“When Stella Winthrop was of your age, and I three or four years older, we met at a large reception in London. That meeting was fatal to us both, for we loved from that hour as true lovers ever love. For six months the world was like Paradise to us, and then I was called away to the far East on business for the firm with which I was connected. I am an American, but most of my life has been spent abroad.
“If I was successful in my business undertaking, it was agreed that I might claim my bride when I returned at the end of two years. The vessel on which I sailed was wrecked—I have had more than one such experience you see, my dear—and it was reported that every passenger on board was lost, while only a very few of the crew lived to tell the story of the disaster. But I was fortunate enough to secure a large cask, and with this I managed to keep afloat for two days, when I was picked up by a sailing-vessel bound for the Philippine Islands.
“My first work upon reaching land was to write to Stella and tell her of my safety; but my letter never reached her. I also notified the firm that I was all right, and should proceed directly about the business upon which I had been sent, but they knew nothing of my connection with Miss Winthrop, and accordingly did not communicate with her. I kept writing at intervals to my beloved, but never heard anything in return. At last, in despair, I wrote to the firm, telling them of my engagement, and asking them to notify her of my safety and give her my address in case she should have happened to lose the one I had given her. In reply, they said that the Winthrop family had gone abroad for an indefinite stay. Of course this was a great trial to me, and I was exceedingly impatient; but my two years were over at last, and I turned my face toward England once more. I had succeeded in my business beyond my most sanguine expectations, and I looked forward to the immediate fulfillment of my hopes when I should return.
“My first duty on reaching London was to acquaint my employers with the result of my transactions, and my next thought was for Stella—my bright Star. Never for an instant had I doubted her fidelity; I believed she would be as true to me as I was to her, and my heart beat high with hope as I bounded up the familiar steps leading to her home and rang the bell. I asked for Miss Winthrop of the maid who answered my summons, and she stared at me as if she thought me demented.
“‘Miss Winthrop?’ she repeated. ‘There is no Miss Winthrop, sir; she was married and went away nearly a year ago.’
“‘Married!’ The word was like a thunderbolt to me, and in an instant all the light went out of my life—my heart was paralyzed. I staggered from the place, and hid myself from every one for a week. Then I gained something of calmness and courage to go out among my friends and try to learn how it happened that Stella Winthrop had married. As I told you before, it was reported that every passenger on the vessel in which I sailed was lost. Those of the crew who were saved affirmed that such was the case, and my betrothed had believed that I was dead.
“She grieved herself almost to death over my loss, and her parents, fearing they would lose her also, took her abroad and traveled for many months. It was during this absence that the firm received my letter relating to her, but were unable to learn her address, as she was moving from point to point, and so could not communicate with her.
“Six months after learning my fate, she met Mr. Gladstone in Paris. He fell in love with her, and offered himself to her. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word, was kind and sympathetic, and she liked him as a friend. She told him the story of her grief, and that she could never marry. He did not sneer at her ‘girlish folly,’ as many would have done, but comforted her, speaking so kindly and regretfully of me that he won even a warmer place in her heart. He was patient with her, and when at length a second time he asked her to marry him, she told him that she could never love him as she had loved me, but if he could be content to take her with what respect she could give him, and the duty she would strive to yield him, she would become his wife. He told her he would be content, and they were married—a year and three months after I sailed on the fatal voyage.
“They traveled several months longer, and when at length on their return to London, only three or four months before I arrived there, she learned that I had not perished, but was soon expected back, the shock nearly killed her a second time. Her husband was all kindness and attention, took her immediately away again, and showered everything that wealth could buy upon her; and after a time children were born to her, and those new ties aroused her to her sense of duty as a mother. I never saw her, for I had not courage to look upon her dear face, knowing that she was the wife of another; for I never ceased to love her, with an affection that amounted to idolatry. They told me that she had two children—two noble boys, one of them resembling her, the other his father—that she was a tender, faithful mother, and very much beloved by every one who knew her.
“That was forty years ago, Star, and for thirty I have not heard one word concerning either her or her family; but I have lived my life out alone; I could never take any one to my broken heart; and perhaps, if your belief is true, my child, and I can ever be made clearly to see it, I may find my lost love somewhere in the great future; but I do not need to tell you that my past has been one long season of longing and regret, of sadness and loneliness.”