Kathleen's Diamonds; or, She Loved a Handsome Actor

"I have made a great mistake," he said. "But I know that you will agree with me that it was very natural under the circumstances. I beg your pardon, and am ready to propose to you a plan by which to atone for my folly." She looked at him attentively, and he continued: "I have a very kind friend, a widow lady, who would be very glad to have you for a companion, I know. If you will permit me, I will take you to this kind lady at once, and I am sure you will find it a more pleasant situation than teaching those Perkins cubs."

"It was not very pleasant," answered the girl, sadly; and when she saw how eager he was to atone for the trouble he had brought upon her, she accepted his offer with shy gratitude.

Taking a pleasant leave of Mr. Carew and Teddy, she withdrew with the detective, and they were driven immediately to—River Cottage.

CHAPTER LV.

KATHLEEN AND DAISY MEET AT LAST

No, no, 'tis vain to hoverThus round a hope that's dead;At last my dream is over;'Twas sweet—'twas false—'tis fled!T. Moore.

It was the day following Kathleen's petulant rejection of her cousin's love, and the young girl, embarrassed by Chester's grieved and dejected looks, had gone to her room to nurse in solitude the pain at her heart.

"Why does no one come to me? Am I forgotten by my uncle, Mrs. Stone, and Teddy? Their silence and delay is very, very strange," she murmured, sadly; and just then she heard a low murmur of voices in the parlor, where she had left Mrs. Franklyn and Chester a while ago, pleading a headache as an excuse for retiring to her room.

"They have company. I am glad I came upstairs," she thought, feeling far too dejected to meet strangers.

The murmur of voices continued a while, then the front door closed, and Kathleen thought the guests were leaving.

Directly afterward, Mrs. Franklyn entered the room with an excited face.

"Kathleen, do you remember the strange story you told us about Daisy Lynn?" she asked. "Well, she is here in this house! She is no more insane than you are, and is your living image—only, perhaps, not quite as pretty. She knows all you suffered in her place, and is just dying to meet you. Will you come down?"

"I should like to have her come up here," answered Kathleen, who felt as if she would like to be quite alone at first with Daisy Lynn, the fair young girl whose line of life had so strangely and tragically crossed her own.

Mrs. Franklyn understood her wish, and a few minutes afterward she led Daisy to Kathleen's door and gently withdrew.

They looked at each other—the two beautiful young creatures—then they smiled at the likeness they saw in each other's faces. At that smile their hearts leaped to each other.

"Daisy Lynn! Oh, you poor darling!" cried Kathleen, holding out her arms.

Daisy ran into them. They kissed, then wept together.

They sat down side by side on the bed, like two sisters, and wept like little children for a while; then Daisy wiped her eyes, and said, piteously:

"Oh, Miss Carew, can you ever forgive me?"

"It was not your fault, Daisy, darling. But you must call me Kathleen; you know we are not strangers to each other. I know all about you. I have lived at your home, slept in your pretty room, and—can you ever forgive me, dear?—I read your sweet diary! I was so lonely and so curious over the girl whose identity had become mixed with mine."

"It was very silly, was it not?—that is all I regret about it," Daisy Lynn answered, blushing crimson. Then she looked fearlessly into Kathleen's eyes as she added: "But I am cured now. I despise him. I could not love him now if he begged me on his knees!"

"I am glad of that, dear, for he was not worthy of you," said Kathleen, fervently.

"You know him?" cried the other girl, in surprise, and then Kathleen told her all about her wicked step-brother.

She was rejoiced to see how disgusted Daisy Lynn became with the accomplished villain who had once been the hero of her girlish dreams.

"But, Daisy, tell me where you have been all this time?" said Kathleen, curiously; and Daisy smiled as she answered:

"Most of the time with an old couple in the country, to whose lonely little house I wandered that night after I escaped from my keeper and wandered into the woods. You see, Kathleen, I was not violently insane, only sort of melancholy mad for a while; and because I foolishly attempted to poison myself, an incompetent physician pronounced me mad, and persuaded my aunt to send me to a lunatic asylum. Well, in my horror and grief I confided my cruel distress to those good old people, and they believed me and pitied me. They let me stay with them, and were as good to me as if they had been my parents. A few months ago the good old man died, and his gentle old wife soon followed him to the grave. Then the little farm passed into the ownership of a distant connection of theirs, Lawyer Perkins, of Richmond. He employed me to teach his children."

