Stella Rosevelt

Yes, beautiful Star Gladstone was the heiress to Halowell Park, and all other property belonging to the late Sir Charles Thornton.

Upon reaching home after her trip to California, which had been one of great enjoyment as well as profit, she resolved to settle down to a cozy, quiet life for the remainder of the winter, and make Uncle Jacob as comfortable as she possibly could.

She was sitting in her own pretty room one morning, something as Mrs. Richards had sat in hers only a few weeks previous when she had discovered herself to be the heir to Halowell Park, but looking happy and smiling, instead of angry and discontented.

She had brought a pile of music up there to sort and arrange, it having been upset by the house-maid while dusting, and as she was looking it over, she came upon an old newspaper that had got mixed in with it.

She took it up as one often does, and ran her eye carelessly over its columns.

It happened to be the very paper which contained the notice of Sir Charles Thornton’s death, and the advertisement for the next of kin.

Star started as her eye caught that name. Then she went over both paragraphs carefully.

“I do not believe but that he was the one of whom papa wrote in that package,” she murmured, thoughtfully. “It must be the same, for he was the owner of Halowell Park of Devonshire. He was papa’s own nephew; there are no heirs, and—I wonder if I might not in some way be interested in this advertisement.”

With heightened color she arose, and going to a drawer in her dressing-case, drew forth that worn portfolio which we have seen before on several occasions.

Opening it, she took out those papers which she had read on the evening of her eighteenth birthday, and which had caused her so much agitation.

One of them contained a history of her father’s life, as we have already stated, telling how his religious views had changed as he drew near manhood, and how he had desired to go to preach to the heathen; how this had angered his father, who, when he found he could not turn him from his purpose, drove him from his home, telling him never to set foot in it again; how he had gone to Africa full of holy zeal, but failing in health, had been obliged to return and settle in a small parish of Derbyshire. Here he had met Miss Chudleigh, who at one time was visiting in the neighborhood, and she sympathizing with him in his views, they had soon grown to love each other, and felt that life would be nothing to them unless spent with each other. When, however, she had insisted upon marrying him in opposition to the wishes of her friends, she also had been discarded by them.

“You once questioned me about your name, my child,” he wrote, “and I told you that your grandmother had given it to you. I have sometimes feared I was harsh with you when you asked me about my family, but you understand now why, and forgive me if I seemed so to you. I loved my mother as I never loved any one else save my lost Annie and you, and had she been living, I should never have been so cruelly banished from my home, for I was her favorite child. She was a grand and noble woman, but there was some sorrow connected with her early life which I could never wholly fathom. I once, upon coming suddenly into her room, found her weeping over a portrait, and when I asked her the cause of her grief, she put it hastily out of sight. ‘My boy, I am foolish and wrong to grieve over the past,’ she said; ‘but I once lost a very dear friend, and sometimes feelings arise which I cannot wholly control. I want you to do something for me sometime,’ she added, trying to smile, ‘and that is, if you should ever marry and have a little daughter, you will call her Stella Rosevelt Gladstone.’ ‘I will call her anything you like,’ I answered, earnestly, and then she kissed me with trembling lips and said I was her ‘dear boy.’ This is how you came by your name, my little Star. Stella was my dear mother’s name; ‘Rosevelt,’ I have grown to believe, was one that was sacred to her.”

Then there was more about his family relations—about his father and brother. He said there were very few of his kin living; he knew of only one, now that his brother was gone, and that was his only child, Sir Charles Thornton, of Halowell Park, but he had no family; he probably believed that he—Albert Gladstone Thornton—was dead, as everybody else did, and so he had concluded it best to send her—Star—to America, to the care of Mrs. Richards, who had promised to care for her, and who, he felt, would be true to her trust for the sake of the debt which she owed her mother.

Before he had died he charged her, when giving her the package, to guard it as a sacred treasure, and not to open it until the stated time, and she had promised to do as he wished.

