CHAPTER XV.A FATAL MISTAKE.

CHAPTER XV.A FATAL MISTAKE.

The beautiful maiden cast one startled glance up at her handsome lover, and then grew colorless as the dress she wore.

But when he softly laid his hand upon hers, saying, gently, “Darling, I have frightened you with my abruptness,” her whole being thrilled beneath his touch, and the rich crimson swept swiftly up over neck, face, and brow, until it lost itself in the fluffy masses of sunny hair which lay upon her forehead.

“I could not help it,” he went on, a glad light leaping to his eyes as he saw her blushes; “and I have known that I love you, my beautiful one, for a long time. Do you remember that it was I who received you into my arms when you were lifted to the deck of our steamer from that frail boat in which you so nearly perished? Do you know that your fair face lay upon my breast, and as I looked down upon you,Iknew that no other had ever moved me so strangely and so deeply, despite its pallor and the tale of suffering that I read there? Its power grew upon me during the few days which followed and while we were so much together, and when at last we were obliged to part, and I begged a tress of this sunshine”—touching the massive braid which lay over her shoulder almost reverently—“the picture that you made, with your shy grace and modest beauty as you unhesitatingly clipped it for me, stamped itself indelibly upon my heart, where I have carried it ever since, growing to love it more and more, until I determined to make it always mine by putting it on canvas. I did not know as I should ever see you again, and yet I have been haunted by a feeling that some magnetic influence or strange power of attractionwould eventually draw us together again; and so it has proved. Star, I know that I love you as deeply and truly as it is possible for one human being to love another. You say you love England; you wish to go back and make your home there. Tell me that, some day,Imay take you there—thatmyhome shall become your home, and you will be my cherished wife. My darling, you have made yourself very fair to-day—so like the picture I have painted, and which I showed you yesterday, that something has whispered to me that a thought ofmeprompted it; that there was something of tenderness in your heart which made you put those shining locks, which you have been wearing in another fashion of late, into this massive braid again, and tie it with this lovely blue, so like your eyes. Raise them, dear, and let me look into them, to see if I can read anything of the story I wish to know. Tell me, Star, that when I come to America again, I may come to claim this hand and call its owner my wife.”

His hand had rested lightly upon hers all the time he had been speaking. She had not attempted to withdraw it, and now his fingers closed over it in a firm, loving clasp.

It still lay trembling but unresistingly there; and when, as he bent to look into those drooping eyes, she lifted them to his with one shy glance of answering tenderness, he knew that he had not sued in vain.

“My own darling!” he whispered, passionately, his face flushing with happiness; “youdolove me; I read it in your eyes, and the world was never so bright to me as at this moment; but tell me, shall I have what I want—will you give me your promise that, next year, when you have completed your education, instead of going back to England as a teacher, you will go with me as my wife?”

She grew suddenly grave, and lifting an earnest look to his face, said:

“I have told you that I am only a poor girl, with my ownfortune to carve out. You have no ideahowpoor I am, how dependent, how friendless. You, perhaps, have proud relatives; you may occupy a place far above me socially, and your friends might object to your claiming one in my position as your wife.”

“I care nothing for your poverty or dependence, dear,” he returned, tenderly; “it cannot alter the fact that you are the only woman whom I shall ever love well enough to make my wife. But,” he added, with a thoughtful look, “I forget that I am almost a stranger to you—that you know nothing of me, that I have told you nothing——”

“I have not given it a thought,” Star interrupted, earnestly. “I cantrustyou; Iknowyou are true.”

His face grew radiant.

“You will never regret your trust, my darling,” he said. “I—am an artist, Star, but I believe I can take care of you, and promise you that you shall never know the meaning of the words poor and dependent again. Of course I have friends, and—but I will tell you all about them some other time. I want my promise now—you will give yourself to me, dear?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her scarlet lips parting slightly with a tremulous smile, “by and by, when I am better fitted to be your—wife.”

He longed to take her in his arms and draw her to his heart, and kiss the lips that had promised him the greatest joy he had ever known; but there were other carriages near, and curious eyes all about them; so he could only clasp that small hand more fondly, and murmur low and tender words to tell of the deep, true love of which his heart was full.

