CHAPTER XX.LOVE AND LOSS.
Meanwhile, Everard Dawn flung himself into a cab and hurried to the theater, his mind divided between thoughts of his daughter and the magnificent woman he had left behind him.
Arrived at the theater, he purchased a ticket, and entered just as the last act was being performed; but without glancing at the stage, he threw a hurried, anxious glance around the glittering horseshoe in search of Cinthia’s face.
To his surprise and unutterable relief, he presently beheld her fair face and shining hair half hidden behind the sweeping curtain in a private box, from which she watched the stage with kindling eyes of delight.
Quickly he made his way to her side, and she glanced around at him with suddenly gloomy eyes of fear and dislike.
Bending over her, he whispered, agitatedly:
“Cinthia, do not look at me so coldly and angrily. I am your father.”
“You do well to remind me of your claim,” she answered, bitterly, turning her glance back to the stage.
The keen reproach cut deep, and for a moment he found no words for reply, only followed her eyes to the scene where Madame Ray, magnificently beautiful inwhite brocade and diamonds, was the center of an emotional scene.
“What a fascinating woman! It is the star, of course?” he exclaimed.
“Yes; it is Madame Ray. She is more than fascinating. She is an angel,” his daughter returned, warmly.
“May I ask how long you have known the lady?”
Cinthia looked around at him, and answered, perversely:
“Long enough to love her better than any one else that I know.”
“Is she so charming?”
“Adorable!”
“And Mrs. Varian?” anxiously.
“I hate her!” Cinthia answered, frankly, with a flash of the eyes.
“Because she parted you from Arthur?” he asked, anxiously.
“Yes,” mutinously.
“Ah, Cinthia, in that act she only showed you truest kindness.”
“She hated my mother!”
“And with good reason!” he replied, with a transient flash in his dark blue eyes.
Cinthia looked suddenly curious.
“I should like to hear all about it!” she exclaimed.
“Ah, my child, it is too sad a story for your ears, that old feud. I pray Heaven you need never hear it all. Wewill go away to-morrow, and bury the dead past forever,” he answered, earnestly, while he wondered over and over how she had formed Madame Ray’s acquaintance, though he saw that in her present perverse mood she would disclose nothing.
They both watched the stage in silence for some moments, then she startled him by saying:
“I believe my kind friend Madame Ray would help me to become an actress if I insist upon it. Would you consent?”
“Certainly not. I have other plans for you,” he answered, with instant decision.
“But, I can not bear the idea of that boarding-school! I give you fair notice that I am likely to run away from it and drown myself.”
“Poor Cinthia, poor unhappy child!” and his voice grew suddenly deep and tender, while he gazed with dim eyes at her flushed, defiant face.
A great pity and sympathy rose in his heart for the hapless girl whose life was blighted in its dawning by a hopeless love.
He said to himself that he must rise superior to the self-absorption of years and give time and thought to brightening his daughter’s life.
Perhaps she might turn out more lovable than he had ever dared hope; but even if not, there was his neglected duty staring him in the face. He could not shirk it any longer, now that Cinthia had cut adrift from the old life,and had no one to depend on but him. He must win her from the despair and desperation of her present mood to contentment with life.
Speaking very gently and kindly, he said:
“If you think you can not endure the school, I must make other plans for you. How would you like to travel awhile?”
Her dark eyes gleamed with sudden interest, and she cried, quickly:
“It would please me more than anything else you can offer. I tell you frankly that I am wretched, and that change of scene and constant excitement offer the only panacea for my troubles.”
“You shall have it; and I pray Heaven it may effect a cure. Listen, Cinthia, I have very agreeable news for you.”
She looked at him with a slightly incredulous air, and he continued:
“A relative of ours has recently left you a small fortune, that will enable you to lead a very pleasant future life according to your own wishes. I am appointed your guardian, and you will have an income of ten thousand a year.”
“Ten thousand a year!” gasped Cinthia, in surprise and delight at her good luck, for it seemed a great fortune to one who had been reared so plainly and frugally.
She was young and beautiful and always longed for the pleasures that money could buy, and the sudden newsthat she was to realize her dream did indeed dazzle her so that a smile came to her sad lips and a flash of pleasure to her eyes.