She went on then and told Kathleen how strangely the detective had found her, and all that had happened afterward.

"So Uncle Ben is alive, thank Heaven! I must go to him!" cried Kathleen, springing to her feet in wild excitement.

"No, dear, for Mr. Wren has gone to bring them here to you. Mrs. Franklyn told him you were here," replied Daisy; then she started as a low rap sounded on Kathleen's door.

When she opened it, there was Chester, looking so remorseful and dejected that her tender heart leaped with pity for his woe.

"May I speak to you alone for one moment, dear cousin?" he asked, humbly.

She went out into the little hall with him, and Chester manfully confessed his sin, and humbly begged her forgiveness.

"All my foolish plans for keeping you away from your own true lover and winning you for myself have come to naught. Heaven watched over you, dear Kathleen, and foiled my selfish love. Oh, Heaven! how ashamed I am, how wretched! and you can never forgive me!"

"Yes, I can," answered the girl, nobly. She pressed his hand gently in hers as she added: "I forgive you, dear cousin, and I will forget all about it, and remember nothing but that I owe you my life."

"God bless you!" he said, chokingly, and went down-stairs. But he was not brave enough to meet his rival yet. He went away for a long walk, unwilling to witness the meeting between Kathleen and her betrothed, the man that Jack Wren said was so rich and handsome. Poor fellow! he might have felt happier had he known how little Kathleen cared for Teddy. It was Ralph who filled all her thoughts, hopeless as they were.

"How am I changed! My hopes were once like fire;I loved, and I believed that life was love. . . .I love, but I believe in love no more."

"Love is a tyrant that has no mercy. I wish I could forget all my past!" she sighed nightly to her pillow; but Shelley's lines would recur to her with cruel pathos:

"Forget the dead, the past? O yetThere are ghosts that may take revenge for it;Memories that make the heart a tomb,Regrets that glide through the spirit's gloom,And with ghastly whispers tellThat joy, once lost, is pain."

Chester had scarcely left the house before the detective returned with Mr. Carew and Teddy Darrell. Kathleen flew down-stairs, vouchsafed Teddy a sedate kiss, and fell into her uncle's arms.

CHAPTER LVI.

"SO SHINES A GOOD DEED IN A NAUGHTY WORLD."

Howe'er it be, it seems to me'Tis only noble to be good.Kind hearts are more than coronets,And simple faith than Norman blood.Tennyson.

Kathleen remained a week longer with her relatives; but such importunate letters came to her from Mrs. Stone and Helen Fox that she decided to go home to Boston, promising her grandmother that they should meet often in future.

Leaving her friend Daisy to brighten the quietude of River Cottage, Kathleen departed with her uncle and her betrothed for Boston.

She had promised Daisy that she would stop in Philadelphia and inquire for her about her aunt, Miss Watts. She also wanted to see her benefactor, the kind-hearted Mr. Hall.

To her dismay, she found, on inquiry, that Miss Watts had died three months before, and her will, made years ago, bequeathed her snug little fortune to her niece, Daisy Lynn.

There were no greedy relatives to dispute the will, so Kathleen had the blended pain and pleasure of writing to Daisy that she was bereaved of her only living relative by death, but that her aunt's demise had left her rich.

Kathleen sent her address to Samuel Hall, and the young man came promptly to call on her, his kind face beaming with delight at seeing again the beautiful heroine of his romantic adventure. He was shocked, however, when he heard of the second peril from which she had escaped.

"It is that woman Fedora who planned it, I feel sure!" he exclaimed; for he believed the woman was wicked enough for anything.

Kathleen did not agree with him, for her uncle had confided to her his and the detective's belief that Ivan Belmont was the guilty party. Jack Wren had been to Boston, carefully spotting the young man's movements from the time that Kathleen had charged him with the theft of her jewels, and he believed he had found a clew that, if carefully followed up, would lead to his conviction.

Uncle Ben Carew was very much pleased with Kathleen's friend, and when he left her went for a stroll down Chestnut Street with him.

Sammy Hall thought that the old gentleman was very inquisitive, he asked so many questions, getting out of the rather quiet young man the fact that he was engaged to a beautiful fellow-clerk, Miss Tessie Mays, but that they thought themselves too poor to marry until he had laid by a little sum for housekeeping.