“You shall indeed go back to England now, my darling,” he said, “but never toteach. You shall remain here until you have completed your course of study if you wish; then I shall come, before this time next year, and take you to my—our home. I shall return with a happy heart now, for I shall havean object to work for and something to look forward to. Ah, my dear, my dear, doyourealize what is in store for us?—a long life of joy and love together, with brightest hopes and congenial tastes. Star, my beloved—mystar, indeed!”

Who can wonder that she gave herself up to the bliss of loving and being loved, when wooed in this tender manner?

Who could chide this heart-hungry maiden, who had been starving for affection and sympathy, for feeling that she had never known happiness before?

And she loved him with all her soul. He had won all the passion of her young heart, and she gave herself up to him wholly, unreservedly, trusting him without a suspicion or thought that he could be anything save truth and honor itself.

Twilight was beginning to gather when they returned to the hotel where they had left Mr. Rosevelt, but it was not yet so dark but that that gentleman remarked the glorified expression of the young man’s face, and the brilliant light which gleamed in Star’s radiant eyes.

“May I tell our dear old friend, Star?” Archibald Sherbrooke whispered, as he assisted her to alight from the carriage.

She started, and grew crimson.

“Oh, Mr. Sherbrooke, not to-night, please.”

“To whom are you speaking, my Star?” he interrupted, with assumed sternness and reproach.

She glanced up questioningly, yet with burning cheeks, for she knew what he meant, but was not quite sure yet what he wished her to call him.

“My mother calls me Archie,” he said, with a meaning smile.

“MustIcall you that?” she asked, her heart thrilling at the name, yet instinctively shrinking from addressing him quite so familiarly just yet.

“There is no ‘must’ about it, nor about anything else thatyou do not like, my darling,” he said, very gently, but looking a trifle grave, she thought.

“Then please let me go—Archie, for I know Uncle Jacob is wondering why it takes me so long to get out of the carriage, and—and ever so many people are looking at us,” Star said, wishing she could hide her hot cheeks, and realizing, if he did not, that he was holding her hands a great deal longer than there was any need of doing.

A brilliant smile parted his lips as he released her, and she darted away just as a servant came forward to take the horse, he following more leisurely to give her time to recover herself a little.

“You have enjoyed your drive, little one?” Mr. Rosevelt asserted, questioningly, as she came and stood beside his chair, while he regarded her with a keen glance.

“Very much, Uncle Jacob; and you—are you rested?” Star asked, eager to turn his attention from herself.

“Entirely, and am as hungry as an old bear, too. These sea breezes have sharpened my appetite to a painful degree,” he replied, as if his hunger was the only subject which occupied his thoughts, while all the time he was watching her closely, and telling himself that there must be some cause more potent than “sea breezes” for her brilliant color and that tender light in her eyes.

“I am delighted to hear it,” young Sherbrooke said, now joining them, “for our tea is waiting for us, I am told, and we shall have just about time enough to dispatch it comfortably before the boat is due.”

They went in to an inviting meal, spread in a private room for them. The young man had given an order to this effect before going to ride, as he had noticed that Star was annoyed at dinner by the attention which her lovely face had attracted.

But it was noticeable that Mr. Rosevelt did most of the eating, for our lovers were in altogether too exalted a state for suchcommonplace realities as bread and butter, or even for anything so tempting as peaches and cream.

When Mr. Rosevelt’s hunger was appeased, he asked Star to play something before they left.

There was a piano in the room, and he was extremely fond of music.

“I want our friend here to know what a talented little musician we have,” he said, with a fond glance at his favorite.

Star was only too willing to comply with his request, glad of anything to relieve the awkward consciousness which had pervaded her all through tea, and sitting down to the instrument, she played several pieces.

Archibald Sherbrooke was astonished at the proficiency which she displayed, and the appreciative silence which prevailed upon the veranda outside the open windows, told that her power had swayed a larger audience than she had thought of having.

“She is mine; I have won her, this talented, beautiful, pure-hearted girl,” Archibald Sherbrooke said, exultantly, to himself, as he closed the piano for her, and pressed the hand that hung invitingly near him.

They repaired to the boat-landing soon after, for it was nearly time for their departure.

