Not at all; it was no more than right that you should wish to know who was worthy to be your heir,” but he sighed heavily as he spoke, as he remembered how unworthy his wife had proved herself to be.

“How goes the world with you?” Mr. Rosevelt asked, and noticing the return of the care-worn look to Mr. Richards’ face.

“Rather discouragingly just now. I have met with some pretty heavy losses lately; don’t know whether I shall be able to pull through all right or not. A couple of weeks will tell the story, however.”

He spoke in a desperate tone, and there was a look in his eyes that made Star shudder and involuntarily draw closer to Mr. Rosevelt.

“You don’t mean that you are in danger of going under?” he said, in surprise, and remembering how his wife and daughter had flourished at Newport.

“Just that,” Mr. Richards returned, nervously; “but if it was not for the horror I have of debt, and the thought that others must suffer through me, I would gladly lay down my arms and give up the battle; I am tired to death of this endless struggle to keep up appearances. But,” he added, trying to speak more cheerfully, “I won’t bore you with my troubles. How well you are both looking; and Star—they tell me you are the author of ‘Chatsworth’s Pride.’ I declare I was never prouder of anything in my life when I heard it. I always knew you’d make your mark in the world.”

Star colored. She was a trifle sensitive regarding compliments of this kind, and never talked about her book if she could help it, except with those whom she was sure were her true friends.

But she thanked him gracefully, and then turned the conversation to some other topic, while all the time she was wondering if there was not something that she could do to help or comfort him in his trouble.

“Now that I have found you,” he said, later, “tell me where you live and I will come to see you. I will not invite you to Brooklyn,” he continued, with a frown, “for I know you could not come there with any comfort, though I should be glad enough to see you there.”

While he was speaking, Star had drawn a little back, so that Mr. Rosevelt was between her and Mr. Richards, and he could not see her face at all.

“Uncle Jacob,” she whispered, close to his ear, “cannot we do something to help him out of his trouble? He looks so wild and desperate that he frightens me. He was always kind to me, and I’ll willingly give up California or anything else you please.”

Jacob Rosevelt’s face flushed hotly at these words, and a strange gleam came into his fine eyes. He appeared to take no notice of her plea, but after giving Mr. Richards their street and number, continued:

“If you have no other engagement, George, come up and dine with us to-night, and see how cozy we are. We have dinner at six, and as we leave for California on Wednesday night, I am afraid we shall not see you again.”

George Richards caught his breath with a sudden gasp at this intelligence, and Star noticed again that frenzied gleam in his eyes which had made her heart throb painfully.

“California, do you?” he said, trying to speak steadily. “Well, I will come, of course, then; for life is uncertain, you know, and I may never see you again,” he added, with a harsh, grating laugh. “Thank you for the invitation, and as I have no engagement, I will be on hand in season for dinner. But I must be off now, for I have agreed to meet a couple of gentlemen at twelve, and it only wants fifteen minutes of that now.”

He lifted his hat and bowed to them, then turned away; but the white-haired gentleman and the beautiful girl who stood looking after him saw the aged, dejected look return almost instantly to his face, and heard the heavy sigh that escaped his lips, telling of some fearful burden of care that was wearing his life away.

“So you want me to help George Richards out of his trouble, do you, Star?” Mr. Rosevelt said, on their way home, and his eyes rested fondly on the graceful figure sitting by his side, driving her pretty gray ponies.

“Perhaps it was presuming in me to ask you to do so, Uncle Jacob,” Star answered, gravely, and flushing a vivid crimson; “but I feel very sorry for him. He was kind to me in many ways while I was living with his family, and but for him I should have been made a common servant.”

When George Richards was ushered into Jacob Rosevelt’s luxurious and cozy dining-room that evening, where the table was laid with exquisite taste for three, his eyes lighted, and the look of care vanished as if by magic from his face.

Three times after dessert Star made Mr. Richards let her fill his tiny cup with the delicious coffee; then she playfully told him that she should not give him any more, but if he would come into the library, she would try and see what she could do toward intoxicating him in some other way.

“I have not forgotten how fond you are of music,” she added, smiling, “and I want you to tell me if you do not think I have improved some since you last heard me play.”

She slipped her hand through his arm and led him into the library, while Mr. Rosevelt watched her with humorous eyes as she performed this labor of love.

Seated at the piano, she whiled away another hour, making George Richards forget everything disagreeable, and appear the pleasant, genial gentleman whom she used to know.

“‘Richard is almost himself again,’ I think,” she thought, with a happy little smile, as once, after a comic song which she sang to him, he leaned back in his chair and laughed long and heartily.

But this could not go on forever, and finally Mr. Rosevelt gradually led him to talk business, and asked him to tell him just what his trouble was.

This changed everything, and he became at once the anxious, care-worn man again.

“I do not like to trouble you, Uncle Jacob,” he said, uneasily. “You have had your day of business, with all its cares and perplexities, without bothering your brain with those of other people. I’m in a terrible muddle, it is true; but—I guess there will be some way out of it;” and there came into his eyes that same wild, desperate look which Star had noticed in the morning, and which made her shudder with a terrible fear.

But Mr. Rosevelt insisted, and finally drew from him a true statement of facts.

“I am sorry you are having such a hard time of it, George,” he said, thoughtfully, when he had concluded. “How much would it take to relieve you of your embarrassment?”

