Edith and John Part 36

"Dear Star," said Edith, as she threw both arms around her friend's neck; "does he? Does he? Are you sure?"

"I am sure, Edith," said Star, kissing Edith. "He told me as much."

"That was not kind in him; he should tell me first," said Edith, pensively.

"But he told me not to tell," replied Star, regretfully; "and he said he never expected to claim your hand--"

"Why? My riches will not be in the way," she said, as she began to cry.

"That is why, Edith," said Star, consolingly. "He said he could not hope to meet you on the same level--"

"Money!" exclaimed Edith.

"Money," replied Star, very low; "he hasn't any."

"That is why I love him, Star; and because he is better than any man I have ever seen, except, perhaps, my father. This is one of the greatest troubles the daughters of the rich have--the finding of a good young man among them; and the good young men who are poor are too self-conscious to seek us."

"But he has asked to come again, Edith," said Star, hopefully.

"Some day--some day," sighed Edith, looking out the window. Then: "I wish I had never seen--no, no; that is not what I mean. Had I never seen him, I would not have this pain, the pain of uncertainty, in my heart.

Awhile ago I was very happy; but now I feel like lying down in the bed again, and remaining there till--oh, I wish he would come, and I--no, I could not do that; he must find it out, if he is ever to know. I will get well first, Star, and then we will take up the work, Star, I had planned before I became ill; and work to do some good in the world. I am feeling very weak, Star. This has been too much for me; will you a.s.sist me to my bed. Oh, Star, I am sorry--sorry for it all. You do not know, dear Star. You will not know till some good man comes along and strikes a responsive chord in your heart--you will not know, Star, till then.

Help me to bed, and let me rest."

Sitting by her bedside, Star heard, for the first time, the story that Edith promised to tell her that day when she first came into Edith's life. After lying down, Edith was more calm, and was still in the mood to continue her confidential talk with Star.

"Star, do you know that you are my cousin?" asked Edith.

"Cousin!" exclaimed Star, as if she did not understand.

"Yes, Star; cousin! Your mother is a first cousin to my father; but I never knew it till about the time I sent for you."

Star leant over and kissed Edith, and drew her face up till their cheeks touched.

"Edith," whispered Star, "you are an angel," and then released her, and a.s.sumed a kneeling position, while Edith continued:

"I saw you one day, Star, when I was with my father on a mission of mercy in the poor districts of the South Side. When first I saw you, you were on your knees scrubbing the floor--at that place where you worked.

I saw your face, and fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, for I knew that you were good. I told papa that it was a pity for a beautiful girl like you to be doing that kind of drudgery, when he said that we could, perhaps, get you a better place. We asked you your name, if you remember--"

"I remember," said Star.

"--and when you said it was Star Barton, papa gave such a turn to his countenance that I thought it meant something that he had concealed from us at home. So when we came home I asked him what he meant, and he told me then who you were; and he told me who your father and mother were; and how they, when young, ran away from home and were married. I sent my maid, Sarah Devore, to search you out, telling her who you were, and have you come to this place in search of a position as a domestic, for fear that if I told you the truth you would be too proud to work for your rich relations. You came, as you know how, and when I saw you again, I fell in love with you. First, I wanted you to be my maid; but my pride of you was too great to make you anything but my equal in this house. So you see, instead of being my maid, you have been my faithful companion--and nurse. Dear Star, I love you, and if you will always remain with me, I shall be the happiest person on earth."

"Dear Edith," said Star, with tears of grat.i.tude in her eyes, "I knew you were good when first I beheld you; but I never knew that such goodness could be in any kinsman of mine. I never told you of the life I lived; I never told you how we lived at home; I never told you of my father or my mother. For it always gave me grief to think of it. Poor father is dead!"

"Dead!" said Edith.

"Yes; died last December; and my mother has married Peter Dieman, who courted her--"

"Dieman!"

"Yes; the junkman. They live in one of the finest places in the East End. I am sorry, very sorry, that my father died, as he was the only father I shall ever know; but I am glad that my mother has married again. When you get well, I shall take you out to see her, and you can see how she now lives. I never was ashamed of my parents, Edith, never.

I did all I could for them, in my simple way, and would do it again, if called upon to do it. After you took ill, I carried out your wish, and, with Mr. Winthrope, went to our home and fitted it out decently for my mother and the children. My mother was always sad and brooded over her troubles, and had no heart for anything. Poor mother! I am glad that she has married again."