When the steamer arrived, Archibald found a sheltered seat for Mr. Rosevelt, and then drawing Star a little apart, wrapped her shawl carefully about her and sat down beside her, her hand clasped in his under cover of its soft folds.

“He will not mind, and I want you to myself,” he whispered. “I cannot see you to-morrow, love, for it will be Sunday, but Monday or Tuesday I shall come to you. I cannot wait longer.”

Star glanced at him somewhat anxiously.

She knew what that coming would entail upon her—sneersand taunts, and perhaps more unkindness than she had ever yet received from Mrs. Richards or Josephine.

Mr. Richards, she felt assured, would be more considerate of her feelings; yet, under any circumstances, this visit of her lover would be a very trying one.

Ah!howtrying, Heaven only knew.

She thought perhaps she ought to tell him something of her life during the last year, that he might not be wholly unprepared when he should present his suit for what she feared would be a very disagreeable interview.

But she was so supremely happy sitting there by his side in the glorious moonlight, and knowing that she was so tenderly beloved, that she could not bear to mar it by so much as a word or thought of what she had suffered in the past, or might have to endure in the future, until he should come for her to claim her as his wife. No, she would not tell him; she would wait until after he had been presented to her guardians. There would be time enough then, and it would be just as well.

But it was a fatal mistake.

Had she told him then, all the pain and anguish, all the misery and hopelessness which she afterward experienced would have been spared her; but how could she know?

So they sailed on up the river, side by side, hand clasped in hand, and thought only of the supreme happiness of the moment.

It was one of those beautiful fall evenings, calm and still, and bright with an almost intoxicating brilliancy; the heavens, the river, with its gliding banks on either side, all lighted with a radiance that was absolutely dazzling; and Star wondered if ever in all her life before she had seen the world so wondrously beautiful.

“Monday or Tuesday you are coming to Yonkers?” Star murmured, in reply to this remark of her lover’s. “I thought you were to be away from New York next week?”

“And so I am; I am coming to Yonkers to see you,” he answered, smiling. “My darling, do you not know that all the world is changed for me now?”

It certainly was for her, she thought, with a tender little smile, and then she said:

“Have you a card and a pencil? I must tell you where to find me, you know.”

“True. How stupid of me not to have thought of it,” he returned, as he searched his pockets to find what she wanted.

“I thought it better to write it than to tell you,” she said, archly, “fearing you might forget.”

“I own that I am not in a condition to remember anything to-night, save that you love me and that I have won you,” he whispered, putting pencil and card into her hand.

She wrote the street and number of the house where she lived, and gave it back to him, and he put it away without even looking at it.

And thus the moments sped swiftly on until they landed, and that delightful homeward sail was over and had become one of those events to be remembered and treasured when, in the dark future, they should look back upon it and wonder if as bright a gleam of happiness had ever really existed in their lives.

Mr. Sherbrooke accompanied Mr. Rosevelt and Star to the station where they had to take the train for Yonkers, and found comfortable seats for them.

“I shall see you again very soon,” he said to the old gentleman, as he took his hand at parting.

“I trust so. We shall be glad to see you at any time; and many thanks for this day’s pleasure,” Mr. Rosevelt replied, heartily.

“The obligation is all on my side,” Archie said, with a meaning glance at Star, which made the color come again and her heart to bound like a roe in her bosom.

The bell warned him that he must go, and with a lingering, loving pressure of her hand, he reluctantly bade them a final good-night and went away.

The young girl had no idea of the lapse of time after that, until she heard Mr. Rosevelt heave a long-drawn sigh.

She started, realizing then that they were almost home, and that she had not spoken one word since her lover left them.

“Uncle Jacob, are you very tired?” she asked, anxiously, and with a feeling of selfreproach.

“No, dear; only thinking how beautiful the world is under some conditions, how dreary under others,” he returned, watching her intently.

The young girl’s cheeks glowed hotly, but she had not a word to say in reply to those sentiments. But she knew that the events of that day had glorified the whole world for her, and all the way home she had been weaving golden plans for the future, when Archie—it came easier every time now—should take her to his simple home over the water—for of course it must be simple, since he was only an artist—and which she would make just as bright and beautiful as love and taste could make it.

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