Stella Rosevelt

There was something strangely familiar about that slight, graceful form and in those lustrous eyes—in that golden-crowned head, and the now happy, smiling lips.

“Miss Gladstone, I am very glad to meet you,” she began, as she cordially put out her hand to her; then turning abruptly, and speaking with a slightly startled accent, she added:

“Archie, surely I have met her before?”

“Yes,” he answered, his face glowing; “I see that you have recognized her.”

“Star,” and the tender inflection on that name told his mother everything, “she has seen the picture that I painted when I was in America, and she has now discovered who the original is.”

“Yes, my dear,” Lady Sherbrooke added, while she studied the beautiful, flushed face; “I do recognize your countenance, and I am quite proud of my son’s achievements as an artist. You are an American, I believe. I am very happy to welcome you to England.”

Star’s heart beat rapidly at this cordial, almost tender greeting, and wondered if she was indeed the same girl who, feeling so wretched and forlorn, had entered that room only two hours before.

“No, mother; Miss Gladstone is not an American,” Archie explained. “She is an English lassie, and we met on shipboard while crossing the Atlantic; but more of that story anon,” he said, significantly. “Now, will you entertain her for a few moments while I go and find Vivien?”

“With pleasure,” Lady Sherbrooke responded, her heart bounding to hear those clear, joyous tones ringing through her son’s voice—sounds which she had not heard before since his first return from America; while she said to herself:

“This is the girl whom my son loves and will choose for his wife;” and her heart warmed toward Star as it never had done before toward another outside of her own family.

After finding his sister and taking her back to Star and his mother, Lord Carrol sought Mr. Rosevelt and had a long talk with him, explaining to him, as he had to his dear one, the unfortunate circumstances which had conspired to separate them, and learning in return something of their life during the past fourteen or fifteen months.

After this he rejoined the trio of ladies—those three beautiful women whom he loved above everything else in the world.

“The ‘story’ that you were going to tell me, Archie, but did not, as you were called away to London, is told. I read it in your face to-night, and in that of the beautiful girl to whom you have introduced me. My boy, I think now that you will be your own dear self once more,” Lady Sherbrooke whispered, as he came and stood by her side, and his eyes, in reply, told her more than his lips could have done; but he asked, in a low, intense tone:

“Is she not rightly named Star?”

“She is charming; I have no fault to find with her personally. But her family?” she questioned, cautiously.

“Is all right also, mother mine. I will tell you all about it to-morrow.”

In a distant corner of the room Mrs. Richards and Josephine sat and viewed this meeting, bitterest envy rankling in their hearts.

The angry girl had sought her mother upon leaving the anteroom, and told her of Star’s presence there.

“I declare it is more than human nature can bear to be obliged to encounter her everywhere. And to think that such a miserable, insignificant little chit as she was when she came to us should win game after game from us. She is a proverbial checkmate, I believe,” Mrs. Richards said, complainingly. “But even if she does become Lady Carrol,” she added, “I shall take care that she does not outshine us. Thank fortune, we shall have a handsome income to flourish upon.”

“I hate her—I hate them both! and I wish I were dead!” Josephine cried, passionately.

When Mr. Rosevelt, Lord Carrol, and his party were about retiring, they encountered the Richardses in the great hall.

Mr. Rosevelt took no notice of them, although he would have greeted Mr. Richards had he been with them, and they guiltily avoided him.

The young lord bowed coldly, and would have passed on, but Josephine, in a sudden fit of desperation, laid her hand upon his arm, saying, in low, fierce tones:

“I give you joy of your chambermaid bride! But beware! You will not feel quite so jovial when all London rings with the fact that the proud Lord Carrol has married a common house-servant!”

“Miss Richards,” he returned, haughtily, “even such a statement of facts could not injure the fair, pure woman whom I have chosen for my wife; but allow me to say that if you are so ill-disposed as to publish anything of the kind, you will find, to your sorrow, that the shafts from your venomous tongue will only serve to poison still further your own life.”

