Pretty Geraldine, the New York Salesgirl; or, Wedded to Her Choice

"Mr. Standish told me so before we came back to New York. He said he had an invitation to the wedding. And isn't Daisy married to him, after all? Oh, Cissy, don't try to deceive me, for I saw her—saw her in the box all in white—so bride-like—and Harry Hawthorne leaning over her chair," exclaimed Geraldine, clutching the other's arm with unconscious violence, her beautiful eyes dilated with doubt and entreaty.

"My darling Gerry, don't pinch me black and blue, please, and don't get so excited. Yes, Daisy Odell is certainly married."

"Oh-h-h!" groaned Geraldine, in anguish.

"She is married," pursued Cissy, "and married to one of the dearest fellows in the world, she says—Charlie Butler—but not to Harry Hawthorne. Why, I don't believe he wants to marry any one in the world but you!"

"Me—Cissy!" and Geraldine's face, so lugubrious a moment before, grew radiant with joy, while the girl continued:

"That wretch, Clifford Standish, has told you falsehoods about Mr. Hawthorne, dear, for he never thought of loving any one but you. Didn't you see him with me in the box to-night? I am the only girl he ever goes with, and that is just for your sake, dear, because I was your friend."

"Oh, Cissy!"

Such joy as there was in those two words, for new life came to Geraldine in the assurance that Hawthorne was free, and loved her still.

She put on her dress with trembling fingers, crying:

"Oh, help me, Cissy, I'm so nervous—and—and tired, you know."

"Poor child! no wonder. And troubled, too, perhaps, for maybe you—loved that Standish!"

"Oh, no, no—never, Cissy!"

"Oh, I'm so glad, for that would have broken poor Hawthorne's tender heart, he loves you so much. And you, dear—didn't you care for him a little, too?"

Geraldine was all blushing, blissful confusion.

"I—I—you know how that was, Cissy. I liked him—just a little—at first, but when he did not come that night, or after"—she broke down, sobbing under her breath.

"Oh, Geraldine, he could not—he was hurt you know—and Standish intercepted his letter of explanation. But I mustn't rattle on like this, or I'll leave nothing for Hawthorne to tell you himself."

Geraldine looked at her with a glorified face.

"Oh, Cissy! Shall I see him soon?"

"He's waiting at the cab, dear, so let us hurry."

She fastened the ribbons of Geraldine's cape, and, taking her hand, hurried her through the corridor to the stage door.

And there—oh, joy of joys! stood Harry Hawthorne, waiting, with an eager, expectant look.

How Geraldine's heart bounded at the sight of that handsome face!

She could scarcely restrain herself from springing into his arms.

But, instead, she demurely held out her little hand, and he clasped it closely, saying as he led her to the cab:

"I am so glad to find you again, and we must have a long talk to-night."

CHAPTER XIX.

MUTUAL LOVE

"Oh, happy love! where love like this is found!
Oh, heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare:
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,
'Tis when a youthful, loving modest pair
In other's arms breathe out love's tender tale
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale."

It was a long distance from the theatre to Cissy's home, but the distance was short to Geraldine and her lover, as they sat side by side in the cab, almost wishing that the ride would never come to an end, it was so heavenly sweet to be together again.

Both of them were in secret ecstasies at the catastrophe to Clifford Standish that had seemed to remove him from their path forever.

The future seemed to stretch before them roseate, shining, love-crowned, blissful.

Cissy did her best to explain away all the shadows that had come between them all.

"Geraldine, I wrote you five letters. Why didn't you answer them, you cruel girl?"

"Five letters? Oh, Cissy, I never received one of them; and it almost broke my heart that you would not answer all the long ones I wrote to you."

"You wrote to me? How strange that I did not get a line from you, dear. And I was so grieved, so uneasy over you. I thought you were proud and stubborn. But, tell me—did you post them yourself?"

"No; I always gave them to Mr. Standish to send out with the company's mail."

"Ah! that accounts for all. The wretch intercepted our letters to each other, just as he did Mr. Hawthorne's letters to you."

"I do not understand," said Geraldine; so they told her the story of the actor's treachery.

Everything lay bare before her now, and she comprehended that all she had suffered since her parting with Harry Hawthorne had been brought about by a deep-laid plot, involving both her happiness and honor; for what if she had married Standish to-night—he, who already had a wife, whom he had deserted!

Her honor would have been trampled in the dust; her life wrecked, to gratify the base passion of this monster, whom she had mistakenly believed the embodiment of truth and goodness.

Trembling with horror at all that she had so narrowly escaped, Geraldine bowed her head in her hands and sobbed aloud.

And Harry Hawthorne longed to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he did not have the right yet, for only words of friendship had been spoken between them, and he feared and dreaded that she had given her young heart to the wretch who had succeeded so well in his vile plans for parting them in the first flush of their sweet love-dream.

But now they were at home, and, bidding the cabman wait, he went in with the girls, saying:

"I know it is rather late to make a call, but something impels me to have a talk with Miss Harding to-night, if she will permit me."

She gave a glad assent, seconded by Cissy, who said, cordially:

"Yes, indeed, come in and talk to Geraldine. You are very excusable under the circumstances."