Mr. Richards cast a startled look at the old gentleman at this question; then, while a deep flush mounted to his brow, he said:

“I can raise enough to meet all my present liabilities with ten thousand dollars. I have tried to borrow it everywhere, but everybody seems to have become suddenly shy of me for some reason, and I might as well be without a dollar in the world as without the whole amount. If I could raise it, it would set me on my legs again, for my credit would be good, and, with care and patience, I believe I could retrieve my position.”

Star almost held her breath while she waited for Mr. Rosevelt’s reply to this.

To her infinite surprise, he turned to her.

“My dear,” he said, gently, “you shall return some of the kindness of which you told me this morning. I think you understand what I want you to do.”

He glanced as he concluded toward the private drawer in his desk, where he always kept his check-book, and she knew that he wanted her to go and fill out a check for the amount that Mr. Richards had named.

She arose, went to the desk, unlocked the drawer with trembling fingers, and drew forth the book.

Opening it, she filled out a check, as she had often done for him during the last few months, then tearing it out, carried it to him, with a pen filled with ink.

He turned it over and wrote his name on the back without a word, and then returned it to her to sign.

She took it mechanically, but stood irresolute for a moment, looking at him, while her cheeks grew crimson.

“Give it to him, dear; it is to be your gift,” Mr. Rosevelt said, glancing at Mr. Richards, who sat staring at them both in blank amazement.

A brilliant smile parted Star’s red lips; she shot a grateful look at Uncle Jacob, and advancing to their visitor’s side, laid the check down before him.

One glance at the figures, and the overburdened man bowed his head upon the table with a groan.

“I cannot take it! I cannot take it—and from you, of all persons!” he said, brokenly.

“Why not from her?” Mr. Rosevelt asked, huskily. “All that I have belongs to this dear girl, and, as I have told her many times, I live only to make her happy. She asked me to do this to-day after we had met you, because, she said, you had been kind to her in the past, and she longed to help you out of your trouble. So take it as her gift, my boy; make the best use of it that you can, and welcome.”

George Richards groaned again, while he reached forth and grasped the old man’s hand, wringing it in silent gratitude, yet overwhelmed with shame and remorse as he remembered all that he and the fair-haired, gentle girl standing beside him had suffered while they were members of his family.

He had no words of thanks to offer for this generous help in time of need, but if ever a world-weary heart was relieved of a burden too heavy to be borne, his was, when at length he folded that precious bit of paper and put it away for future use.

When he arose to take his leave, he took both of Star’s hands in his and drew her aside, where he could speak to her alone.

“But for you,” he said, in unsteady tones, “I should have been a ruined man a week hence. To tell you that I am ashamed to receive this gift from you does not express half what I feel, when I look back and remember your position in my family. But you have bestowed it so kindly and delicately that it would be churlish in me to refuse it; and you have taught me a lesson which, God helping me, I will never forget—a lesson of forgiveness and charity; and no one in my house shall ever be treated unkindly again, no matter what their position may be,” he concluded, with stern resolution.

“Please forget all the past, Mr. Richards,” Star returned, sweetly, but with evident embarrassment. “I never entertained any feeling save that of gratitude and good-will toward you, for you proved yourself interested in my welfare in more instances than one while I was with you. But,” she added, solemnly, while she clung tightly to his hands, and looked into his eyes with an expression which made them droop guiltily before her, “will you not promise me that, no matter how dark the future may be to you, no matter what trials or disappointments may come to you, you will never again meditate doing yourself an irreparable wrong?”

A streak of dusky red shot across the man’s forehead, while his veins filled out hard and full.

“Star,” he stammered, “what do you mean?—what do you know?”

“You know what I mean. I read it in your eyes, I heard it in the tones of your voice this morning. But, oh! my friend,” and her voice was full of tears, “remember that you are ‘bought with a price’—you are not your own. Promise me.”

He raised her hands and kissed them reverently, and two hot tears rolled over his cheeks and dropped upon them in the act.

“I promise,” he whispered, hoarsely. “My child, I should indeed have been ruined, body and soul, but for you. God bless you!”

Star and Mr. Rosevelt followed him to the door as he went out, both trying to cheer him with kind wishes for the future.

“Good-night and good-by,” the young girl said, in tones that sounded to him like an angel’s voice, as she stood in the door-way and watched him go down the steps. “Be sure to come and see us again when we return; the latch-string is always out, as they say at the West, for our friends.”

A mighty sob burst from the overcharged heart of George Richards as he reached the street, and the tears—tears of mingled remorse, gratitude, and relief—rolled thick and fast over his face.

“Thank God,” he murmured, fervently, “for the light of that ‘star’ in the midst of what was worse than Stygian darkness. But for its friendly beams and cheering influence, I should have been lost indeed.”

He had proceeded some distance, when he stopped short and seemed about to retrace his steps.

“How thoughtless of me!” he muttered, impatiently. “I meant to tell her all about Lord Carrol. He deserves to be set right with her, and she deserves—well, nothing can be too good for her; but they knocked everything out of my head by their unexampled generosity. I will not go back to-night,” he added, after thinking a moment; “I will write her to-morrow the whole story.”

But the morrow brought its busy cares and perplexities, and his resolution was forgotten. After that it was too late, for he did not know where to address her during her absence; and so Star still believed her lover to be false, and still mourned her shattered idol.