"Fools fall in love with a pretty face on sight; but it is another thingto get a desirable man to fall in love. They are hard to win. I haveheard of this Doctor Covert before. True, he did go to college with JayGardiner, and is his chum; but one is rich and the other poor."
"I hope you have been successful," murmured Sally, giving him her littlewhite hand to hold for an instant--an instant during which he wasintensely happy.
"Yes, my dear miss," he answered, quickly. "I am overjoyed to think Ican be of service to you--in a way, at least. I did not communicate withDoctor Gardiner, for it occurred to me just after you left that I _had_heard him mention the name; but I am sure there is a mistake somewhere.This girl--Bernardine--whom I refer to, and whom Doctor Gardiner knows,can not possibly be a friend of yours, miss, for she is only thedaughter of an humble basket-maker, and lives on the top floor of atenement house in one of the poorest parts of the city."
Sally Pendleton's amazement was so great she could hardly repress thecry of amazement that arose to her lips.
She had never for an instant doubted that this beautiful Bernardine, whohad won the proud, unbending heart of haughty Jay Gardiner, was somegreat heiress, royal in her pomp and pride, and worth millions of money.No wonder Doctor Covert's words almost took her breath away.
"Are you quite sure?" she responded, after a moment's pause. "Surely, asyou remarked, then there must be _some_ mistake."
"I am positive Doctor Gardiner knows but this one Bernardine. In fact, Iheard him say that he never remembered hearing that beautiful name untilhe heard it for the first time in the humble home of the oldbasket-maker. And he went on to tell me how lovely the girl was, despiteher surroundings."
The veiled lady arose hastily, her hands clinched.
"I thank you for your information," she said, huskily, as she movedrapidly toward the door.
"She is going without my even knowing who she is," thought DoctorCovert, and he sprung from his chair, saying, eagerly:
"I beg a thousand pardons if the remark I am about to make seemspresumptuous; but believe that it comes from a heart not prompted byidle curiosity--far, far from that."
"What is it that you wish to know?" asked Sally, curtly.
"Who you are," he replied, with blunt eagerness. "I may as well tell youthe truth. I am deeply interested in you, even though you are astranger, and the bare possibility that we may never meet again fills mewith the keenest sorrow I have ever experienced."
Sally Pendleton was equal to the occasion.
"I must throw him off the track at once by giving him a false name andaddress," she thought.
She hesitated only a moment.
"My name is Rose Thorne," she replied, uttering the falsehood withoutthe slightest quiver in her voice. "I attend a private school for youngladies in Gramercy Park. We are soon to have a public reception, towhich we are entitled to invite our friends, and I should be pleased tosend you a card if you think you would care to attend."
"I should be delighted," declared Doctor Covert, eagerly. "If you honorme with an invitation, I shall be sure to be present. I would not missseeing you again."
Was it only his fancy, or did he hear a smothered laugh from beneath thethick dark veil which hid the girl's face from his view?
The next moment Sally was gone, and the young doctor gazed after her, ashe did on the former occasion with a sigh, and already began lookingforward to the time when he should see her again. Meanwhile, Sally lostno time in finding the street and house indicated.
A look of intense amazement overspread her face as she stood in front ofthe tall, forbidding tenement and looked up at the narrow, grimywindows. It seemed almost incredible that handsome, fastidious JayGardiner would even come to such a place, let alone fall in love with aninmate of it.
"The girl must be a coarse, ill-bred working-girl," she told herself,"no matter how pretty her face may be."
A number of fleshy, ill-clad women, holding still more poorly clad,fretful children, sat on the door-step, hung out of the open windows andover the balusters, gossiping and slandering their neighbors quite asenergetically as the petted wives of the Four Hundred on the fashionableavenues do.
Sally took all this in with a disgusted glance; but lifting her dainty,lace-trimmed linen skirts, she advanced boldly.
