A SURPRISE.
Later in the evening, when Gertrude, having resigned her little charge to the nurse who came to seek her, had again joined her party, the attention of every one assembled in the drawing-room was attracted by the entrance of a beautiful and showily-dressed young lady, attended by two or three gentlemen. After glancing round the room for the person whom she came to seek, she advanced towards Mrs. Petrancourt, who rose to receive her young visitor. Unexpected as the meeting was to Gertrude, she recognized Isabel Clinton, who passed both her and Emily without observing them, and, there being no vacant chair near at hand, seated herself with Mrs. Petrancourt on a couch a little farther up the room, and entered into earnest conversation; nor did she change her position or look in the direction of Dr. Jeremy's party until she was taking leave. She would have passed them then without noticing their presence, but hearing Dr. Gryseworth address Miss Flint by name, she half turned, caught Gertrude's eye, spoke a careless "How do you do?" with that indifference with which one salutes a very slight acquaintance, cast a look back at Emily, surveyed with an impertinent air of curiosity the rest of the circle to which they belonged, and unceremoniously walked off, whispering to her companions some satirical comments upon the place and the company.
"Oh, what a beauty!" exclaimed Netta to Mrs. Petrancourt. "Who is she?"
Mrs. Petrancourt related what she knew of Miss Clinton, told how she had travelled with her in Switzerland, and met her in Paris, where she was universally admired; then, turning to Gertrude, she remarked, "You are acquainted with her, I see, Miss Flint." Gertrude replied that she knew her before she went abroad, but had seen nothing of her since her return.
"She has just arrived," said Mrs. Petrancourt; "she came with her father in the last steamer, and has been in Saratoga but a day or two. She is making a great sensation at the 'United States,' and has troops of beaux."
"Most of whom are probably aware," remarked Mr. Petrancourt, "that she will have plenty of money one of these days."
Emily's attention was by this time attracted. She had been conversing with Ellen Gryseworth, but now turned to ask Gertrude if they were speaking of Isabel Clinton.
"Yes," said Dr. Jeremy, "and if she were not the rudest girl in the world, my dear, you would not have remained so long in ignorance of her having been here."
Emily forbore to make any comment. Gertrude was silent also; but she burned inwardly, as she always did, at any slights being offered to the gentle Emily.
Gertrude and Dr. Jeremy were always among the earliest morning visitors at the spring. The doctor enjoyed drinking the water at this hour; and, as Gertrude was fond of walking before breakfast, he made it a point that she should accompany him, partake of the beverage of which he was so fond, and afterwards join him in brisk pedestrian exercise till near breakfast time.
On the morning succeeding the evening of which we have been speaking, they had presented themselves at the spring. Gertrude had gratified the doctor, and made a martyr of herself by imbibing a tumblerful of water which she found very unpalatable; and he having quaffed his seventh glass, they had both proceeded some distance on one more walk around the grounds when he suddenly missed his cane, and believing that he had left it at the spring, declared his intention to return and look for it.
Gertrude would have gone back also, but, as there might be some difficulty in recovering it, he insisted upon her continuing her walk in the direction of the circular railway, promising to come round the other way and meet her. She had proceeded some little distance, and was walking thoughtfully along, when, at an abrupt winding in the path, she observed a couple approaching her—a young lady leaning on the arm of a gentleman. A straw hat partly concealed the face of the latter, but in the former she recognised Bella Clinton. It was evident that Bella saw Gertrude, and knew her, but did not mean to acknowledge her acquaintance; for, after the first glance, she kept her eyes obstinately fixed either upon her companion or the ground. This conduct did not disturb Gertrude in the least; Bella could not feel more indifferent about the acquaintance than she did; but being thus saved the necessity of awaiting and returning any salutation from that quarter, she naturally bestows her passing glance upon the gentleman who accompanied Miss Clinton. He looked up at the same instant, fixed his full grey eyes upon her, with that careless look with which one stranger regards another, then, turning as carelessly away, made some slight remark to his companion.
They pass on. They have gone some steps—but Gertrude stands fixed to the spot. She feels a great throbbing at her heart. She knows that look, that voice, as well as if she had seen and heard them yesterday. Could Gertrude forget Willie Sullivan? But he has forgotten her. Shall she run after him and stop him, and catch both his hands in hers, and compel him to see, and know, and speak to her? She started one step forward in the direction he had taken, then suddenly paused and hesitated. A crowd of emotions choked, blinded, suffocated her, and while she wrestled with them, and they with her, he turned the corner and passed out of sight. She covered her face with her hands and leaned against a tree.
