Helen Ford

Romance in Real Life. We understand that Miss Helen Ford, the young vocalist whose charming melodies have made her such a popular favorite, has just come into possession of a splendid fortune, inherited from her grandfather, Gerald Rand, Esq., the well-known capitalist, whose death was recently noticed in our columns. Miss Ford has kindly agreed to sing as usual through the present week, when she will leave the stage forever.

The effect of this paragraph may be imagined. That evening hundreds were turned away from the theatre, which was crowded to its utmost capacity. Never had such an audience been seen within its walls. When Helen appeared on the stage, quite unaware of the paragraph which had produced this effect, she was received with long-continued applause. The vast audience seemed inspired with a sudden enthusiasm.

Helen was surprised, but did not lose her self-possession. She sang with her usual sweetness, and was immediately encored. Again she sang, and this time was called before the curtain. Several bouquets were thrown her, which she picked up, and hastily withdrew.

If Helen had been older, she would have understood the meaning of this ovation. As it was, she only wondered.

Behind the curtain she met the manager, smiling, and rubbing his hands in evident glee.

“My dear Miss Ford,” he said, “this is indeed a triumph.”

“The house is very full,” said Helen.

“And hundreds turned away; never was such a house seen.”

“I am very glad of it,” said Helen.

“So am I; let me see, this is Tuesday evening. Friday you shall have a benefit. One third of the receipts. It is only fair, since you have drawn this immense audience.”

Helen would have declined the offer, but for a sudden thought. When she first became connected with the theatre she noticed a thin fragile girl, who danced between the plays. The exertion was evidently too great for her, for she was often seized with a violent fit of coughing after withdrawing from the stage. For a fortnight Helen had missed her. On inquiry, she learned that Alice (this was her name) was sick. “Poor girl,” added the prompter, who was her informant, “it is a great misfortune, for she has an invalid sister who is dependent upon her for support. I am afraid she won’t get along very well, for her salary was small, and now it is cut off altogether.”

It occurred to Helen that she could give the proceeds of her benefit to Alice. She accordingly thanked Mr. Bowers, and accepted his proposal.

The week was a series of triumphs. Every evening the doors of the theatre were besieged, and every evening hundreds were turned away.

Friday evening,—the evening of her benefit,—Helen found the house fuller, if possible, than before, the manager had taken the opportunity, in consequence of the great demand for seats, to raise temporarily the price of admission. As he anticipated, this did not in the least diminish the throngs who crowded for admittance.

On Saturday morning he handed Helen a check for five hundred dollars, as her share of the proceeds.

Helen’s eyes sparkled with joy, as she thought of the happiness which this sum would bring to the poor ballet girl.

She lost no time in seeking her out.

It was indeed a poor place, Helen would have been afraid of venturing into such a locality if she had not been accompanied by Herbert Coleman.

Up a rickety staircase she climbed, and was shown, by an untidy woman, into a room wholly destitute of comforts, where on a pallet reclined Alice and her sister, both sick.

“Is that you, Miss Ford?” asked Alice, her face lighting up. “How very kind you are to come and see me!”

“I am very sorry to find you so sick,” said Helen.

“I don’t think I am very sick,” said Alice. “But this is but a poor place, and I cannot get any one to take care of my sister Jennie. She has been an invalid for years.”

“There are better times in store,” said Helen, cheerfully, “First we must have you moved to a better room. Next you must have a nurse.”

“But,” said Alice, hesitatingly, “we are very poor. I never had anything but my salary to depend upon, and now that is cut off.”

Helen stooped and whispered a few words in her ear.

“Five hundred dollars!” repeated Alice, in astonishment, “that is a fortune. Who has been so generous?”

“Never mind!” said Helen, smiling. “You see, then, that you are not so poor as you imagined. Now do you think, if I sent a carriage for you in the course of the afternoon, you can move?”

“Yes,” said Alice, in a tone of deep thankfulness. “No one can tell how much I detest this horrible place. I think it will make me well only to move.”

Over the wasted face of her sister there stole an expression of deep and thankful joy.

“I think you are an angel,” she said, looking up into Helen’s beautiful face, radiant with sympathy.

Helen blushed.

“How pleasant it is to be able to make others happy!” she said, softly, to Herbert.

“Do you know, Helen,” said the young artist, “I am half tempted to agree with your patient there.”

“Brother Herbert,” said Helen, quickly, “you must not speak so. I am only doing what you would do in my place. I don’t like to be praised for only doing what is pleasant to me.”

Before night Alice and her sister were installed in a comfortably-furnished room, with a nurse in attendance, who was directed to do whatever was needful for the comfort and relief of her patients.

CHAPTER XLV.

TO CONCLUDE

Four years slipped by.

Let us note, briefly, the changes which they brought, and then farewell!

To Helen they were years of quiet happiness, of steady improvement. There were many deficiencies in her education to be made up. With the aid of private instructors, the best of their kind, she strove earnestly to acquire the knowledge for which she had long thirsted. Her father was unwilling to send her away to school, since this must deprive him of her society, on which he had learned to depend. Nor was Helen less unwilling to leave the father who had called forth from her so rare and beautiful a devotion. Year by year her mind has expanded, while her rare loveliness has, if possible, been enhanced. Helen, at nineteen, is even more charming than at fifteen.

There are some who have found this out, and Helen has had repeated offers of marriage. All these she has gently but firmly refused. Not one has succeeded in touching her heart.

Among her suitors was one whom she treated with less ceremony. A young man, who had nearly run through a large fortune, paid assiduous court to Helen, whom he had met in society, and in spite of her coldness made a declaration of love.

Helen looked up from the carpet on which her eyes had been fixed, and said, quietly, “Do you remember, Mr. Grover, where we first met?”

“At Mrs. Grosvenor’s party,” answered the young man, somewhat surprised.

“You are mistaken. That was only three months since. Our first meeting dates back four years.”

“Thank you for remembering it. Yet I can hardly believe you correct. Your face is not one to be forgotten. Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, I remember you perfectly.”

There was something in Helen’s manner which the young man could not quite fathom. It made him uneasy, for Helen’s grave tone rendered it doubtful whether the recollection was a pleasant one.

“May I ask where, and under what circumstances, we met?” he inquired.

“I was, at that time, singing at the – Theatre,” returned Helen, composedly. “You followed me in the street when on my return home, and sought to force your company upon me. But for the opportune arrival of a friend, I should have been obliged to submit to the insult.”