ALLISON AND HER GUARDIAN.
“Well, then, Gerald,” said Allison, regarding her lover earnestly, “you know, of course, that papa left me a lot of money.”
“Yes, I know that Mr. Brewster was supposed to be a very rich man,” the young man responded, with a regretful sigh.
“And one little body, like me, couldn’t begin to spend it all—especially when she is cooped up in a boarding school, and has an ogre of a guardian to hold her in check,” the young girl continued, with a mock, injured air.
“Well?” said Gerald, smiling at her mood, yet not suspecting toward what it was tending.
“You say that you—love me very much, Gerald?”
“Ah, my darling, I have no words to tell you all there is in my heart.”
“And you know that I—I am every bit as fond of you?” This with a shy look and blush that were almost bewildering.
“I trust so, dearest.”
“Then nothing should ever be allowed to come between us as a barrier.”
“No, indeed! Nothing ever shall come between us—at least, if I can prevent it,” rashly asserted this unsuspicious wooer.
A happy little laugh rippled over Allison’s scarlet lips at this assurance, and, laying her hands upon his shoulders, she looked straight into his eyes, while a gleam of triumph shone in her own.
“There!” she said, drawing a long breath; “now I have you just where I want you, and you must promise me that, when I have completed my studies, and you get back from Europe and are nicely established in your position—whether you have made a lot of money or not—you will take me just as I am. I shall have plenty, and there will be no reason why we should not share it together.”
“But, Allison——” Gerald began, looking flushed and embarrassed as, at least, he comprehended her meaning.
She playfully laid her slender fingers upon his lips; but he captured her hand, though with a very tender look into the lovely eyes upraised to his.
“You must let me finish what I was going to say, dear,” he said resolutely. “You must know that no man could respect himself to ask a woman to marry him if he could not give her a comfortable home and feel that he was, in every sense of the word, her protector. I never could be dependent upon your fortune, Allison,” he concluded, with an air of pride and decision which convinced her that there would be no use in discussing that point further.
She secretly admired him for the stand he had taken; but, womanlike, she wanted the last word.
“You said you would promise me anything I asked,” she said, with a pretty pout.
“But I did not think you would be guilty of taking such an unfair advantage of me,” Gerald retorted, laughing. “I cannot swear away my self-respect, to please even you,” and bending, he softly kissed the white brow that was resting against his shoulder.
“Well, but what has passed between us to-day makes you belong to me, does it not?” Allison questioned.
“Forever.”
“I don’t see, then, but that you have sworn yourself away,” she retorted slyly.
“Yes, I believe I have. What a lawyer you would have made, sweetheart!” Gerald responded, laughing again.
“Very well; it is a poor rule that will not work both ways,” Allison gravely observed; “I will not receive more than I am willing to give, and so, Gerald, our mutual watchword shall be ‘forever.’”
“My darling!” whispered the young lover, tears of emotion springing to his eyes, “surely such a spirit of loyalty should nerve my heart to any endeavor.”
“How can I let you go away across the ocean!” Allison broke forth, after a moment of silence, and in a voice of keen regret.
“Yes, it does seem a little hard that I must go,” Gerald returned; “but I am hoping a great deal from this coming year of experience with Mr. Lyttleton—I am impressed that it will be a stepping-stone toward the goal I wish to reach. Besides, I should not see much of you during the next six months, as, of course, you will soon return to school.”
“Yes; I am to go back on Saturday; but we will write to each other often.”
“Yes, I am sure there is no reason why we should not,” Gerald assented; “but, perhaps, it will be just as well that Mr. Hubbard should not know of our correspondence.”
“He will never learn of it from me,” said Allison spiritedly, and adding, with a sigh:
“Oh, I wish papa had not made him my guardian.”
“I can echo that wish most heartily,” her companion responded fervently; “and I cannot understand his doing so—allowing him such unlimited power over you, and making him sole executor of his will also; it does not seem at all like Mr. Brewster’s habitual shrewdness. By the way, has he given you your jewels, and the other box?”
“What other box? I have mama’s jewels—at least, they are in the safe in the library; Mr. Hubbard brought them directly here after the trial; but I know nothing about any other box.”
“Well, there were two boxes which I was to bring to your father; but possibly one of them contained things which do not concern you, papers, perhaps, relating to Mr. Brewster’s business. Still, I am impressed that he did not wish any one to know anything of it or its contents, and that was why he enjoined me to secrecy regarding my errand that Sunday.”
