Stella Rosevelt

Mr. Rosevelt, Star, and Grace Meredith, with good-natured Mrs. Blunt to attend to matters of comfort, started on the day appointed for their Western trip, full of bright anticipations of the pleasures in store for them; and while they are gone, we will follow Ralph Meredith on his voyage across the Atlantic to the old world.

Arriving in London, he transacted what business he had to do there, and then turned his attention, with what interest he could muster while his heart was still so sore from his recent disappointment, to the attractions which the great city afforded.

He visited the House of Parliament, the Tower, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the National Gallery of Art, and many other points of interest, reserving Westminster Abbey until the last, as he wished to give plenty of time to this wonderful and magnificent structure and its countless curiosities.

Upon his second visit thither, and while he was in the chapel of Henry the Seventh, with his guide, who was pointing out for his admiration the beauties of its architecture, the vaulted roof, with its magnificent carvings, and many precious relics gathered there, a clear, sweet voice suddenly broke the solemn stillness of the place by calling out just behind him:

“Why, Archie Sherbrooke, do you know what time it is? Quarter past eleven, and we promised Lady Dunham that we would be back in season to attend the rehearsal at the Albert Memorial Hall with her.”

Ralph had thought that he was the only visitor there that morning, and that silvery voice speaking that name, which he remembered but too well, gave him a shock which sent the blood coursing like fire through his veins.

“It is later than I thought, Vivien; we must go at once, if we keep that appointment,” a rich, manly voice said in reply; and turning quickly to look at the speaker, Ralph saw a tall, handsome young man of perhaps two or three-and-twenty, with the head of an Apollo, the form of an Adonis, and having a keen, intellectual face, with frank, truthful eyes, and a pleasant, winning smile.

The lady who accompanied, and who addressed him, was a year or two younger evidently, and almost as lovely as Star, Ralph thought, although her beauty was of a different style.

Archie Sherbrooke! There surely could not be two young men of the same age, handsome as one of the gods, and bearing the same name.

His heart had bounded into his throat as he heard it spoken, his face had flushed a painful crimson, while his hands instinctively clinched themselves in hot indignation, and he longed to confront the handsome traitor and denounce him for the villainous part he had played.

This, then, must be the man who had broken Star Gladstone’s heart and ruined her life; there was not a doubt of it in his own mind.

Yes, he was sure this was the Archibald Sherbrooke of whom Star had told him.

Who, then, was the woman who had been with him? Was it his wife?

He did not think she was his sister, for, except in the color of her hair, she did not resemble him in the least.

Were they Americans, and traveling, like himself, in the kingdom?

Perhaps, if they were married, they were thus spending the honeymoon; but they had spoken of “Lady Dunham” in a way to make him doubt that they were his countrymen.

Such thoughts as these tortured him, and he became possessed to seek out the young man and discover if he were indeed Star’s recreant lover.

The young lady had spoken of a rehearsal at the Albert Hall. He knew there was to be a concert there that evening, and possibly it might be an outgrowth of the rehearsal. He would go and see.

Accordingly, at the hour designated upon the bills, he went, armed with a powerful opera-glass, and procuring a conspicuous seat, he swept tier after tier of faces, searching for those which he had seen in the morning.

But disappointment was the result of his efforts; for that fair, girlish face was nowhere to be seen, nor could he find him who had been the young lady’s attendant.

Suddenly, however, a strangely sweet, bird-like voice, rising clear and full on the air, drew his attention to the stage, and there, with a thrill which tingled through every nerve, he saw the lovely girl for whom he was looking.

Ralph Meredith sought for her name upon his programme, which stated that the concert was given, under the auspices of some of the nobility, for some charitable object, and that the talent was all amateur.

“Miss Vivien Sherbrooke,” he read, and he again experienced that sudden heart-throb.

She was not, then, Archibald Sherbrooke’s wife, but, in all probability, his sister.

He listened intently throughout her song; and then, as the sweet voice died away, and she turned to leave the stage, he leaned breathlessly forward to watch her, while thunders of applause went rolling up into the heights bove him.

She came back again after a moment, slightly flushed at the encore, but in a graceful, modest way, and sang a simple ballad.