"I am in search of a basket-maker who lives somewhere in this vicinity,"said Sally. "Could you tell me if he lives here?"
"He lives right here," spoke up one of the women. "David Moore is out,so is the elderly woman who is staying with him; but Miss Bernardine isin, I am certain, working busily over her baskets. If you want to seeabout baskets, she's the one to go to--top floor, right."
Sally made her way up the narrow, dingy stairs until she reached the topfloor. The door to the right stood open, and as Sally advanced she saw ayoung girl turn quickly from a long pine table covered with branches ofwillow, and look quickly up.
Sally Pendleton stood still, fairly rooted to the spot with astonishmentnot unmingled with rage, for the girl upon whom she gazed was the mostgloriously beautiful creature she had ever beheld. She did not wondernow that Jay Gardiner had given his heart to her.
In that one moment a wave of such furious hate possessed the soul ofSally Pendleton that it was with the greatest difficulty she couldrestrain herself from springing upon the unconscious young girl andwrecking forever the fatal beauty which had captivated the heart of theman who was her lover and was so soon to wed.
Sally had thrown back her veil, and was gazing at her rival with herangry soul in her eyes.
Seeing the handsomely dressed young lady, Bernardine came quicklyforward with the sweet smile and graceful step habitual to her.
"You wish to see some one--my father, perhaps?" murmured Bernardine,gently.
"_You_ are the person I wish to see," returned Sally, harshly--"you, andno one else."
Bernardine looked at her wonderingly. The cold, hard voice struck herear unpleasantly, and the strange look in the stranger's hard,steel-blue eyes made her feel strangely uncomfortable.
Was it a premonition of coming evil?
CHAPTER XXV.
She was not to remain long in suspense.
"In the first place," began Sally, slowly, "I wish to know what yourrelations are, Bernardine Moore, with Doctor Jay Gardiner. I must andwill know the truth."
She saw that the question struck the girl as lightning strikes a fairwhite rose and withers and blights it with its awful fiery breath.
Bernardine was fairly stricken dumb. She opened her lips to speak, butno sound issued from them. She could not have uttered one syllable ifher life had depended on it.
"Let me tell you how the case stands. I will utter the shameful truthfor you if you dare not admit it. He is _your lover_ in secret, thoughhe would deny you in public!"
Hapless Bernardine had borne all she could; and without a word, a cry,or even a moan she threw up her little hands, and fell in a lifelessheap at her cruel enemy's feet.
For a moment Sally Pendleton gazed at her victim, and thoughts worthy ofthe brain of a fiend incarnate swept through her.
"If she were only dead!" she muttered, excitedly. "Dare I----"
The sentence was never finished. There was a step on the creaking stairsoutside, and with a guilty cry of alarm, Miss Pendleton rushed from theroom and out into the darkened hall-way.
She brushed past a woman on the narrow stairs, but the darkness was sodense neither recognized the other; and Sally Pendleton had gained thestreet and turned the nearest corner, ere Miss Rogers--for it wasshe--reached the top landing.
As she pushed open the door, the first object that met her startled eyeswas Bernardine lying like one dead on the floor.
Despite the fact that she was an invalid, Miss Rogers' nerves wereexceedingly cool. She did not shriek out, or call excitedly to the otherinmates of the house, but went about reviving the girl by wetting herhandkerchief with water as cold as it would run from the faucet, andlaving her marble-cold face with it, a
nd afterward rubbing her handsbriskly.
She was rewarded at length by seeing the great dark eyes slowly open,and the crimson tide of life drift back to the pale, cold cheeks andquivering lips.
A look of wonder filled Bernardine's eyes as she beheld Miss Rogersbending over her.
"Was it a dream, some awful dream?" she said, excitedly, catching at herfriend's hands and clinging piteously to them.
"What caused your sudden illness, Bernardine?" questioned Miss Rogers,earnestly. "You were apparently well when I left you an hour since."