“We shall see!” she sneered.

“You will find,” he went on, as if he had not heard her, “that Miss Gladstone is so far above you, both morally and socially, that it does not lie in your power to do her the slightest injury.”

“We shall see, my lord!” the maddened girl repeated, vindictively; but, without giving her time to say more, his lordship passed on to Star’s side, and drawing her hand within his arm, led her away to her carriage.

The day came at last which was to decide Mrs. Richards’ claim to the Thornton estates, and, according to appointment, she repaired to the office of Compton & Bailey, in the highest of spirits, dressed in the most magnificent style, and accompanied by Josephine, clad with equal richness, and her husband.

“Well, Mr. Compton, my probation is ended at last,” she said, gayly, to that gentleman, as she entered, and greeted him with her most gracious manner.

“Ahem! I suppose we may say that it is,” he returned, in a strangely embarrassed way.

“Well, then, I presume there is no need of further delay, and we can take possession of the late Sir Charles’ property as soon as we choose,” she remarked, too deeply engaged with thoughts regarding her own brilliant future to notice his manner.

“Ahem!” the lawyer repeated, an uneasy expression on his face; “I did expect that I could tell you to-day everything was all right and you could go down to Halowell Park as soon as you liked; but——”

“But what?” Mrs. Richards demanded, with some show of impatience. “It appears to me that you are somewhat mysterious this morning, when heretofore you have acknowledged my relationship to Sir Charles Thornton to be proved beyond a doubt.”

“Yes, madam, you have clearly proved, it cannot be contested, that you were a relative of the late baronet’s; but—I am sorry—it will be a great disappointment to you, doubtless, to learn at this late day that another party has put in a claim for the estate, as being the nearest of kin.”

The lawyer heaved a sigh of relief when he had stumbled through this piece of ill-news.

“What?” almost screamed Mrs. Richards, reeling where she stood.

She had never even thought of such a calamity.

“There is no nearer relative living,” she continued, with pale lips. “You yourself said you were convinced of that.”

“And so I was, a month ago, madam; but I have been obliged to change my opinion since then.”

“What—what has changed it?” she asked, trembling with fear and excitement.

It would be too dreadful now, when the prize was almost within her grasp, to lose it, and to be obliged to return poor and disappointed to America.

“You remember, perhaps,” the lawyer said, avoiding meeting her eyes, for they were wild in their expression, “that I told you that Sir William Thornton—the late Sir Charles’ father—had a younger brother, Albert by name——”

“Yes, but you said that he left home years ago to go as a missionary to some outlandish place, where he died,” interrupted the anxious woman.

“Where it was supposed he died,” said Mr. Compton, with significant emphasis.

“Did he not die?—is he living?—has he returned?” his client gasped.

“No; he died some years ago; but he left a child. That child is living, and has put in a claim for the estate.”

“But you told me he left no issue——”

“It was all supposition, madam, since we could learn nothing to the contrary; but we have recently learned our mistake.”

“He shall not have the property; he may be an impostor. I shall contest the point,” Mrs. Richards said, with frantic vehemence.

“Ellen, do be reasonable,” said her husband, sternly.

“Unfortunately for your peace of mind, madam, it is a point that cannot be contested,” returned Mr. Compton; “and, if you will give me your attention for a few moments, I will explain it to you.”

With a groan, Mrs. Richards sank into a chair, more wretched than she had ever been in her life.

“Your mother,” began the lawyer, also seating himself, and motioning Mr. Richards and Josephine to do the same, “was half-sister to the late Sir Charles’ mother. That made her half-aunt and you half-cousin to him. That relationship, however, would have been near enough to give you the property had no nearer claimant appeared. Sir William Thornton, the late Sir Charles’ father, and Albert were own brothers; consequently, the child of Albert would be own cousin to the late Sir Charles, and being a descendent on his father’s side, by far the nearest of kin. Have I made it clear to you?”

He glanced as he spoke at Mr. Richards, who nodded, while his wife covered her face and groaned aloud.