She was as sweet and charming as she could be, and when at length she ceased and went away again, Ralph Meredith heard a long-drawn breath, as of relief, directly behind him, while a voice said:

“I believe Vivien never sang so well before; but I am glad that part of the programme is over.”

“Yes,” replied deeper, but more familiar tones; “I was a trifle anxious myself, although I know she never fails in what she undertakes. Vivien is a jewel!”

“You are right, Archie. So is my son; and I am surprised that, at your age, some one has not won you both away from me,” returned the lady, in suppressed, but fond and playful tones.

“You are not anxious to get rid of either of us, I hope, mother?”

“No, indeed; and yet it would be expected in the natural course of events; and with so many fair maidens and gallant young gentlemen playing the agreeable to me, I cannot but feel some curiosity as to who will eventually get my treasures.”

There was no reply to this speech, but Ralph was sure he heard a sigh.

After a few moments he turned and ran his eye with seeming carelessness over the sea of faces behind him, glancing at those two to whose conversation he had just been listening.

It was even as he had surmised when he heard that manly voice.

Archibald Sherbrooke sat directly behind him, and beside him a noble, matronly looking woman whom he closely resembled; but there was an unmistakable look of pain upon the young man’s face, and a wistful, anxious look in his handsome eyes.

“Not married, after all this time, and with that sorrowful face and bitter sigh. I begin to think there may have been a misunderstanding of some kind, instead of a willful wrong,” he said to himself. “He does not look like a man to prove treacherous to a woman,” he added; “there is something noble and prepossessing about him; and yet Star said she denounced him to his face.”

When the concert was over, and while he was slowly passing out with the crowd, some one at his side suddenly exclaimed:

“Halloa, Meredith! where on earth did you come from?” and a friendly hand grasped and shook his with a vigorous cordiality.

“Alden! is it you?” he cried, in return. “I might ask the same question of you, since I had not a thought of seeing you here; but since it is evident that we are both Americans, it is safe to assume that we came from ‘over the seas and far away.’”

“When did you arrive? Where are you stopping, and how long do you stay in London?” demanded Alden, his tongue going like a race-horse.

“Well,” Ralph returned, laughing, “you mean to know all about me, I see. I arrived a week ago yesterday; I am stopping at the Midland Grand, and my stay is—indefinite.”

“Good! but now I have found you, I mean to keep an eye upon you. I tell you it sets a fellow up wonderfully to see a home-face. Have you any other engagement for this evening?”

“No.”

“Then come with me. I have an invitation to Lady Stamfield’s reception—and, by the by, she does entertain charmingly—with permission to bring as many friends as I choose. Come; my lady is a delightful hostess, besides having two of the loveliest daughters in the world.”

“Such an inducement as the latter I am unable to resist,” Ralph responded, with a smile. “I will come with pleasure.”

“You’re a sensible fellow,” replied young Alden, as, linking his arm familiarly in that of his friend, he led him away.

Ralph found Stamfield House a delightful place. Lady Stamfield all, and more, than Herbert Alden had promised him in the way of a hostess, and the Misses Stamfield, young ladies of eighteen and twenty, pretty and talented, and entertaining enough to make an hour or two pass very agreeably.

He was very cordially received upon being presented by his friend, and introduced to a number of pleasant people, and he began to think that he had not seen the best side of London after all, since he had not heretofore been favorably impressed with its citizens.

After he had danced two or three times, young Alden sought him again, and took him away to the billiard-room, which, for that evening, had been set apart for a smoking-room.

“I want to introduce you to some fine fellows,” he said, on the way thither, “‘bang up’ boys, we should say in America, who will give you a good time while you stay here.”

He found a dozen or twenty young men gathered in the billiard-room, and was introduced to several of them by his friend.

He spent half an hour very pleasantly there, and then began to think that it was time that he was getting back to his hotel, for it was a long distance from that portion of the city.

He stood by the billiard-table alone for a moment, waiting to bid young Alden good-night, when suddenly he heard his voice at his elbow, introducing him to “Lord Carrol, of Carrolton.”

