FROM WANT TO WEALTH.
"At sea—we're all at sea upon life's ocean,
And none can boast a never-failing chart;
Sail as we may, we'll meet with dread commotion,
And hidden shoals to terrify the heart.
We're all at sea; some favored ones, enchanted,
Float peacefully upon the placid tide,
While others with sad doubts and fears are haunted,
And ever on the roughest billows ride."
Francis S. Smith.
Clifford Standish watched the scene before him with
eager interest.
It was like the plot of a play, this touching union of a
long parted mother and child.
In watching the interesting scene he forgot for a moment
how it might affect his own interests.
The beautiful, sorrowful widow, with tears streaming
down her pale cheeks, extended her arms to Geraldine, exclaiming:
"I am your own mother, my darling!"
Startling and surprising as this statement was to Geraldine,
not a doubt of its truth entered the girl's mind.
On the contrary, her heart leaped with joy, for she had
already felt herself drawn with inexplicable tenderness to
the speaker.
And the moment that she held out her arms to Geraldine
the girl sprang into them gladly, and the next moment
they were embracing each other with ineffable tenderness,
the grief of the widow comforted in a measure by the restoration
of her daughter.
Clifford Standish looking on, suddenly felt a touch of
uneasiness, and muttered, under his breath:
"Confound the luck! I wish she had not met this woman
until after we were married."
And thinking it was time for him to assert his claim, he
waited until the mother and daughter withdrew from each
other's arms, and said, respectfully:
"Accept my congratulations, madame, on the finding of
your beautiful daughter, my promised wife!"
The lady, with a quick start of surprise, as if she had
but that moment become aware of his presence, turned and
looked at the speaker.
His words had fallen like hail-stones on her heart.
She was one of the proudest women on earth, and her
large dark eyes scanned Clifford Standish with cold inquiry.
He had just announced himself as the betrothed of her
daughter, and the cold glance of her eyes asked distinctly
if he were worthy of that honor.
There was a moment of breathless silence, and the actor
looked at Geraldine with eyes whose veiled menace defied
her to deny his claim. She, remembering his deadly
threats, paled and shuddered.
She could not afford to anger him yet. She realized that
fully.
The lady, after transfixing the daring actor with one
steely glance, looked at her daughter.
"Is this true?" she asked, in displeased surprise.
"It is true," faltered Geraldine, without daring to look
up; and again Standish, encouraged by success, interposed:
"Let me explain the case to you, madame. We have been
engaged to marry for some time, and we are now on our
wedding journey—that is, we are to be married as soon as
we reach Chicago."
The lady, still icily ignoring her daughter's suitor, exclaimed:
"Can this be true, Geraldine?"
The young girl answered again, dejectedly.
"It is true."
Standish beamed upon her gratefully, joyously, hoping
from her acquiescence that he had indeed made some impression
on her heart.
But the mother was wearing her most frigid air as she
remarked:
"This is a rather unusual proceeding. Should not the
marriage have preceded instead of following the wedding
journey?"
Standish answered, quickly:
"That is the usual way, certainly, but this was an elopement."
"An elopement?" cried the lady, with rising indignation;
but Geraldine laid a pleading hand upon her arm,
crying:
"Mother, dear mother, let us discuss this question later.
At present let me present Mr. Standish to you."
The mother bowed with cold courtesy. She evidently did
not approve of her daughter's suitor.
Standish read her mind like an open book.
He comprehended that she was proud and rich, and
would scout the idea of her daughter's marriage with one
beneath her in social position.
Yet he was all the more determined to make her his
own.
Bending down to Geraldine, he whispered, hoarsely:
"Let me speak to you alone."
She withdrew with him to a little distance, and he whispered,
sternly:
"Do not forgot that I have sworn that you shall marry
me, or become the bride of Death."
"I will remember," she faltered, and he added:
"The discovery of your mother makes no difference in
your promise to me. She must not refuse your hand to
me."
Geraldine saw that he was in a desperate mood, and she
did not care to offend him; but her heart was throbbing
joyfully in her breast, for she knew that heaven itself
would come to her aid, and that she would surely outwit
him at last.
But she said, with quiet dignity:
"Mr. Standish, it would seem as if common decency required
the postponement of this subject until after my
mother has buried her dead."
"You are trying to escape me!" he exclaimed, warningly;
but he saw by her indignant look that he was presuming
too far, for she said, quickly:
"This harshness will not further your cause with me,
sir. You cannot marry me by brute force."
"That is true; but I have your promise."
"Extorted from me under menace of death!" she returned,
indignation getting the better of her calmness.
"Oh, Geraldine, cannot you forgive the madness of a
love like mine that dares anything rather than lose you?"
he implored, with theatrical fervor.
"Geraldine, dear," called her mother, softly, and she
darted back to her side.
The lady said, quickly:
"My dear daughter, I can never give my consent to your
marriage with that person."
Geraldine threw her arms about the lady, and whispered,
thrillingly:
"Dear mother, I do not wish to marry him; but—let us
wait until after we reach Chicago before we repudiate my
promise. I fear his anger, for he is a desperate man. Let
us temporize with him until we are out of his power."
