Stella Rosevelt

The following day Mr. Meredith, according to his promise, went to dine with Lord Carrol at his mother’s elegant mansion near Belgrave Square.

After the meal was over, and the other guests comfortably disposed of, Archie took his friend up into the “sanctum,” as he called it, for a smoke and a quiet talk.

If Lord Carrol suspected anything of the feeling which Ralph had entertained for Star, he gave no sign, but confided to him, as they sat there together, more of his hopes and plans for the future, and spoke with much more of freedom regarding Star than he had done the day before.

When they had finished their cigars, Lord Carrol arose and said:

“Come inside, Mr. Meredith, and I will show you one of my treasures.”

He went back into his “sanctum,” followed by Ralph, and passing by all the beautiful paintings, drawings, and engravings which hung upon the walls, he walked to an easel which stood in a corner, and removing a cloth that covered it, stepped back for his friend to look.

Ralph Meredith gave one look, and then exclaimed, in unfeigned surprise:

“Star!”

“Yes, it is Star,” Lord Carrol said, with a tender smile, as he looked upon the portrait. “I am glad you recognize her, for I should be sorry if she had changed so much that you could not. This is a picture which I love, and which I keep for myself alone. It is very seldom that I show it to any one, and I have never told its history to any living being until I told it to you last night. As she stood there that morning in her modest beauty, severing that tress at my request, I began to love her with a love that will never die while I live. I have that little lock of gold here now, Mr. Meredith,” he said, touching the diamond-studded locket which hung from his watch-chain, “and untold wealth could not purchase it from me. Here is the cameo also which I gave her in exchange, and of which I told you, too, last night,” and he held up his left hand, on the little finger of which gleamed the ring that Josephine Richards had made of it. “Ah,” he added, with a sigh, “it is hard to think that she could believe me so false—so treacherous and cowardly, as to win her love and then cast it aside as of no value.”

“Yet it was very natural for her to think so under the circumstances,” Ralph returned, thoughtfully. “You must realize that yourself, for you say that on Saturday you declared your affection for her under the name of Archibald Sherbrooke, and won an expression of her own for you in return; while on the Monday following you appeared in Mr. Richards’ family as Lord Carrol, who, she had been told, was a suitor for his daughter’s hand. It does not seem strange to me that she should think the very worst of you. You certainly were in a false position before her, and it must have been a severe blow to her pride as well as to her affection; for, as we have seen, Miss Gladstone is not lacking either in self-respect or spirit.”

“No, I suppose it is not strange; but, oh! if she would but have given me one minute, I could have convinced her of her mistake, and all the sorrow that has followed might have been avoided,” sighed the young lord, as, with another fond glance at the picture, he covered it again and turned away.

“You will be more successful when you go to her again,” Ralph said, cheerfully.

“Yes,” Archie returned, with firmly compressed lips; “Miss Gladstone will listen to me when I go to her again. It is but right that she should hear my justification, whether she receives it favorably or otherwise.”

“I have no fear of the result,” his guest returned, smiling; “for Miss Gladstone acknowledged to me that, in spite of her belief in your unworthiness, her affection for you remained the same.”

A flush of joy shot over Lord Carrol’s face at this.

“Did she tell you that?” he asked, eagerly. “Then I will doubt no more; and I have you to thank for bestowing such happiness upon me as I never expected to know again.”

They spent a half hour longer looking at other pictures, but sweet sounds coming up again from the drawing-room distracted Ralph’s attention and tempted him below.

“Do I not hear the fair songstress of last night again?” he asked.

“Yes, that is Vivien singing,” replied her brother.

“I am very fond of music; shall we rejoin the company?”

They went down, and, seeking the fair Vivien’s side, Ralph Meredith spent a most delightful evening, the memory of which clung to him for many a week afterward.

The next morning he left London for a three-months’ tour through Scotland, Ireland, and the Continent.

Mrs. Richards sat in her handsome boudoir one morning a few weeks later, reading a newspaper.

Something had evidently gone wrong with her, for her face was overcast, an angry red glowed in her cheeks, and her eyes gleamed with a sullen fire.

The reason for this was the flat refusal, on the part of Mr. Richards, to accede to her immoderate demand for five hundred dollars, to purchase for herself and Josephine new dresses for the coming winter, and she had just returned to her room after the stormy interview.

“I cannot let you have a dollar,” he had said, with a gravity almost amounting to sternness, “for I haven’t it to spare.”

“Not a dollar, George!” she retorted, with a scornful laugh. “Who ever heard of anything so absurd?”

“It is true, nevertheless,” he answered, gloomily. “Two months ago I expected that to-day would find us all beggars.”

“What do you mean?” his wife gasped.

“Just what I say; and but for the appearance of a friendly hand just when and where I least expected it, I should have been obliged to fail, overwhelmed with debt and disgrace, and everything we have—house, furniture, horses, and carriages—would all have had to come under the hammer of the auctioneer.”

“I cannot believe it,” Mrs. Richards said, growing pale.

“That does not alter the fact, however,” her husband replied, laconically.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I did tell you. I kept writing to you when you were at Newport, Ellen, that I could not long endure such a drain upon my purse as you were subjecting it to, and that you must curtail your expenses; but you paid no heed to me, launching instead into greater extravagances.”

“But I never dreamed that things were so serious as you represented,” she said, a guilty flush mounting to her forehead, as she remembered that all her lavishness had been to outshine Star. “I never thought you were really embarrassed, or I would not have asked for so much.”