"You shall hear from me again, young man," said Uncle Ben, mysteriously; and he did.

Several months later, when he had almost forgotten all about the old man's promise, he received a deed of gift to the pretty little furnished house where Miss Watts had lived. Uncle Ben had bought it from Daisy Lynn, who continued to reside with the Franklyns, and he gave it to Sammy Hall in his niece's name.

"Marry your lovely Tessie and be happy in your cottage home, the gift of Kathleen's grateful heart to her noble friend," wrote Kathleen, sweetly.

Sammy Hall lost no time in taking this pleasant advice, and he and his charming Tessie spent a long and pleasant life in the pretty cottage home. Their first daughter was called Tessie, for her mother; but the next time Heaven sent them girl twins, "as like as two peas," wrote Sammy, when he announced to Kathleen that he had named them Kathleen and Daisy.

CHAPTER LVII.

MRS. CAREW TRIUMPHS IN HER SWEET REVENGE UPON KATHLEEN

Revenge is a two-edged sword;It has neither hilt nor guard.Wouldst thou wield this sword of the Lord?Is thy grasp, then, firm and hard?Charles H. Webb.

"Kathleen, you and Uncle Ben must come to me soon for a visit. It is such a little time now before your marriage, and I can never have you to myself again after that!" exclaimed Helen Fox.

"Uncle Ben is going back to the country to-morrow, but I shall be glad to come," Kathleen answered.

She had been back at Mrs. Stone's for a week, but neither Mrs. Carew nor Alpine had called on her or sent any message—"the heartless wretches!" as Mrs. Stone said, indignantly.

Rumor said that the mother and daughter were making hasty preparations to sail for Europe, to be absent several years. It was rumored also that the disreputable Ivan had crossed the sea before them, flying from justice. The story of Kathleen's lost diamonds was public property now; but there was no chance that she would ever recover the jewels or their value, for Ivan had disappeared, and his mother and sister angrily repudiated the debt.

Uncle Ben himself went to the two proud women, begging them to do his niece justice.

"Think, madame," he said; "you and your daughter have stripped Kathleen of everything. The jewels were all that remained to her, and now that she is to marry a rich man, she would like to have the money for her wedding trousseau. It is very little to you out of your great wealth, but to her it is all. Be just and fair, and make good what she has lost by your son's dishonesty."

Mrs. Carew laughed mockingly.

"I would not give her a penny if she were starving to death!" she said.

"Your own husband's daughter!" he said, reproachfully.

"I hate her the more for that. I hate everybody he ever loved!" she replied, vindictively.

"You hated poor Zaidee and caused her death, I know," he replied, bitterly.

Her face suddenly grew livid, and she looked at her accuser with startled eyes.

"It—it is false!" she muttered, weakly.

"It is God's truth," answered the old man. "You told Zaidee Carew a trumped-up story of her husband's falsity, and then—her death followed. Answer me this, madame: Was her death a suicide or—a murder?"

She quailed before the stern old man, pale as death, trembling with nervous alarm; but Alpine rose up suddenly and interposed between him and her mother.

"How dare you distress my mother so with your shocking hints and suspicions?" she cried, violently. "Get out of here at once, you old wretch, or I will call Jones to throw you out into the street!"

"As your mother did poor Kathleen," he sneered.

"And served her right," she hissed. Then she rang the bell violently. When Jones appeared, she said: "Take this old beggar and throw him into the street! If you ever admit him again, you will be discharged."

Uncle Ben moved toward the door with Jones, but, looking back, asked, pleadingly:

"Will you not pay your brother's debt?"

"Never! Now go!" she stormed, and the rich curtains fell behind the bent retreating form; but from the hall a strange, exultant laugh came back to them, and Mrs. Carew shuddered.

"Heavens! how horribly that laugh sounded like my husband's laugh!"

CHAPTER LVIII.

"I WILL NEVER HUMBLE MYSELF TO YOU AGAIN."

Fare thee well, and if forever,Still forever fare thee well,Even though unforgiving, never'Gainst thee shall this heart rebel.Byron.

Helen Fox was a very bright girl. She did not tell Kathleen that Ralph Chainey frequently visited the house, nor did she mention to him that Kathleen was to be her guest. Yet she knew very well that the unhappy young lovers were sure to meet under her roof.

And, in fact, Kathleen had not been twenty-four hours at Helen's when George Fox encountered Ralph somewhere, and dragged him home with him.