Still Bernardine clung to her with that awful look of agony in herbeautiful eyes, but uttering no word.
"Has she gone?" she murmured, at length.
"Has _who_ gone?" questioned Miss Rogers, wondering what she meant.
"The beautiful, pitiless stranger," sobbed Bernardine, catching herbreath.
Miss Rogers believed that the girl's mind was wandering, and refrainedfrom further questioning her.
"The poor child is grieving so over this coming marriage of hers toJasper Wilde that I almost fear her mind is giving way," she thought, inintense alarm, glancing at Bernardine.
As she did so, Bernardine began to sob again, breaking into such apassionate fit of weeping, and suffering such apparently intense grief,that Miss Rogers was at a loss what to do or say.
She would not tell why she was weeping so bitterly; no amount ofquestioning could elicit from her what had happened.
Not for worlds would Bernardine have told to any human being her sadstory--of the stranger's visit and the startling disclosures she hadmade to her.
It was not until Bernardine found herself locked securely in theseclusion of her own room that she dared look the matter fully in theface, and then the grief to which she abandoned herself was morepoignant than before.
In her great grief, a terrible thought came to her. Why not end it all?Surely God would forgive her for laying down life's cross when it wastoo heavy to be borne.
Yes, that is what she would do. She would end it all.
Her father did not care for her; it caused him no grief to barter her,as the price of his secret, to Jasper Wilde, whom she loathed.
It lacked but one day to that marriage she so detested.
Yes, she would end it all before the morrow's sun rose.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Miss Rogers noticed that Bernardine was strangely silent and preoccupiedduring the remainder of that day; but she attached no particularimportance to it.
She knew that the girl was wearing her heart out in brooding over thecoming marriage. Jasper Wilde refused to be bought off, and Bernardineherself declared that it must take place. _She, alas! knew why!_
Miss Rogers had done her best to persuade David Moore to take Bernardineaway--to Europe--ay, to the furthest end of the world, where JasperWilde could not find them, declaring that she would raise the money todefray their traveling expenses.
David Moore shook his head.
"There is no part of the world to which we could go that he would notfind us," he muttered, burying his face in his shaking hands. "But wewill speak no more about it. It unmans me to think what would happenwere----" and he stopped short.
He had often heard Miss Rogers make allusion to money she could lay herhand on at any moment; but the old basket-maker never believed her. Hefancied that the poor woman had a sort of mania that she was possessedof means which she could lay her hand on at any moment, and all she saidon the subject he considered as but visionary, and paid no attention toit whatever.
Poor Miss Rogers was in despair. What could she do to save Bernardine?She worried so over the matter that by evening she had so severe aheadache that she was obliged to retire to her room and lie down.
David Moore had drunk himself into insensibility early in the evening,and Bernardine, sick at heart, alone, wretched, and desolate, was leftby herself to look the dread future in the face.
The girl had reached a point where longer endurance was impossible. Theman whom she loved had been only deceiving her with his protestations ofaffection; he had laughed with his companions at the kisses he hadbestowed on her sweet lips; and she abhorred the man who was to claimher on the morrow as the price of her father's liberty.
No wonder the world looked dark to the poor girl, and there seemednothing in the future worth living for.
As the hours dragged by, Bernardine had made up her mind what to do.
The little clock on the mantel chimed the midnight hour as she arosefrom her low seat by the window, and putting on her hat, she glided fromthe wretched rooms that had been home to her all her dreary life.
Owing to the lateness of the hour, she encountered few people on thestreets. There was no one to notice who she was or whither she went,save the old night-watchman who patroled the block.
"Poor child!" he muttered, thoughtfully, looking after the retreatingfigure; "she's going out to hunt for that drunken old scapegrace of afather, I'll warrant. It's dangerous for a fine young girl with a facelike hers to be on the streets alone at this hour of the night. I'vetold the old basket-maker so scores of times, but somehow he does notseem to realize her great danger."