It was Willie. There was no doubt of that; but not her Willie—the boy Willie. It was true time had added but little to his height or breadth of figure, for he was a well-grown youth when he went away. But six years of Eastern life, including no small amount of travel, care, exposure, and suffering, had done the work that time would ordinarily have accomplished. The winning attractiveness of the boy had but given place to equal, if not superior, qualities in the man, who was still very handsome, and gifted with that natural grace and ease of deportment which win universal commendation. The broad, open forehead, the lines of mild but firm decision about the mouth, the frank, fearless manner, were as marked as ever, and were alone sufficient to betray his identity to one upon whose memory these and all his other characteristics were indelibly stamped; and Gertrude needed not the sound of his well-known voice, that too fell upon her ear, to proclaim to her beating heart that Willie Sullivan had met her face to face, had passed on, and that she was left alone, unrecognised, unknown, unthought of, and uncared for!
For a time this bitter thought, "He does not know me," was present to her mind; it engrossed her entire imagination, and sent a thrill of surprise and agony through her whole frame. She did not stop to reflect upon the fact that she was but a child when she parted from him, and that the change in her appearance must be immense. The one painful idea, that she was forgotten and lost to the dear friend of her childhood, obliterated every other recollection. Other feelings, too, soon crowded into her mind. Why was Willie here, and with Isabel Clinton leaning on his arm? How came he on this side the ocean? and why had he not immediately sought herself, the earliest and, as she had supposed, almost the only friend, to welcome him back to his native land? Why had he not written and warned her of his coming? How should she account for his strange silence, and the still stranger circumstance of his hurrying at once to the haunts of fashion, without once visiting the city of his birth and the sister of his adoption?
But among all her visions there had been none which approached the reality of this painful experience that had suddenly plunged her into sorrow. Her darkest dreams had never pictured a meeting so chilling; her most fearful forebodings had never prefigured anything so heart-rending as this seemingly annihilation of all the sweet and cherished relations that had subsisted between herself and the long-absent wanderer. No wonder, then, that she forgot the place, the time, everything but her own overwhelming grief; and that, as she stood leaning against the old tree, her chest heaved with sobs too deep for utterance, and great tears trickled from her eyes and between the little taper fingers that vainly sought to hide her disturbed countenance.
She was startled from her position by the sound of a footstep. Hastily starting forward, without looking in the direction from which it came, and throwing her veil so as to hide her face, she wiped away her fast-flowing tears and hastened on, to avoid being observed by any of the numerous strangers who frequented the grounds at this hour.
Half-blinded, however, by the thick folds of the veil, and her sight rendered dim by the tears which filled her eyes, she was scarcely conscious of the unsteady course she was pursuing, when suddenly a loud, whizzing noise close to her ears frightened and confused her so that she knew not which way to turn; at the same instant an arm was suddenly flung round her waist, she was forcibly lifted from her feet as if she had been a little child, and found herself detained and supported by the same strong arm, while just in front of her a little hand-car, containing two persons, was whirling by at full speed. One step more and she would have reached the track of the miniature railway, and been exposed to fatal injury from the rapidly-moving vehicle. Flinging back her veil, she perceived her fortunate escape; and being released from the firm grasp of her rescuer, she turned upon him a half-confused, half-grateful face.
Mr. Phillips—for it was he—looked upon her in the most tender and pitying manner. "Poor child!" said he soothingly, at the same time drawing her arm through his, "you were very much frightened. Here, sit down upon this bench," and he would have drawn her towards a seat, but she shook her head and signified by a movement her wish to proceed towards the hotel. She could not speak; the kindness of his look and voice only served to increase her trouble and rob her of the power to articulate. So he walked on in silence, supporting her with the greatest care and bestowing upon her many an anxious glance. At last making a great effort to recover her calmness, she partially succeeded—so much so that he ventured to speak again, and asked, "Did I frighten you?"
"You!" replied she, in a low and somewhat unsteady voice. "Oh no! you are very kind."
"I am sorry you are so disturbed," said he; "those little cars are troublesome things; I wish they'd put a stop to them."
"The car!" said Gertrude, in an absent way; "oh, yes, I forgot."
"You are a little nervous, I fear; can't you get Dr. Jeremy to prescribe for you?"
"The doctor! He went back for his cane, I believe."
Mr. Phillips saw that she was bewildered. He forbore any conversation, and they continued their walk to the hotel in silence. Just before leaving her he said, in a tone of the deepest interest, as he held her hand for a moment at parting, "Can I do anything for you? Can I help you?"