Kathleen was playing and singing for Helen. Her back was turned to the door, so she did not know when the two young gentlemen entered and silently seated themselves, obeying a gesture from Helen.

The young girl, unconscious of her lover's presence, sung on, sweetly and sadly:

"One word is too often profaned,For me to profane it,One feeling too falsely disdainedFor thee to disdain it.One hope is too like to despair,For prudence to smother,And Pity from thee more dearThan that from another."I can give not when men call love,But wilt thou accept not—The worship the heart lifts aboveAnd the heavens reject not,The desire of the moth for the star,Of the day for the morrow,The devotion to something afarFrom the sphere of our sorrow?"

The plaintive words rang in sad echoes through her lover's brain:

"The desire of the moth for the star,Of the day for the morrow?"

She turned around, and in a minute more she saw him coming forward to speak to her. A start, and she recovered herself enough to speak to him, but her voice faltered, and the little hand, as it touched his, was deadly cold. It was like the old, sad song:

"We met—'twas in a crowd,And I thought he would shun me,He came, I could not breathe,For his eyes were upon me,He spoke—his words were cold,Though his smile was unaltered—I knew how much he felt,For his deep-toned voice faltered."

She did not know what he was saying to her, or what she murmured in reply. She could realize nothing clearly but the ecstatic consciousness of his presence, that had such power to thrill her whole being.

Then she found herself slipping into a seat by Helen, and twining her cold fingers in those of her friend. They turned the conversation cleverly away from her, but in a very few moments George Fox got up and left the room, saying as he went:

"I will get those specimens we were talking about, Ralph."

Ten minutes later he called down the stairs:

"Helen, will you please come up and help me find those things I brought from Palestine for Ralph?"

"George can never find anything without my assistance," laughed the young girl, as she excused herself and left the room.

The unhappy lovers were alone together—perhaps by the clever scheming of George and Helen, perhaps by chance; who could tell?

There ensued a moment of intense embarrassment. Kathleen, sitting with down-dropped eyes, felt her lover's eager brown eyes upon her, and a deep blush arose to her beautiful face. Slowly she raised her bashful eyes and they met his—deep, passionate, reproachful, beseeching, all in one. In spite of herself, her own gaze replied to that look—answered love for love.

A moment, and he rose and came toward her. She thrilled with ecstasy as he sat down by her side. Her little hand, icy cold a moment before, grew burning hot as he touched it with his own.

"Kathleen, forgive me," he murmured, "but I can not let this blessed chance pass. I wrote to you. Did you receive my letter?"

"Yes," she faltered.

"Cruel girl! And you would not reply? Kathleen, was that just or fair? Could you find no excuse in your heart for me when I had told you my whole sad story?"

"I—I—was sorry for you. I—wanted to—write—but I promised not to," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Promised not to write to me!" His dark eyes flashed with anger. "Who was so cruel as to forbid you? Mr. Darrell?"

"No—No! Teddy knows nothing. It was my uncle. It seemed to him that it would not be right to my—to—to—Mr. Darrell!"

"To Mr. Darrell! Oh, Kathleen, is it true, that you will marry him? Do you love him?"

"Do not ask me. It is not right. You—you—are not free!" she cried, trying to be loyal to her absent betrothed.

"I shall be—soon. The courts will certainly grant me a divorce from that dreadful woman. But then, Kathleen, my freedom will avail me nothing if you are lost to me! Oh, my own love—my darling! be brave, and break through the fetters that bind you to this man you do not love! Wait for me?"

Oh, the passionate pleading in his voice and eyes! how they thrilled her soul. She wished to herself that she had never seen poor Teddy, whom she had so rashly promised to marry.

"Oh, I must not listen to you!" she sobbed. "Please, Ralph, do not speak to me so; do not look at me! I can not bear your eyes!" and she hid her own with a trembling hand.

There was silence for a moment, but Ralph could not give it up. It seemed to him that he was pleading for more than life.

"Kathleen, don't be angry, dear; but I can not give it up so easily," he began. "If I thought you did not love me, if I believed you cared for Teddy Darrell, I would not say another word. But—if—I—were—free—you—would love me again, would you not, my dear one?"

Kathleen had been fighting down the weakness of her loving heart. She looked at him with sad, hopeless eyes.