Bernardine drew down her dark veil, and waited until the people shouldgo away. She was dressed in dark clothes, and sat so silently sheattracted no particular attention; not even when she leaned over andlooked longingly into the eddying waves.
Two or three ships bound for foreign ports were anchored scarcely fiftyrods away. She could hear the songs and the laughter of the sailors. Shewaited until these sounds had subsided.
The girl sitting close in the shadow of one of the huge posts was notobserved by the few stragglers strolling past.
One o'clock sounded from some far-off tower-clock; then the half hourstruck.
Bernardine rose slowly to her feet, and looked back at the lights of thegreat city that she was leaving.
There would be no one to miss her; no one to weep over her untimelyfate; no one to grieve that she had taken the fatal step to eternity.
Her father would be glad that there was no one to follow his step bynight and by day, and plead with the wine-sellers to give him no moredrink. He would rejoice that he could follow his own will, and drink asmuch as he pleased.
There was no dear old mother whose heart would break; no gentle sisteror brother who would never forget her; no husband to mourn for her; nolittle child to hold out its hands to the blue sky, and cry to her tocome back. No one would miss her on the face of God's earth.
Alas! for poor Bernardine, how little she knew that at that very hourthe man whose love she craved most was wearing his very heart out forlove of her.
Bernardine took but one hurried glance backward; then, with a sobbingcry, sprung over the pier, and into the dark, seething waters.
CHAPTER XXVII.
When Jay Gardiner left the city, he had expected to be gone a week,possibly a fortnight; but, owing to an unexpected turn in the businesshe was transacting, he was enabled to settle it in a day or so, andreturn to the city.
It was by the merest chance that he took passage by boat instead ofgoing by rail; or, more truly speaking, there was a fate in it. The boatwas due at the wharf by midnight; but, owing to an unaccountable delay,caused by the breaking of some machinery in the engine-room, it wasafter one o'clock when the steamer touched the wharf.
Doctor Gardiner was not in such a hurry as the rest of the passengerswere, and he walked leisurely across the gang-plank, pausing, as hereached the pier, to look back at the lights on the water.
He felt just in the mood to pause there and enjoy what comfort he couldfind in a good cigar. He was just about to light a cigar, when his gazewas suddenly attracted toward a slender object--the figure of a womansitting on the very edge of the pier.
She was in the shadow cast by a large post; but he knew from theposition in which she sat, that she must be looking intently into thewater.
He did not like the steady gaze with which she seemed to be lookingdownward, a
nd the young doctor determined to watch her. He drew backinto the shadow of one of the huge stanchions, and refrained fromlighting his cigar.
If she would but change her dangerous position, he would call out toher; and he wondered where was the watchman who was supposed to guardthose piers and prevent accidents of this kind.
While he was pondering over this matter, the figure rose suddenly to itsfeet, and he readily surmised from its slender, graceful build, whichwas but dimly outlined against the dark pier, that she must be a younggirl.
What was she doing there at that unseemly hour? Watching for some sailorlover whose ship was bearing him to her from over the great dark sea, orwas she watching for a brother or father?
He had little time to speculate on this theme, however, for the nextinstant a piteous cry broke from the girl's lips--a cry in a voicestrangely familiar; a cry that sent the blood bounding through his heartlike an electric shock--and before he could take a step forward toprevent it, the slender figure had sprung over the pier.
By the time Jay Gardiner reached the edge of the dock, the dark watershad closed over her head, a few eddying ripples only marking the spotwhere she had gone down.
In an instant Doctor Gardiner tore off his coat and sprung into thewater to the rescue. When he rose to the surface, looking eagerly aboutfor the young girl whom he was risking his life to save, he saw a whiteface appear on the surface. He struck out toward it, but ere he reachedthe spot, it sunk. Again he dived, and yet again, a great fearoppressing him that his efforts would be in vain, when he saw the whiteface go down for the third and last time.