The Masked Bridal

by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon

  CHAPTER XXV.

  A NEW CHARACTER IS INTRODUCED.

  "And now, love," the eager wooer continued, as he dropped the hand hehad been holding and drew the happy girl into his arms, "you will giveyourself to me--you will give me the right to stand between you andall future care or trouble?"

  "Then you do not mind what I have just told you?" questioned Edith,timidly.

  "Not in the least, only so far as it occasions you unhappiness oranxiety," unhesitatingly replied the young man. "You are unscathed byit--the sin and the shame belong alone to the man who ruined the lifeof your mother. You are my pearl, my fair lily, unspotted by anyblight, and I should be unworthy of you, indeed, did I allow what youhave told me to prejudice me in the slightest degree. Now tell me,Edith, that henceforth there shall be no barrier between us--tell methat you love me."

  "How can I help it?" she murmured, as with a flood of ineffable joysweeping into her soul she dropped her bright head upon his breast andyielded to his embrace.

  "And will you be my wife?"

  "Oh, if it is possible--if I can be," she faltered. "Are you sure thatI am not already bound?"

  "Leave all that to me--do not fret, even for one second, over it," herlover tenderly returned. Then he added, more lightly: "I am so sure,sweetheart, that to-morrow I shall bring you a letter which willproclaim to all whom it may concern, that henceforth you belong tome."

  He lifted her face when he ceased speaking, and pressed his firstcaress upon her lips.

  A little later he inquired:

  "And have you no clue to the name of your parents?"

  "No; all the clue that I have is simply the name of 'Belle' that wassigned to the letters of which I have told you," Edith replied, with aregretful sigh.

  "It is perhaps just as well, dear, after all," said her lover,cheerfully; "if you knew more, and should ever chance to meet the manwho so wronged your mother, it might cause you a great deal ofunhappiness."

  "I have not a regret on his account," said Edith, bitterly; "but Iwould like to know something about my mother's early history and herfriends. I have only sympathy and love in my heart for her, in spiteof the fact that she erred greatly in leaving her home as she did,and, worse than all, in taking her own life."

  "Poor little woman!" said Royal Bryant, with gentle sympathy; "despairmust have turned her brain--she was more sinned against than sinning.But girls do not realize what a terrible mistake they are making whenthey allow men to persuade them to elope, leave their homes and bestfriends, and submit to a secret marriage. No man of honor would evermake such proposals to any woman--no man is worthy of any pure girl'slove who will ask such a sacrifice on her part; and, in nine cases outof ten, I believe nothing but misery results from such a step."

  "As in the case of poor Giulia Fiorini," remarked Edith, sadly. "Butmaybe she will be somewhat comforted when she discovers that she isEmil Correlli's legal wife."

  "I fear that such knowledge will be but small satisfaction to her,"her companion responded, "for if she should take measures to compelhim to recognize the tie, he would doubtless rebel against thedecision of the court; and, if she still loves him as you haverepresented, he would make her very wretched. However, he can beforced to make generous settlements, which will enable her to livecomfortably and educate her child."

  "And he will be entitled to his father's name, will he not?" inquiredEdith, eagerly; "that would comfort her more than anything else."

  "Yes, if he has ever acknowledged her as his wife, or allowed it to beassumed that she was, the child is entitled to the name," returned herlover. Then, as the carriage stopped, he added: "But here we are, mydarling and I am sure you must be very weary after your long journey."

  "Yes, I am tired, but very, very happy," the fair girl replied,looking up into his face with a sigh of content.

  He smiled fondly upon her as he led her up the steps of a modest butpretty house, between the draperies at the windows of which therestreamed a cheerful light.

  "Well, we will soon have you settled in a cozy room where you can restto your heart's content," he remarked, and at the same time touchingthe electric button by his side.

  "Really, Mr. Bryant, I cannot help feeling guilty to intrude upon anentire stranger at this time of night," Edith observed, in a troubledtone.

  "You need not, dear, for I assure you Nellie will be delighted;but"--bending over her with a roguish laugh--"Mr. Bryant does notenjoy being addressed with so much formality by his fiancee. The nameI love best--Roy--my mother gave me when I was a boy, and I wantalways to hear it from your lips after this."

  A servant admitted them just at that moment, and upon responding toMr. Bryant's inquiry, said that Mrs. Morrell was at home, and usheredthem at once to her pretty parlor.

  Presently the young hostess--a lady of perhaps twenty-five years--madeher appearance and greeted her cousin With great cordiality.

  "You know I am always glad to see you, Roy," she said, giving him bothher hands and putting up her red lips for a cousinly kiss.