“Now,” resumed Mr. Compton, “I will tell you, in as few words as I can, the story of this younger brother, Albert Thornton. He was quite a number of years Sir William’s junior, and at an early age dissented from the established church and religion of his ancestors, and insisted upon going as a missionary to Africa. This so enraged his father that he disowned him, charging him never to show his face inside his ancestral home again. Deeply wounded, but still adhering to his convictions of duty, he went to Africa, but was obliged to return to England again in the course of a couple of years, on account of failing health. He did not, however, present himself in the home from which he had been banished, for this neither his pride nor his wounded heart would allow him to do. He therefore settled in a distant county, where he had charge of a small parish at a merely nominal salary, during the remainder of his life. Not long after his return he married a gentle and lovely girl, and one child was born to them, who, recently seeing our advertisement for the nearest of kin to Sir Charles, has presented a claim for the estate.”

“Who is this child?—where is it?—where did it come from at this late day?” questioned Mrs. Richards, who felt as if all the world was slipping away from her.

“Wait one moment and I will introduce you,” the lawyer said, as, rising, he gently retired to his inner office.

He returned almost immediately with a lady on his arm. Mrs. Richards started to her feet and uttered a piercing scream the moment her eyes fell upon her.

The lady was Star Gladstone!

“That girl again!” shrieked Mrs. Richards. “You don’t mean to tell me that she is the heir to Sir Charles Thornton’s property?”

“Yes, madam, this young lady and no other; but I was not aware that you had the honor of her acquaintance,” responded Mr. Compton, with some surprise, as he led Star to a seat.

“But her name is Gladstone——”

“Have a little patience and I will explain still further,” interrupted the lawyer, who was beginning to be disgusted with one who gave way so to passion.

“Miss Gladstone tells me that she has been known by that name all her life; that until her eighteenth birthday she was not aware that she was entitled to any other. But her father left a package of papers at his death, containing a history of his life, with all the necessary proofs, but charged her not to open it until she was eighteen years of age. In this he related what I have already told you, and also the fact that when he was a child, his father, through the death of a relative, succeeded to the title and estates of the Thorntons of Devonshire, upon condition that he assumed the name. Such things happen often here in England, you know, as in the case of Lord Carrol, whom you are acquainted with. When the elder Mr. Gladstone, or Thornton, died, of course William, his eldest son, succeeded to the baronetcy. Albert, the second son, upon his return and settlement in a parish of Derbyshire, gave his name as Rev. Albert Gladstone, and under this name married a Miss Chudleigh, who was also discarded by her family for wedding a poor dissenting clergyman—one who was deemed far beneath her socially, as no one suspected his connections with the Thorntons. After her death, and when Mr. Gladstone found that he also had not long to live, he said he could not reconcile himself to the thought of giving his orphan daughter to the care of those to whom he had been a stranger so long, although his own blood flowed in their veins; so he arranged to send her to a distant relative of his mother’s in America, who agreed to take charge of her and her education for her sake. This last, however, Miss Gladstone has told me, and her residence in that country at the time of the death of the late Sir Charles, and her ignorance regarding her relationship to him, accounts for the fact that we have but just discovered her claim. Everything is as plain as black and white can make it. We have looked up the records, and find they correspond with the papers in her possession, and among which is a certificate of her parents’ marriage, and one of her own baptism, together with other important documents; and now, I think, you cannot fail to perceive that Miss Gladstone, being Sir Charles Thornton’s own cousin, is the nearest of kin, and we shall therefore be obliged to give her claim the precedence. I regret, madam,” the lawyer concluded, in his blandest tones, “that we did not learn of this in season to save you the trouble and expense of such a long journey. However, I trust that you have reaped enjoyment sufficient from the trip to compensate you in a measure for your disappointment.”

Mrs. Richards looked blankly from one to another of the occupants of that room, as if she could not, even yet, comprehend the magnitude of the calamity which had so unexpectedly overtaken her.