“I will ask Mr. Hubbard about it,” said Allison thoughtfully.
“Yes, I think I would,” her lover replied, “although I do not believe you will get any satisfaction from him; but it will at least let him know that you are aware of its existence and have some curiosity regarding the matter. But I must go now, dear,” he added, rising. “I have a good many things to do for myself during the week, and doubtless Mr. Lyttleton will require me at his office some of the time.”
“But you will come often between now and Saturday?” Allison pleaded, as she clasped both hands about his arms, as if loath to let him go.
“I will come as often as you like,” he answered, smiling.
“Then I shall look for you every evening; only I hope that Mr. Hubbard will not pop in upon us, and spoil everything.”
“Then every evening I will come,” Gerald replied, as he took a fond farewell of her, and went away with a very happy heart.
The remaining few days passed very swiftly to these young lovers, who spent their evenings together, without exciting the suspicions of John Hubbard, who, however, made some errand to call upon Allison almost every day.
Upon one occasion she questioned him about the box of which Gerald had spoken, asking what it contained.
“It is locked, and, as yet, I have found no key to it,” the man told her evasively, but with a quickly averted glance, which did not escape the fair girl’s watchful eyes. “Indeed, I have been too busy to think much about it,” he added; “but I imagine there is nothing in it but business papers.”
So Allison was none the wiser, as Gerald had prophesied, and on Saturday returned to her school, where, becoming absorbed in her studies, she soon forgot all about it for the time.
Gerald sailed for Europe the following Monday, and John Hubbard, upon learning of the fact, experienced a feeling of intense relief.
“Good riddance to him,” he muttered. “Now I need have no fear, for I shall have a clear field to myself.”
After Allison’s departure, Mr. Hubbard decided that it would be useless expense to keep the Brewster establishment running; consequently, he advertised it for rental, furnished, and it was taken almost immediately by a Philadelphia family, who, bringing their own servants with them, did not require any of the help who had served there so long; and thus, all the servants, with Mrs. Pollard, who had become exceedingly fond of Allison, and who felt that she was being driven from her home, were obliged to find situations elsewhere.
The house at Yonkers was disposed of in the same way; consequently, at the end of six months, when Allison had completed her education, she found herself practically homeless, until she could arrange to go to Newport for the summer, and so was obliged to take up her residence with her guardian, whose family consisted of only himself and his mother, with their servants.
They were not to go to Newport until the middle of July, as Mr. Hubbard had been so busy he had been unable to attend to the opening of the cottage; but he managed to make his own home so pleasant, and Allison so heartily welcome, while she found Mrs. Hubbard such a dear old lady, she was wholly content to remain with them.
He did not once refer to his previous proposal of marriage; he continued her the same liberal allowance which her father had made her, and gratified her every wish, making himself so agreeable and entertaining that all would probably have gone well but for an incident that occurred during the second week after her return.
Gerald returned about that time, and, feeling that Mr. Hubbard would not favor his calling upon her, she arranged to meet him at a certain point on Broadway, one day, when they were to go to Delmonico’s for lunch, and to talk over their experiences of the last half-year.
They had hardly met and greeted each other when, they were suddenly confronted by John Hubbard.
“Well, Allison, whither are you bound?” he inquired, stepping directly in her path, but without deigning Gerald even a glance of recognition.
The young girl paused aghast and flushed with mingled embarrassment and astonishment.
Then, recovering herself, her beautiful eyes began to blaze with indignation at the slight in her companion.
“Mr. Hubbard,” she said, glancing from him to Gerald, “do you not recognize Mr. Winchester?”
“I have no acquaintance with Mr. Winchester,” the man frigidly, but very unwisely, responded. “I was, however, just on my way home to get you to go with me to see that new painting at the Academy of Design.”
“I thank you, Mr. Hubbard,” Allison retorted, just as icily, “but I was on my way to lunch at Delmonico’s with Mr. Winchester. Come, Gerald.”
Whereupon Miss Brewster haughtily passed her guardian, and proceeded on her way, attended by her lover, who, although he bowed coldly to the man, found it difficult to restrain his anger at his insolence.
“But, Allison——” authoritatively began John Hubbard, looking back after the graceful, but proudly erect figure of his ward.
He might as well have addressed the paving-stones, for the independent little lady paid not the slightest heed to him.
“Gerald, I could almost strangle him for being so rude to you,” she remarked, when they were beyond hearing of the man.