After Star had read this paper through, she took up the others and went carefully over them; and these were certificates and records, all of which went to prove the truth of what he had written.

Evidently the thought had never occurred to him that Sir Charles would die unmarried and childless, and that she would own and reign in the home from which he had been banished; for there was no mention of any such thing, and no desire expressed that she should ever seek to cultivate the acquaintance of her rich cousin.

When she had been through them all, she gathered them up, together with the paper in which she had seen the advertisement, and carried them below to Mr. Rosevelt, told him something of her suspicions, and asked him to examine them and see if he thought she would be likely to inherit the Thornton property.

He did look into them carefully, and felt convinced that Star stood next in line to Sir Charles.

He was deeply touched upon reading her father’s account of his mother, and his own early love.

Star had never shown it to him before. She had not liked to do so for several reasons, deeming it, for one, a sort of sacred trust from her father, and thinking also that it might sadden her kind friend.

“I cannot understand why, when her husband had been so kind and patient with her, under what must have been such trying circumstances, he should have been so harsh and unloving toward his boy for a mere difference of opinion,” he murmured, thoughtfully, while thinking of poor Albert Thornton’s banishment from home.

“Little girl,” he said to Star, “there is, I believe, a good deal in this for you, and we must sail for England immediately,” and Star felt her heart leap within her.

England was Lord Carrol’s home.

Then her lips had curled with scorn at her own folly, but she agreed at once to do whatever Mr. Rosevelt advised, and in a week they were again crossing the broad Atlantic.

Upon seeking an interview with Compton & Bailey and laying their case before them, they were gratified to learn that, although other claims had been filed, Star was the nearest of kin who had yet appeared to them.

The eminent lawyers at once set themselves to work to look up the case, found all the records to correspond with those in her possession, and finally pronounced her to be the heir to the Thornton property.

Star felt greatly surprised and troubled upon learning that Mrs. Richards was one of the claimants, for she had no desire to contest any question with her, or to appear to triumph over her in any way. She simply wished to let her alone—to drop her entirely out of her life.

When the day came round that was to decide the important question for the expectant woman, Mr. Compton insisted, much to Star’s annoyance, that it was necessary for her to meet her, and the rights of the true heir to be established in the presence of all parties.

She felt a real pity for the wretched woman when the lawyer led her out to confront Mrs. Richards and her family, for she was unwilling to cause even an enemy pain, while it did indeed almost seem as if she was destined to checkmate every move in their life; but every one, even herself, who knew the circumstances of the past, could but acknowledge that their punishment was a just one.

The days, since the meeting and happy reconciliation of Lord Carrol and Star, had been full of joy and contentment.

She did not, however, tell him of her expectations regarding the Thornton property, but when the time appointed to meet Mrs. Richards arrived, she asked him to accompany Mr. Rosevelt and herself to Mr. Compton’s office upon a little matter of business.

He, with them, remained in the inner office during the lawyer’s interview with his claimants, and the door being slightly ajar, they could hear all that passed in the other room.

Lord Carrol was greatly astonished at what he heard, but he was even more so when Mr. Compton came in and led Star forth to present her as the heiress to that large estate.

“I am almost afraid to approach you, my lady of Thornton. I begin to fear you may assume some new character at any moment, and soar so far beyond my reach that I shall lose you entirely,” he said, half in jest, half in earnest, when, that evening, he came to see her in her own room in St. James square.

“You know I told you I was glad that you won me when I was a poor, obscure little maid,” Star answered, slipping her hand confidingly into his.

“I feel perfectly sure of your love,” she added, “and yet I am not sorry that I can come to you now as an equal. I shall not be sorry to have the world say of you that you have chosen wisely,” she concluded, while her glowing eyes and smiling lips told that, for his sake, she exulted in her new position and wealth.