“Well, then,” he answered, in a gentler tone, “show your consideration for me now, for you and Josephine will have to wear your old clothes this winter. My trouble has been tided over for the present through the kindness of a friend, but it will require great care and calculation on my part to keep my head above board even now. I shall have to begin cautiously, or I shall be back again in the slough of despond.”

“But I do not see how we can get along without some new things,” began Mrs. Richards, selfishly.

“You must; that is all there is about it,” returned her husband, positively. “If you can’t go into society and wear what you have, then you must stay at home this winter; and I do not think it would do you any harm for once, either.”

Mrs. Richards flushed angrily. When she saw her husband in this mood, she knew there was no turning him, and she would be obliged to submit to his edict.

“I’m sure I do not see what can have happened to make you so penurious all of a sudden,” she said, sullenly.

“Penurious! Oh, Ellen!”

He looked at her yearningly for a moment.

She was a handsome, distinguished-looking woman, and had been a very fond and tender wife during the first years of their married life; but unlimited indulgence, and constantly mingling in the fashionable world, had made her selfish and unfeeling.

“My dear,” he went on, after a moment, “why cannot you comfort me a little—give me a little sympathy in my trouble? My burden has been very hard to bear alone, and the worst of it has been that I was obliged to refuse your requests. You know that I am not penurious—that I never denied you anything that I could possibly grant you. Ellen, I wish you could be a little more kind to me than you have been of late.”

“I do not know anything about business matters; I could give you very little advice or comfort in that way,” she replied, coldly; and then she left him feeling very miserable, and in anything but a comfortable frame of mind herself, and not a little startled to know that they had been so near the brink of ruin as he had represented.

She returned to her own room, picking up the morning paper, which lay upon the hall table, on her way. Sitting down, she ran her eye carelessly over its columns, while her mind was busy planning some way to get along without her accustomed full purse, and “keep up appearances.”

Suddenly her glance was transfixed by a paragraph which sent sharp, prickling pains throughout her body, and every nerve quivered with excitement as she read:

“The heirs, or nearest of kin to Sir Charles Thornton, late of Halowell Park, Devonshire, England, will find it to their advantage to communicate at once with Compton & Bailey, No. 54 Lincoln’s-inn-fields, London.”

Just below this advertisement was a notice of the sudden death of the young baronet from diphtheria.

Mrs. Richards sat like one overcome by some violent shock for a few moments after reading this account. Then springing to her feet, and taking the paper with her, she went back in hot haste to her husband, her cheeks crimson, her eyes glowing with agitation.

“If what I suspect should prove to be true, the dream of my life will be realized. Sir George and Lady Richards would sound very well, indeed,” she murmured as she went.

Her husband looked up as she entered, and she was startled as she noticed how pale and care-worn his face had become; but she was too eager to communicate her news to pay much heed to it.

“George,” she said, eagerly, “read this!”

She laid the paper before him as she spoke, and pointed to the paragraph which had excited her so.

“Well, I have read it, but I do not understand it; I do not know anything about Sir Charles Thornton,” he returned, indifferently.

“What are you thinking of, George Richards!” cried his wife, impatiently. “My mother was half-sister to Sir Charles Thornton’s mother. Sir Charles had no family; there are no other relatives to be found on either side, it seems, or his lawyers would not have advertised thus, and I believe that I am ‘the nearest of kin.’”

“Nonsense, Ellen! Don’t get such a wild idea as that into your head, for you will surely be disappointed,” Mr. Richards answered, skeptically.

“I don’t know about that. But one thing I have long known, and that is that the Thornton branch of the family is nearly, if not quite, extinct. It is evident that no heirs are to be found in England, or Compton & Bailey would not have advertised in the United States papers,” she returned, feeling more and more sure in her own mind that her first impressions had not been at fault.

“That is a good argument, truly,” Mr. Richards said, with sudden interest, and then began to question his wife, and to examine more closely into the matter.

The result was that the next steamer bore a long letter to Compton & Bailey, No. 54 Lincoln’s-inn-fields, stating Mrs. Richards’ relationship to Sir Charles Thornton, of Halowell Park, Devonshire, together with proofs of what they asserted.

A month passed, and they had begun to think they had been nourishing a chimera, when, one day, there came an answer from Compton & Bailey, saying that they had faithfully studied the chronological tables of both sides of the Thornton family, and had arrived at the conclusion that Mrs. Richards was undoubtedly the nearest of kin to the late Sir Charles.

They stated that they had been advertising for a long time in English papers, and no one had presented any claim. They had then concluded to publish a similar notice in the American papers, and as it had met with no other response, they would undoubtedly decide the matter in favor of her.

However, they suggested that she come to London at once, as they could conclude better what to do after a personal interview.

“If it should prove a ‘wild-goose chase,’ as I fear it will, I can ill afford the expense of the trip,” Mr. Richards said, when considering the question.

But his wife was all enthusiasm, as well as very sanguine regarding the result, and it was at length decided that they should sail as soon as practicable, and preparations were at once begun for the voyage.

Mrs. Richards merely remarked to her friends, when informing them of their plans, that Mr. Richards was not well; they all wanted a change, and had resolved to try what a trip across the Atlantic would do for them. Not one word was breathed regarding her expectations, however.

“If I am successful, there will be time enough then to make it public; if I am not, no one shall ever be able to crow over my disappointment,” she said, cautiously, to her husband; although in her own mind she had not a doubt as to the issue of the matter, while already visions of a title and a life among the nobility of England, presentation at court, and a marriage in high life for Josephine, were taking shape in her head.