Gertrude looked up at him. She saw that he understood that she was unhappy, not nervous. Her eyes thanked him as they glistened behind a shower of tears. "No, no," gasped she, "but you are very good;" and she hastened into the house, leaving him gazing at the door, as if she was still in sight and he were watching her.
Gertrude's first thought was how she might best conceal all her fears, and especially from Miss Graham any knowledge of her grief. That she would receive sympathy from Emily there could be no doubt; but as she loved her benefactress, did she shrink from any disclosure which was calculated to lessen Willie Sullivan in the estimation of one in whose opinion she was anxious that he should sustain the high place to which her own praises had exalted him. The chief knowledge that Emily had of Willie was derived from Gertrude, and with a mingled feeling of tenderness for him and pride on her own account did the latter dread to disclose the fact that he had returned, and that she had met him at Saratoga, and that he had passed her carelessly by.
It was very hard for her to appear as usual and elude the vigilance of Emily, who was keenly alive to every sensation experienced by Gertrude.
Gertrude's love for Willie was undying, and she could not think that he would attach himself to one so worldly, vain, and selfish as Isabel Clinton. True, she was the daughter of Willie's early and generous employer, now the senior partner in the mercantile house to which he belonged, and would be expected to pay her every polite attention; but still Gertrude could not but feel a greater sense of estrangement, a chilling presentiment of sorrow, from seeing him thus familiarly associated with one who had treated her with scorn.
She had to summon all her self-command, and endeavour to behave with serenity and composure. Gertrude compelled herself to enter the room where Emily was awaiting her, bid her a cheerful "good morning," and assist in her toilet. Her face bore indications of recent tears, but that Emily could not see, and by breakfast-time even they were effectually removed.
New trials too awaited her, for Dr. Jeremy, according to his promise, after recovering his cane, went to meet her as agreed upon, and, finding her false to her appointment, was full of inquiries as to the path she had taken. The truth was, that when Gertrude heard Mr. Phillips approaching in the direction she should have taken, she, in her eagerness to avoid meeting any one, took the contrary path to that she had been pursuing, and, after he joined her, retraced her steps to the hotel the same way she had come, consequently eluding the search of the doctor. But before she could plead any excuse Netta Gryseworth came up, full of pleasantry and fun, and leaning over Gertrude's shoulder, said, in a whisper loud enough to be heard by all the little circle, who were being delayed on their way to breakfast by the doctor's demand for an explanation, "Gertrude, my dear, such affecting partings ought to be private; I wonder you allow them to take place directly at the door-step."
This remark did not lessen Gertrude's discomfiture, which became extreme on Dr. Jeremy's taking Netta by the arm and insisting upon knowing her meaning, declaring that he always had suspicions of Gertrude, and wanted to know with whom she had been walking.
"Oh, a certain tall young beau of hers, who stood gazing after her when she left him, until I began to fear the cruel creature had turned him into stone. What did you do to him, Gertrude?"
"Nothing," replied Gertrude. "He saved me from being thrown down by the little rail-car, and afterwards walked home with me." Gertrude answered seriously; she could have laughed and joked with Netta at any other time, but now her heart was too heavy. The doctor did not perceive her agitation, and pushed the matter further.
"Quite romantic! imminent danger! providential rescue! tête-à-tête walk home, carefully avoiding the old doctor, who might prove an interruption!—I understand!" Poor Gertrude, blushing and distressed, tried to offer some explanation and stammered out, with a faltering voice, that she did not notice—she didn't remember.
At breakfast she could not conceal her want of appetite, and was glad when Emily went with her to their own room, where, after relating her escape from accident, and Mr. Phillips' agency in that escape, she was permitted by her apparently satisfied hearer to sit down and read to her in a book lent them by that gentleman, to whom, however, no opportunity had yet occurred of introducing Emily.
The whole morning passed away, and nothing was heard from Willie. Every time a servant passed, Gertrude was on the tiptoe of expectation; and when she heard a tap at the door she trembled so that she could hardly lift the latch. But there was no summons to the parlour, and by noon the excitement had brought a deep flush into her face, and she had a severe headache. Conscious, however, of the wrong construction put upon her conduct if she absented herself from the dinner-table, she made the effort to dress with as much care as usual; and, as she passed up the hall to her seat, it was not strange that, though suffering herself, the rich glow that mantled her cheeks, and the brilliancy which excitement had given to her dark eyes, attracted the notice of others besides Mr. Phillips.