“What the world might say of you, under any circumstances, would not trouble me,” he answered, gravely. “But I, too, am glad that I won your heart when you had nothing, if it secures to me your unbounded trust. I do not know either,” he continued, smiling, “as I should have had quite as much assurance in approaching Sir Charles Thornton’s wealthy heiress; and yet,” with a proud uplifting of his handsome head, “while conscious of my own honor and rectitude, I have no need to fear to approach any woman whom I might love.”

Star was standing by his chair, and she bent and touched her lips to his forehead as he said this. She was very proud of this grand, true man, who had won her to be his wife simply because he loved her.

But in the midst of her joy she could not help feeling something of sadness and pity for Josephine and her disappointed hopes.

It was no light thing to have loved and lost such a man as this, and she would gladly have comforted her had it been in her power to do so.

“Uncle Jacob,” she said, more timidly than she was in the habit of addressing him, the next time she was alone with him, “I shall have so much money, now that I am to be mistress of Halowell Park, and—and when Archie takes me,” she added, with a burning blush, “that I wish you would make another will, and give your fortune, or a part of it at least, to your ‘nearest of kin.’”

“You are my nearest of kin,” he said, briefly.

“I know what you mean,” she replied, affectionately; “our hearts are surely akin; but—I really am very sorry for Mrs. Richards and Josephine, not to mention poor Mr. Richards, who has had such a hard time of it; and perhaps they would feel more kindly toward me if they thought I did not care for so much money, and truly I do not—I never can use it all.”

Jacob Rosevelt looked at her with tears in his eyes.

“My darling,” he said, with emotion, “I believe you have the heart of a saint, but I cannot alter my will—everything I have belongs to you; but I leave you free to do whatever you choose with it. If you ever find people in need and wish to help them, give them what you like; but I shall never break the seal of my will. Child,” he added, tremblingly, “you have been all the world to me; and more than this, you have helped me to find hope for the world to come. I know that you will have a great deal of money without mine, but it shall be yours nevertheless; I know that it will not be used selfishly, and I cannot leave it in better hands.”

He bent down and touched her forehead with his lips, and then left her, but her heart was filled with a song of praise.

“You have helped me to find hope for the world to come,” he had said; and there never had been a sweeter message sent in answer to prayer, she thought.

For a long time, she had noticed, he had been more respectful whenever the name of the Deity had been uttered in his presence, while, when he had accompanied her to Sabbath services, he had listened attentively, even reverently to what was said.

Looking back to that dark night on the angry waters, when she had first met him, and remembering his sneers at her trust in the “All Father,” and his bitter, skeptical retorts, she was surprised at the change that had gradually come over him; and now, to her amazement, he had confessed to a “hope” for eternity.

It was the one drop too many in her cup of joy, and it instantly overflowed in happy, thankful tears, and in a low-voiced pean of gratitude.

A month, Lord Carrol said, was all the time that he could allow his fair bride-elect to prepare to become Lady Carrol.

“But I have so much to do!” Star objected, with crimson cheeks.

“Then you must increase your forces,” he answered, with a fond smile. “I know that it is ‘etiquette’ to let the lady name the day, but considering all things, I think I ought to have that privilege. Darling, we have been separated so long that I do not feel like living without you a day more than is actually necessary. My mother wants you to come to her in Belgrave Square, and remain as her guest, while she and Vivien will assist about the wonderful trousseau, which they consider indispensable for the occasion under discussion.”

It was of no use for Star to make objections, for they were every one overruled, and it was at length decided that Lord Carrol should have his way, and she went to Belgrave Square for the intervening month.

Mr. Meredith was cordially urged to remain in London until after the wedding, and as Grace had been sent for to act as bride-maid, and a pair of clear gray eyes had earnestly seconded the appeal, he could not refuse.

He bore this “blighting” of all his previous “hopes” with wonderful equanimity, however, and ere the eventful day arrived that was to make Star a bride, he had won a promise from lovely Vivien Sherbrooke that at the end of another year she would become his wife.

“Fickle!” did I hear some fair reader ejaculate in a tone of contempt?