"Spare me!" she sighed. "Oh, Ralph, we must not count on what has been or what may be. I am promised to another, and I can not break my vow. Think of the suffering I should bring to Teddy's noble heart."

"He would soon forget you," Ralph Chainey urged.

"Then you may soon forget me, too," she replied.

"But, Kathleen, my darling, it is so different. I love only you, while your Teddy has had scores of loves. Think, if you marry him, his fickle heart may soon tire of you; then how wretched you would be!"

"I do not believe that Teddy is fickle. If I thought so, I would beg him to release me from my promise. But he loves me truly, in spite of his past, and so I must be true to him," sadly replied Kathleen.

"And your marriage day is set?" he asked, gloomily.

"It is only two weeks from now," she replied; then her courage failed her; she burst into tears, and sobbed miserably against his shoulder.

Ralph tried to soothe her, whispering:

"If he knew you cared like this—for—me—he would not want to marry you. No true lover would accept the hand without the heart."

"He must never know—for—I—I—shall learn to love him by and by. Mrs. Stone says so; they all say so," she whispered.

"They are driving you into a—a—a wretched future with their silly advice!" cried the young man, violently, despair goading him to desperation. He pushed her from him and rose to his feet.

"I have been deluding myself," he said, bitterly. "I thought you loved me. I was mistaken, I see. I will never humble myself to you again, proud Kathleen. From this moment to my life's end, we are strangers. Farewell!" and with a stately bow he was gone.

Kathleen sprung to her feet with wild despair at her loss.

"Oh, Ralph! come back!" she cried, faintly; but he was beyond the reach of her voice.

She threw herself weeping into the chair where he had sat but just now.

"Gone—and forever!" she sobbed in bitterest agony, and there came over her a longing to die and be at rest from her sorrow. Life seemed too bitter to be borne, now that the last hope had failed, and Ralph had gone from her "forever."

CHAPTER LIX.

OH, RALPH CHAINEY, WAKE!

How murderers walk the earth,Beneath the curse of Cain,With crimson clouds before their eyesAnd flames about their brain;For blood has left upon their soulsIts everlasting stain!The Dream of Eugene Aram.

Ralph Chainey left the presence of his loved and lost Kathleen with a heart full of bitterness and pain, and hurried home.

He had concluded his engagement in Boston the previous evening, and it was a great relief to him, for he was eager to get away from the city that held Kathleen. Stay there, and see her wedded to another, he could not! That way lay madness.

He had dismissed his company for several months. He was going to travel, he said, although the manager pointed out to him that now was the time to reap a golden harvest, if ever. He was even more popular now than before, if such a thing could be. The divorce proceedings had given him notoriety. People who had not gone to see him act before, went now, just for a sight of his handsome face.

He loved his art, but the money was no object to him. Fortune had already showered her golden favors on him in lavish measure. He could not be tempted to remain.

"No, mother, I can not stay," he answered, sadly, when she pleaded with him. "I must get away as soon as this divorce business is settled. That will be soon—in a week or so, my lawyers tell me. Then I will go abroad and try to live down this unpleasant notoriety. You do not blame me, mother?"

She sighed, but answered bravely:

"No; but it will be very lonely, my son."

"You will have my brother, his wife and little ones to cheer you," he said, moved to the heart by her tears. He knew well that he was her favorite son.

He kissed her, and went to his own room, wrote some letters, and then went with his mother for a drive. At night he felt as if the day had been a month long. Oh, how cruel it was, this love that mastered him in spite of his pride!

"You may rouse your pride, you may use your reason,And seem for a space to slay Love so;But all in his own good time and seasonIt will rise and follow where'er you go."

He threw himself down, dressed, on a couch in the luxurious room, and gave himself up to bitter-sweet memories of the girl he loved so hopelessly, living over in his thoughts every time he had met her until now, when her dark eyes had made shipwreck of his life. Time passed unnoted, although the tiny French clock had tinkled musically the midnight hour.

What a picture of manly beauty he made, lying there with half-shut eyes on the rich couch with its Oriental draperies. The gas-light, half-turned down, cast weird shadows all about the room. In the little sleeping-room beyond, seen through the half-drawn portière, all was dark and still. Did a white, desperate face with gleaming eyes peer out of that gloom upon the young man resting there in his velvet dressing-gown, one shapely hand tossed up over his brown curly head, the dark, curly lashes drooping downward to the pale cheek?