“I do not believe one word of it. It is all a piece of fraud to cheat me out of my rights,” she cried at length, while her own blazing eyes threatened to annihilate the beautiful girl, her successful rival, who sat opposite with downcast eyes, and feeling really sorry, in spite of all that she had suffered at Mrs. Richards’ hands, for her distress over this terrible defeat.

“Do not allow yourself to become unreasonable over the matter, madam, I pray. There has not been, I assure you, even the suspicion of a fraud,” Mr. Compton said, his own eyes beginning to take fire at this assertion. “The papers are all there on my table; everything has been written out in the plainest manner, and copies made of all the records which go to prove what I have told you. You can examine them, if you choose; but there cannot be the slightest doubt regarding Miss Gladstone’s claim. She alone inherits everything belonging to the late Sir Charles Thornton.”

“Oh, she has been the bane of our lives; she has ruined and upset every plan that we have made since the day when she first set foot in our house—since she came to us like the beggar that she was,” sobbed the wretched woman, giving way utterly to her misery.

“Ah! then you are the woman to whom Albert Thornton confided his orphan daughter when he knew that he could not live?” said Mr. Compton, quickly, his keen mind at once grasping certain facts which Star, from a feeling of delicacy, had withheld from him, when, to her surprise, she learned that Mrs. Richards had also come to England to claim the Thornton estates.

“That has nothing to do with the case. She has ruined us, and that is enough to think about for one day, I should imagine,” she retorted, angrily, and flushing.

“Ellen!” and Mr. Richards spoke very sternly; “you are as unreasonable as a child. Star has been kindly disposed from the first. It is you who have tried to ruin her—who have oppressed and sought to degrade her in a way that is a shame to you and your promises to her dead father. It is a bitter thing to be obliged to condemn my own wife thus publicly, but I cannot calmly listen to your calumniations of her, for, instead of being our ruin, she has been our salvation. Only this fall, when my business was tottering, and my reason with it—when I was upon the verge of bankruptcy—of self-destruction—I confess it with shame and sorrow now—she came to me like a beam of light and saved me from becoming both a bankrupt and a suicide. She gave me, or caused to be given to me, a check for ten thousand dollars, which set me upon my feet again. She spoke, too, such solemn, gentle words to me as I shall never forget, and which kept me from the horrible pit into which I was stumbling, and we owe all that we are and have to her. To go still farther back, you owe your life to her mother. Josephine was saved from a dreadful death by Star’s bravery; and, instead of hating her because unforeseen circumstances have raised her to a high social position, we should rejoice that it is so. Star, my dear girl, you have at least one grateful heart in my family.”

He went over to her side and put out his hand to her, though he was so deeply moved that it shook like a leaf, and she took it with streaming eyes, and wholly unable to utter a single word in reply.

What a wreck that heartless woman had made of his life, she thought. He was naturally a kind and tender-hearted man, and deserving of a better fate than had been his.

But his wife bridled angrily, losing all control over her tongue.

“I wish I had never set eyes on her face; and I wish your hand had been palsied before it ever took that ten thousand dollars from her. She came into our family and stole your heart from me by her arts and sly speeches; she wheedled out of Jacob Rosevelt the fortune that should have been mine; she tricked Josephine out of the man who should have married her—who would have done so but for her; and now she has come to steal the inheritance which ought to have been mine. I hate her, and I curse her from the bottom of my heart!”

“Then you are a thoroughly bad woman, and I am thankful that Sir Charles Thornton’s estate is to pass into more worthy hands. Much as I sympathize with and respect your husband, madam, I cannot permit my young client to be insulted in my presence, and I have the honor to wish you a very good-morning.”

Mr. Compton said this very spiritedly, his fine face flushing with indignation, his lips curling with contempt, while he walked to the door of his office and held it open, with such an air of stern determination that Mrs. Richards did not dare to disregard this very emphatic invitation to take her departure, and she walked wrathfully, but utterly crushed by her bitter disappointment, from the room.