“Never mind me, dear,” he replied, smiling, but regarding her with an admiring look. “I believe it would be worth while being snubbed occasionally for the sake of seeing you look so pretty in your righteous indignation over it.”
“He has been very good to me of late, and I had begun to like them—almost,” Allison explained; “but I believe this has made him more hateful to me than ever. However,” tossing her shining head defiantly, “I am not going to let it spoil our little visit together.”
They had their lunch, and a quietly jolly time over it, and then Allison insisted that Gerald himself should take her to see the painting of which Mr. Hubbard had spoken. They passed a couple of hours thus very pleasant, and then reluctantly separated.
But they decided that, in future, they would have to be more wary about their meetings; and, as Gerald was very busy, it was doubtful about their seeing much of each other before Allison went to Newport, and now the fair girl began to chafe sorely over the fact that her fate was so closely allied with the man who was so obnoxious to her.
When she reached home on this afternoon, she found John Hubbard there before her, and wearing a very injured air.
But she paid very little attention to him until, galled by her coolness toward him, he opened fire upon her.
“I was very sorry to meet you with that disreputable fellow today,” he began, when the indignant girl whirled around upon him like a small tornado.
“Mr. John Hubbard, you will be kind enough never to speak of my friend, Mr. Winchester, in that way again,” she cried, with flaming cheeks and blazing eyes; “and I will further say that I regard your rudeness to him to-day as a personal insult to me, also.”
The man gazed at her in astonishment. He was dumfounded by such an exhibition of temper. Her manner was usually characterized by a sweetness and quietness that gave one the impression that she could not be aroused to an exhibition of passion, although the determination and obstinacy which she had shown at Gerald’s trial had betrayed a strong will.
“Really, Allison,” he began, after a moment, and realizing that it would not be wise to antagonize her still further, “I meant no disrespect to you—you know that I have only the tenderest regard for you; but I was so taken aback upon seeing you upon the street with that—with young Winchester, I was hardly responsible for what I did or said. I have never changed my opinion regarding the young man, however, and it hurt me deeply to meet you with him.”
Allison opened her lips as if about to retort sharply to him again; but she suddenly checked herself, and turning from him, left the room without deigning him any reply.
But the man’s suspicions having been aroused, he resolved to watch his ward closely.
The result of his prying was the discovery of Gerald’s photograph, which he found in a box in one of Allison’s bureau-drawers, and with it his last letter from Europe, together with a couple of recent notes which told him a great deal regarding their relations to each other—enough to drive him into a white heat of rage, and arouse all his native villainy and cunning.
He had observed that Gerald had improved greatly during his absence abroad; he had grown more manly, while there was a prosperous look about him which betokened success and progression.
This was true, for Gerald had proved himself so congenial to his employer, and so thoroughly in earnest and determined to do his very best, that the two had at once become the best of friends, and at the end of three months Mr. Lyttleton raised his salary to a thousand a year. More than this, he had found his mental grasp so keen and forceful, that he had persuaded him to begin the study of law, under his supervision, and thus the young man found himself working out the very plan which his friend, Professor Emerson, had once suggested to him.
John Hubbard congratulated himself that he was so soon to get Allison away from New York, and he hurried his own work in order to prevent any delay in his plans.
But the afternoon previous to her departure the lovers had an enjoyable drive in Central Park, and on her return from this excursion, Allison met with an adventure which, although, at the time, it seemed unimportant in itself, was destined to result in great things later on.
As she had a few errands to attend to before going home, Gerald left her at one of the large stores on Broadway, after bidding her a reluctant farewell. She had completed her purchase, and had just left a fashionable millinery establishment, where she had bought “a love of a hat,” that was destined to do duty at the seaside, and was standing upon the curbing, waiting for an uptown car, when she observed a young girl, about fourteen years of age, leaning against a lamp-post, and crying bitterly.
She was poorly clad, was very pale, and wore a dejected, suffering air, which at once appealed to the tender heart of the young heiress, who also observed that a heavy bundle lay upon the sidewalk at her feet.
Stepping quietly to her side, Allison gently laid her hand upon her arm to attract her attention.
“Why are you crying?” she questioned in an earnest tone; “has anything happened to you?”
The girl turned her tear-stained face upon the speaker, and Allison saw that it was almost convulsed with pain.
With her right hand she pointed to her left arm, which, her companion now saw, hung limp and useless—broken—by her side.
The next moment the sufferer dropped senseless at her feet.