Her father thought, cynically:
“Her sorrow did not lie so deep after all, and it will easily be soothed by the gewgaws foolish women prize. Well, I am glad that it is so.”
He resumed, cordially:
“I am glad of this good luck for you, Cinthia, for I have never been rich myself, and my income has never been more than half what yours is now, and that was earned by diligent practice at the law. I had intended to do my best toward brightening your sad young life, but this legacy comes most opportunely to enable you to gratify your desires.”
“Yes, I am very grateful for it. Now I can seek constant diversion to drown memory,” she answered, with a long-drawn sigh that showed him she would not forget so easily as he had hoped.
It did not occur to her to ask the name of the relative who had left her so handsome a legacy, or to notice that her father had not spoken of any one’s death. In her eagerness she accepted her good fortune without curiosity, and clasping her little hands in growing excitement, cried:
“Papa, I have always wished to cross the sea. Will you take me?”
“Yes, Cinthia; but should you not see something of your own land first?”
“That can wait, papa. My first wish is to put the whole breadth of the world between me and Arthur Varian.”
“Perhaps that will be best,” he assented; for her words touched an aching chord in his own heart.
Who could know better the aching pangs of love and loss than Everard Dawn, who had tasted both to the bitter dregs?
And how could he blame any one for the mad instinct of flight from memory when he had been a restless exile weary years for no better reason?
“And I have wandered far away to quell my spirit’s wild unrest,From place to place a lonely one,And rocked on ocean’s heaving breast.“But in the sound of winds and wavesFor evermore I heard thy tone,Gazed down the mountain’s verdant slope,And thought of thee, and thee alone.“The eyes whose sparkling light I lovedShone on me from the midnight stars,The crimson of the lips once kissedGlowed in the sunset’s rosy bars.”
“And I have wandered far away to quell my spirit’s wild unrest,From place to place a lonely one,And rocked on ocean’s heaving breast.“But in the sound of winds and wavesFor evermore I heard thy tone,Gazed down the mountain’s verdant slope,And thought of thee, and thee alone.“The eyes whose sparkling light I lovedShone on me from the midnight stars,The crimson of the lips once kissedGlowed in the sunset’s rosy bars.”
“And I have wandered far away to quell my spirit’s wild unrest,From place to place a lonely one,And rocked on ocean’s heaving breast.
“And I have wandered far away to quell my spirit’s wild unrest,
From place to place a lonely one,
And rocked on ocean’s heaving breast.
“But in the sound of winds and wavesFor evermore I heard thy tone,Gazed down the mountain’s verdant slope,And thought of thee, and thee alone.
“But in the sound of winds and waves
For evermore I heard thy tone,
Gazed down the mountain’s verdant slope,
And thought of thee, and thee alone.
“The eyes whose sparkling light I lovedShone on me from the midnight stars,The crimson of the lips once kissedGlowed in the sunset’s rosy bars.”
“The eyes whose sparkling light I loved
Shone on me from the midnight stars,
The crimson of the lips once kissed
Glowed in the sunset’s rosy bars.”
The curtain fell to the crash of orchestra music and the crowded building began to be emptied and the lights turned low.
Both rose, and Cinthia’s father said, abruptly:
“Shall we return to the hotel? Or would you like to go on to New York to-night to get ready for sailing on the first steamer?”
“We will go to New York to-night, but first let me go and say farewell to my dear friend Madame Ray,” she said, hurrying to the greenroom.
Everard Dawn went out and sent a note to Mrs. Varian, while he waited for his daughter.
It ran simply:
“I found Cinthia at the theater, and we go on at once to New York, to sail this week for Europe, by her earnestly expressed wish. In change of scene and the rush of excitement she will seek oblivion of this painful episode in her life.“E. D.”
“I found Cinthia at the theater, and we go on at once to New York, to sail this week for Europe, by her earnestly expressed wish. In change of scene and the rush of excitement she will seek oblivion of this painful episode in her life.
“E. D.”
Presently Cinthia came to him from Madame Ray’s dressing-room, where she had spent a long half hour, and her father saw that the dew of tears hung heavily on the thick fringe of her dark lashes. Wondering greatly at this mysterious friendship, he drew her hand through his arm and led her away to the new life that lay before her in the untried future.