Well, perhaps he was; but then when he had been so heart-broken over Star’s rejection he did not know that there was a Vivien Sherbrooke in the world.

We are always disappointed, often unreasonably so, when we cannot get what we want, and perhaps his passion for our heroine was not quite so intense as he had imagined it to be. However, be that as it may, Lord Carrol’s fair sister had convinced him that

And he had concluded to spend the remainder of his life basking in the sunlight of her presence.

Mrs. Richards, with her family, lost no time in returning to America after this crushing disappointment.

They could not remain and face the people to whom they had proudly boasted of their future greatness, nor could they bear to look upon Star’s happiness and triumph over them; while, besides all this, they were greatly cramped in purse, after the extravagant outlay which Mrs. Richards insisted was necessary for people with their expectations.

Mr. Richards was very much depressed, for, to say nothing of the money which they had spent, he feared the worst from his long absence and neglect of business.

He went to see Star and Jacob Rosevelt before they sailed; he could not leave without bidding them farewell, and assuring them of his gratitude and good-will.

They received him most kindly, and he spent a pleasant hour with them.

As he took Star’s hand at parting, he bent down and kissed her fair, upturned face, while great, regretful tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I am sorry to lose you, dear,” he said; “but I know you will be happy, as you certainly deserve to be, and may Heaven bless you in your new life. I shall never forget how much I owe you—how you saved me by your kindness, and I know you will think of us all more kindly than we deserve.”

He did not give her time to reply, but turning, grasped Mr. Rosevelt’s hand, and then was gone.

A year later she heard that he was dead—that he died suddenly, after struggling hard with business and business troubles and that his family had been left in very reduced circumstances.

Through Ralph Meredith she caused a handsome sum to be invested, the income of which they were to enjoy while they should live, and she never saw or heard from them again.

St. George’s church, Hanover Square, was crowded upon Star Gladstone’s bridal morning, and “no bride so fair” had passed beneath its aristocratic arches for many a year, was the verdict which all Belgravia pronounced as it watched her leave the altar and move down the spacious aisle leaning upon the arm of her noble husband.

Her dress was of Lyons satin, and one of Worth’s most elegant productions. The lace which adorned it was the finest and costliest which far-famed Brussels could produce, and the vail “a perfect marvel.”

The bridal wreath was of delicate, feathery clematis, and was fastened to her head and vail with a set of five beautiful diamond stars, the gift of Jacob Rosevelt.

Grace Meredith and her brother presented a pair of elegant ear-ornaments to match; Lady Sherbrooke a necklace and tiara of pearls, and—time would fail me were I to enumerate all the costly gifts which were showered upon this lovely bride. There were six bride-maids, and as many “best men.” Jacob Rosevelt gave Star away to the man whom he believed to be worthy of her in every respect, and felt as if he were indeed giving up his own and only child, although she had told him she could never consent to be separated from him.

They were to spend a couple of months at Carrolton, Lord Carrol’s country seat, whither upholsterers and decorators had been sent, as soon as the wedding had been decided upon, to make everything fresh and attractive for them.

Of course Mrs. Blunt, that much “mistaken” but honest and affectionate creature, was indispensable at this time, and she was made about as happy as it is possible for a mortal to be in this life by Star’s assurance that she should be a fixture in her household as long as she should live.

After the two months at Carrolton they were to go to Halowell Park for a season, and take a look at the home of the Thorntons.

There was to be no stereotyped tour. Star said she had traveled enough for the present, and would much prefer to settle down to quiet home life—perhaps by another year they might feel like making a trip to the Continent.

Lady Sherbrooke had already grown to love her new daughter very dearly.

“It is well that I do love her,” she said, tearfully, to Vivien, when the grand wedding was over, the guests all gone, and they were left by themselves, “if I must lose you, as I expect to, before very long; but if I had searched the world over I could not have found a fairer, sweeter wife for my son. Heaven bless our Star! She bids fair to prove a guiding light in Archie’s home.”