  "I know you always make a fellow feel very welcome," said the youngman, smiling. "And, Nellie, this is Miss Edith Allandale; she has justarrived from Boston, and I am going to ask you to receive her as yourguest for a few days," he concluded, thus introducing Edith.

  Mrs. Morrell turned smilingly to the beautiful girl.

  "Miss Allandale is doubly welcome, for her own sake, as well asyours," was her gracious response, as she clasped Edith's hand, and ifshe experienced any surprise at thus having an utter stranger thrustupon her hospitality at that hour, she betrayed none, but proceeded atonce to help her remove her hat and wraps.

  Tears sprang to the eyes of the homeless girl at this cordialreception, and her lips quivered with repressed emotion as she thankedthe gentle lady for it.

  "What was that Roy was saying--that you have come from Boston thisafternoon?" queried Mrs. Morrell, hastening to cover her embarrassmentby changing the subject. "Then you must be nearly famished, and youmust have a lunch before you go to rest."

  "Pray, do not trouble yourself--" Edith began.

  "Please let me--I like such 'trouble,' as you are pleased to term it,"smilingly interposed the pretty hostess; and with a bright nod and ahurried "excuse me," she was gone before Edith could make furtherobjections.

  "Nellie is the most hospitable little woman in the universe," Mr.Bryant remarked, as the door closed after her; "she is never so happyas when she is feeding the hungry or making somebody comfortable."

  Fifteen minutes later she reappeared, a lovely flush on her roundcheeks, her eyes bright with the pleasure she experienced in doing akind act for the young stranger, toward whom she had been instantlyattracted.

  "Come, now," she said, holding out a hand to her, "and I know Roy willjoin us--he never yet refused a cup of tea of my own brewing."

  "You are right, Nellie," smilingly replied that gentleman; "and Ibelieve I am hungry, in spite of my hearty dinner at six o'clock. Aride over the pavements of New York will prepare almost any one for anextra meal. I only hope you have a slice of Aunt Janes's old-fashionedgingerbread for me."

  Mrs. Morrell laughed out musically at this last remark.

  "I never dare to be without it," she retorted, "for you never fail toask for it. This cousin of mine, Miss Allandale, is always hungry whenhe comes to see me, and is never satisfied to go away without hisslice of gingerbread. Perhaps," she added, shooting a roguish glancefrom one face to the other, for she had been quick to fathom theirrelations, "you will some time like to have mamma's recipe for it."

  A conscious flush mantled Edith's cheek at this playful thrust, whilethe young lawyer gave vent to a hearty laugh of amusement in which acertain joyous ring betrayed to the shrewd little woman that she hadnot fired her shot amiss.

  Then she led them into her home-like dining-room, where a table waslaid for three, and where, over a generous supply of cold chicken,delicious bread and butter, home-made preserves, and the much laudedgingerbread, the trio spent a social ha
lf-hour, and Edith felt a senseof rest and content such as she had not experienced since leaving herFifth avenue home, more than two years previous.

  As soon as the meal was finished, Mrs. Morrell, who saw how weary andheavy-eyed the fair girl appeared, remarked to her cousin, with apretty air of authority, that she was "going to carry her guest offupstairs to bed immediately."

  "You stay here until I come back, Roy," she added. "Charlie wasobliged to go out upon important business, and I shall be glad of yourcompany for a while."

  "Very well, Nellie! I will stay for a little chat, for I havesomething important which I wish to say to you."

  As he concluded he darted a smiling glance at Edith, which againbrought the lovely color to her cheeks and revealed to her the natureof the important communication that he intended to make to his cousin.

  She bade him a smiling good-night, and then gladly accompanied herhostess above, for she was really more weary than she hadacknowledged.

  When Mrs. Morrell returned to the parlor, Roy related to her somethingof Edith's history, and also confessed his own relationship towardher, while the little woman listened with an absorbed attention whichbetrayed how thoroughly she enjoyed the romance of the affair.

  "She is lovely!" she remarked, "and"--with a thoughtful air--"it seemsto me as if I have heard the name before. Edith Allandale!--it soundsvery familiar to me. Why, Roy! she was one of Sister Blanche'sclassmates at Vassar, and she has her picture in her class album!"

  "That is a singular coincidence!" the young man observed, no lesssurprised at this revelation, "and it makes matters all the morepleasant for me to learn that she is not wholly unknown to thefamily."

  "And you mean to marry her very soon?" inquired his cousin.