He half put out his hand, glanced up at the stranger, started, withdrew it, and bowed stiffly to his lordship. He had recognized Archibald Sherbrooke!

The fine, genial face of the young peer clouded at the act and his cool greeting; but, with his natural good-breeding, he appeared not to heed it, and expressed his pleasure at the meeting; while Alden, the introduction over, turned away, leaving them together.

“I beg your pardon,” Ralph said, the hot blood mounting to his brow, for his loyal heart could not forget Star and her wrongs, “I have heard you addressed twice to-day by another name—Archibald Sherbrooke. Has my friend made a mistake in introducing you to me as Lord Carrol?”

His lordship laughed, and his face cleared instantly.

“No,” he said; “I am both Archibald Sherbrooke and Lord Carrol. I am troubled with a plurality of names, which frequently cause mistakes, some of which are ludicrous, and some—painful.”

This last statement was supplemented with a heavy sigh.

“But,” he added, more lightly, “I will shake hands with you over either,” and he extended his hand again.

But Ralph would not take it.

He drew back a step, and bent a perplexed look upon his companion’s face.

“Pardon me again,” he said; “but before I take your hand, allow me to ask you a single question.”

“Certainly; a dozen if you like,” Lord Carrol answered, haughtily, for Ralph’s refusal to take his hand had hurt him keenly.

“You have been in America?”

“Yes.”

“You met there a young lady by the name of Miss Stella Gladstone?”

Lord Carrol started as from a sudden shock, and grew pale to his lips.

“Stella Gladstone! What can you tell me of Star Gladstone?” he demanded, hoarse from emotion.

“That her heart is broken—her life ruined,” Ralph Meredith answered, sternly, for he knew now that he had found his man, and he meant to show him no mercy.

He trembled with excitement, and his fingers ached to strangle the villain and coward who had so basely betrayed the trust of the loveliest woman on earth.

“Her life ruined! Don’t tell me that,” Lord Carrol whispered, with white lips, while the look of agony which leaped to his eyes would have moved the hardest heart, had it been less sore than Ralph Meredith’s.

“Yes, and you are the traitor who is accountable for it,” he answered, hotly.

The young man flushed, and he drew himself up with sudden dignity, struggling to regain his self-possession, which had been sadly disturbed at the mention of that dearly loved name.

“You forget yourself, sir,” he said, haughtily. “What right have you to address me thus? Why do you speak to me in this way of Miss Gladstone, and arraign me for what you assert?”

“Why should I not?” Ralph Meredith demanded, in low, fierce tones. “Did she not tell me with her own lips of your baseness and treachery? And do you think that I can take the hand of the man, were he twice a lord, who has ruined the life of”—“the only woman whom I ever loved,” he was about to add, but something restrained him and made him substitute—“an angel?”

Archibald Sherbrooke was very pale now. He was a proud, brave young man, and all the hot blood in his composition had been aroused by this sudden and unexpected attack from the stranger to whom he had been introduced by a mutual friend.

He had uttered words which, under any other circumstances, would have made him fell him to the ground and chastise him for his insolence.

But he controlled himself, for he saw that Ralph was a noble fellow, although he had constituted himself the champion of the woman whom he still loved with a deathless love, and meant to avenge her wrongs if he was assured that he had found the right man.

He reasoned, too, that he must be laboring under the same mistake of which Star had been the victim, and that the only way to deal with him would be to explain just how matters stood.

Besides, a wild hope was springing up in his heart that through him he might be able to find her whom he had lost, and whom he never ceased for one moment to love.

He laid his hand on Ralph’s arm, and the young man felt it tremble with the emotion which thrilled him.

“Come with me,” he said, in a low, earnest voice, “where we can be by ourselves, and I will talk this matter over with you. There has been a terrible mistake, and my two names have been the cause of it all. I loved Star Gladstone devotedly; I love her to-day. I have done her no wrong, as I will explain to you, and nothing would have kept me from her side if she had not hid herself from me. Come.”

He linked his arm familiarly within Ralph’s, and drew him from the room to a small antechamber leading from the hall, and shut the door, while the young man was dumb with astonishment at what he heard, and began to feel as if he had got himself into a very unpleasant predicament by his rashness.