By that time Standish had returned to his seat, and seeing
that the proud mother of Geraldine was determined to
ignore him, his anger made him say, sullenly:
"Madame, you have asserted a claim to Miss Harding, as
your daughter, but you have presented no proofs to substantiate
your claim. As her present guardian and her betrothed
husband, I must request the production of those
proofs."
She gazed at him in cold astonishment at this audacity,
but answered, frigidly:
"Your solicitude does you credit, but I can satisfy all
your doubts."
Beckoning the conductor, who was passing through the
car, she said, quietly:
"Kindly tell this person my name and standing."
Standish winced under the contemptuous epithet, "person,"
and glared at the conductor, who turned to him and
said:
"Mrs. A. T. Fitzgerald, formerly of New York, now of
Chicago, was the wife, now the widow, of A. T. Fitzgerald,
the foremost banker and capitalist of Chicago."
Standish bowed without a word. He saw the impassable
gulf of wealth and social position yawning between him
and pretty Geraldine, but he swore to himself that he
would not give her up.
Mrs. Fitzgerald thanked the conductor, and added:
"No doubt you are familiar with the circumstances of
my first marriage, and—divorce. Kindly tell him these
also."
The conductor looked embarrassed, but she smiled at
him encouragingly, and said:
"Do as I ask you, please. It is indeed a favor."
"Mrs. Fitzgerald's first husband was Howard Harding,
of New York, from whom she obtained a divorce ten or
eleven years ago."
"State the cause," broke in Mrs. Fitzgerald's clear voice,
and the conductor, who was fully conversant with this
scandal in high life, added:
"Howard Harding led a gay life, and deserted Mrs.
Harding for a notorious Parisian of the demi-monde. His
wife secured a divorce, and in about two years married
Mr. Fitzgerald, of Chicago."
"And the custody of their only child, little Geraldine,
was given——" she began.
"To the mother, of course," ended the conductor.
"Yes, and within a year she was stolen from her by the
guilty father and hidden from her so securely that she
never found her again until to-night," cried the lady, her
eyes resting tenderly on the face of her lovely child.
"Is it so indeed? Let me congratulate you most heartily,
madame," exclaimed the conductor, his eyes resting admiringly
on Geraldine, while he added: "The likeness between
you is most startling."
"And, oh, mother, dear mother, it was this kind gentleman
who came to me in another coach and begged me to
come and comfort you in your sorrow. But for him we
might never have found each other," cried Geraldine, in
boundless gratitude, for she felt that not only had he restored
her to her mother's arms, but he had also delivered
her from the power of her desperate lover.
Mrs. Fitzgerald, who had been so frigid to Standish, unbent
from her haughty mien and wept tears of gratitude
as she wrung the hand of the conductor.
"Oh, Captain Stevens, as kind as you have always been
to me on my journeys on your train, I never knew your
true worth till now, but ere long you shall receive ample
evidence of my gratitude," she assured him.
The conductor was very proud and happy over his
agency in restoring Geraldine to her mother's arms, but
while he was declining her promised reward, he was called
away, and then Mrs. Fitzgerald turned again to her daughter's
suitor.
"Are you satisfied with my proofs?" she demanded, icily.
"Perfectly, madame, and I hope you will permit me to
express my joy at your reunion with your daughter."
"I thank you, and I have a request to make of you. I
wish to be left alone with my daughter at present. Will
you kindly respect this desire, and call on me later in Chicago,
where I will consider your claims for my Geraldine's
hand?" said Mrs. Fitzgerald, presenting him with a card
on which was engraved her address on Prairie avenue.
Thus coolly dismissed, and not daring to protest against
the authority of the haughty lady, Standish bowed and
withdrew to another seat in the same coach, where he
covertly watched them without daring to intrude his hated
presence on them.
"Ah my darling, how strangely all this has happened!"
cried the lady.
"How strangely and how fortunately!" echoed Geraldine,
gladly.
"But, oh, how sad that it did not happen sooner—before
my darling husband died! Oh, how he would have loved
you for my sake, Geraldine; for he was so good to me, he
made me so happy, that no grief remained in my heart for
that false one who deserted me for a wicked woman, and
then stole you away from me!" cried her mother, her
mournful thoughts reverting to that loved lost one whose
pulseless form had now been conveyed to another coach
to be made ready for its last long sleep.
"Oh, my mother, how can I comfort you for your sad
loss?" cried Geraldine, tenderly.
"You can love me, darling, and try to fill the void left
by his loss. Oh, I hope that his kind spirit hovers near and
knows that I have found you, my dear, for we have wished
for this so often, and he has spent many thousands of dollars
trying to trace you for me, but all in vain. For all
our efforts were made abroad, in the belief that your
father had taken you away with him. I could not conceive
of his taking you away and then deserting you so heartlessly.
But doubtless that wicked woman induced him to
do it. Such women have great influence over weak-minded
men. But let us try to forgive him the wrongs we suffered
at his hands now that he is dead," ended Mrs. Fitzgerald.