  "Just as soon as I can settle matters with that rascal in Boston toher satisfaction," responded the young man, with a gleam of fire inhis eyes. "I do not apprehend any serious trouble about the affair;still, it may take longer than I wish."

  "And may I keep her until then?" eagerly inquired Mrs. Morrell.

  "Nellie! that is like your kind, generous heart!" exclaimed the youngman, gratefully; "and I thank you from the bottom of mine. But, ofcourse, that will have to be as Edith herself decides, while thisbusiness which I have in charge for her may interfere with such anarrangement."

  "Oh, you mean in connection with the strange gentleman who has beensearching for her."

  "Yes. But I must go now; it is getting late, and I have a couple ofletters to write yet. Take good care of my treasure, Nellie, and Iwill run in as early to-morrow as possible to see you both."

  He kissed her affectionately, then bade her good-night and hurriedaway to his rooms at his club; while pretty Mrs. Morrell went back toher parlor, after letting him out, to await her husband's return, andto think over the romantic story to which she had just listened withdeep interest.

  There had been so much of a personal and tender nature to occupy theirminds that Mr. Bryant had not thought to tell Edith anything about thecircumstances that had led him to advertise in various papers forintelligence of her.

  Some three weeks previous, a gentleman, of about fifty years, andcalling himself Louis Raymond, had presented himself in his office,and inquired if he could give him any information regarding the lateAlbert Allandale's family.

  He stated that he had spent most of his life abroad, but, his healthbeginning to fail, he had decided to return to his own country.

  He had been quite ill since his arrival, and he began to fear that hehad not long to live, and it behooved him to settle his affairswithout further delay.

  He stated that he had no relatives or family--he had never married;but, being possessed of large wealth, he wished to settle half of itupon Mrs. Allandale, if she could be found, or, if she was not living,upon her children. The remaining half he designed as a legacy to acertain charitable institution in the city.

  He stated that he had been searching for the Allandales for severalweeks; he had learned of Mr. Allandale's financial troubles andsubsequent death, but could get no trace whatever of the other membersof the family. He was wearied out with his search, and now wished toturn the matter over to some one stronger than himself, and betterversed in conducting such affairs.

  Mr. Bryant could not fail to regard it as a singular coincidence thatthis business should have been thrown into his hands, especially as hewas also so anxious to find Edith; and it can well be understood thathe at once entered into the gentleman's plans with all his heart andsoul.

  He, of course, related all he knew of her history, and when he spokeof Mrs. Allandale's death he was startled to see his client growdeathly white and become so unnerved that, for a moment, he feared theshock would prove more than he could sustain.

  But he recovered himself after a few moments.

  "So she is gone!" he murmured, with a look in his eyes that told thesecret of a deathless but unrequited love. "Well, Death's scythespares no one, and perhaps it is better so. But this girl--herdaughter," he added, rousing himself from his sad reflections; "wemust try to find her."

  "We will do our utmost," said the young lawyer, with a heartinesswhich betrayed the deep interest he felt in the matter. "As I havetold you, I have not the slightest knowledge of her whereabouts, butthink she may possibly be in Boston. Her letter to me, written justprevious to her departure, gave me not the slightest clew to herdestination. She promised to write to a woman who had been kind toher, and I arranged with her to let me know when she received aletter; but I have never seen her since--I once went to the housewhere she lived, but she had moved, and no one could tell me anythingabout her."

  It may be as well to state here that shortly after Edith left NewYork, poor Mrs. O'Brien fell and broke her leg. She was taken to ahospital, and her children put into a home, consequently she neverreceived Edith's letter, which was of course addressed to her oldresidence.

  "I think our wisest course will be to advertise," the young lawyerpursued; "and if we do not achieve our end in that way, we can adoptother measures later on."

  "Well, sir, do your best--I don't mind expense; and if the young ladycan be found, I have a story to tell her which I think will deeplyinterest her," the gentleman returned. "If we should not be successfulin the course of a few weeks, I will make a settlement upon her, to beleft, with some other papers, in your hands for a reasonable period,in the event of my death. But if all your efforts prove unavailing,the money will eventually go, with the rest, to the institution I havenamed."

  Thus the matter had been left, and Mr. Bryant had immediatelyadvertised, as we have seen, in several New York and Boston papers.

  Three weeks had elapsed without any response, and Royal Bryant wasbeginning to be discouraged when he was suddenly made jubilant byreceiving the telegram which Edith had written on the train afterleaving Boston.

  Thus, after leaving the house of his cousin, he repaired to his club,where he wrote a letter to his client, Mr. Raymond, telling him thatMiss Allandale was found, and asking him to meet him at his office atas early an hour the following morning as possible.