Star cried in remembrance of it all; for her heart was good. Even dear Edith could not help but shed a tear. And they sobbed on each other's breast over sorrows that had pa.s.sed.

Then, brus.h.i.+ng away their tears, and laughing over their tender-heartedness, they resumed their talk.

"Edith," said Star, "I must confess that I marveled at your actions. I could not resist you, though. I cannot see how anybody can. It seemed strange to me that any one so good and rich as you should light upon me, and make me your companion. Yes, I marveled at it. Now, I know it is not strange. I love you, dear Edith, and shall never leave you, unless--"

"Unless what?" asked Edith, smiling.

"--he should come to claim you."

"He shall never know from me, dear Star; that would not be womanly--why, yes, you dear, you had to go and tell him. But will he ever see the true light burning--burning for him?"

"He shall, if I ever see him again; or I shall write," said Star, teasingly, still with her eyes red from crying over recollections.

"You must not, Star; I could not forgive you--oh, yes, Star, I would forgive you anything--but not that," said Edith, concealing and revealing her true feelings at the same time. "What do you think papa would say, if he knew my love for him?" asked Edith. "Oh, I dread the time he hears of it! And my mamma? but she will be with me, I know, for she has told me that she likes him."

"She suspects something of the kind, Edith," said Star. "She asked you once just after Mr. Winthrope was here the first time; but she did not pursue the question. She believes it now."

"Star, I shall get well; that is my first duty, now that I am this far on toward recovery. I shall get well, Star, and you and I shall go--go--go--"

"Where. Edith?" asked Star, seeing her hesitancy in saying what she wanted to reveal.

"--to do missionary work among the poor."

True love comes but once in life to the pure in heart. Were we all as pure in heart as Edith, mankind's tribulations might be less irksome.

CHAPTER XXI.

MONROE AND COBB VISIT PETER DIEMAN'S HOME TOGETHER.

Peter Dieman sat in his high-backed leather-cus.h.i.+oned chair smoking a black cigar, surrounded with all the ease and sumptuousness of a successfully domesticated gentleman. As he smoked his favorite weed, the circ.u.mambient gray was as a smudge in the midst of a fruiting orange grove. And above it all, he smelled like one who had been soused in aromatic oils.

A pair of satin-embroidered slippers encased his broad flat feet; a red skull-cap, with a maroon ta.s.sel on top of it, bore down upon his rufous head of hair; a purple-flowered mandarin-like robe enfolded his pudgy body. The hairsuite appendage that had gone neglected for years, had been unceremoniously removed from his chin; a yellow stubby moustache, closely cropped, hung above his lips like clipped porcupine quills, and a new set of hand-made teeth filled his sprawling mouth. The rubicundity of his face might have been taken as a danger sign on a dark night, with his green-gray eyes lighted up as a companion signal. A ma.s.seur had rubbed the scowl of years and the hate of time out of his face, till its rotundity was equaled only by the full moon recovering from a case of the dumps. So, all that were necessary to complete his personification of Old King Cole were the long-stemmed pipe and the serrated crown.

While the latter would not have been essential to the enhancement of his kingly appearance, it might have been a fitting part toward the completion of his princely makeup.

Thus he sat and thus he looked in his spectacular pomp of power--a sub-king of the grafters--since he went into the soul-quieting business of matrimony. Thus he sat and thus he looked, when Miram Monroe, the genteel ghost, was let into his presence. Thus he sat and thus he looked, when Jacob Cobb, the ring-master, was ushered in--one following the other.

Would the visitors smoke? asked His Majesty. Yes, the visitors would smoke, as a favor to this potentate. And they smoked, and they smoked till they filled the air so full of toxic fumes that the fair king was almost obscured by the baleful haze.

"Before we get down to business, gentlemen," said Peter, in all his suavity of new refinement, as he slapped his fat right leg with his heavy right hand, and scratched his head behind the ear with his left, "I must escort you through my palace. I've got a place--" waving now his right hand above his head in indication of the building that enclosed him--"good as any man's; and I want you two old friends to see it before we get down to business. Pleasure first, gentlemen, you know; pleasure first, to me, now."

"I'll be glorified to see it," said the ghost.