He gazed at her admiringly, but he did not hesitate to say:
"It is only an exchange of slavery from the counter to the stage. You will be the slave of the public still. If you would listen to me, I would persuade you to remain where you are—until some good man marries you, and makes you the queen of his heart and home."
Geraldine tossed her shining head, and gave him a saucy smile, and retorted:
"That sounds like my chum's preaching, but I shall not listen to either of you. My heart is set on a stage career."
Harry Hawthorne gave her a grave look, but made no reply in words, and for a few moments they kept silence, while the gay, lilting music of the band filled up the pauses, and the sun pierced through the fog and smiled on the majestic steamer plowing her way through the blue, sparkling waves.
Geraldine felt intuitively that he disapproved of her plans, and maintained a pouting silence until he remarked, genially:
"I have an idea!"
She looked at him, questioningly, and he continued:
"The wife of our captain is on board to-day, going to Newburgh. Now, wouldn't it be pleasant to introduce you, so that she could look after you while I'm taking part in the firemen's games?"
Geraldine felt as if he were tired of her already, and eager to put her in charge of some one else, and her heart sank with a strange pain, but she did not permit him to see her mortification, she only gave an eager, smiling assent.
"I should like it very much, if the lady will be so kind."
"Then I will go and bring Mrs. Stansbury, if you'll wait here for us," and smiling at her, a friendly smile that warmed her chilled heart like a burst of sudden sunshine, he bowed himself away, and left the little beauty sitting alone by the rail.
She leaned her elbows on the rail, her dimpled chin in her hands, and watched the foamy waves with tender eyes as she thought how bonny he was, her handsome new acquaintance. Almost nicer, indeed, than Clifford Standish, or at least he would be, but for his absurd prejudice against her going on the stage.
"Won't Cissy be surprised when I have another handsome caller? I suppose she'll be cross, and wonder where I got another string to my bow," thought the budding coquette, with artless vanity.
She decided not to tell Cissy of the actor's strange conduct, for she would only say that he did it on purpose, and that it served her right.
"And I shall not give her the chance to crow over me, and say, 'I told you so!'" murmured Geraldine.
In the preoccupation of her mind, she did not notice that the rail she leaned on was old and weak, and had been mended at that very place. In the sudden indignation at the thought of Cissy's contumacy, she leaned yet more heavily upon it, and, with a sudden snap, the frail support gave way, precipitating its lovely burden into the water.
"Heaven have mercy!" shrieked poor Geraldine, as she went downward over the side of the boat—down, down down, into the churning, frothy waves.
In a moment all was terror, bustle, and confusion, the passengers all crowding to the side to look over, almost precipitating another accident in the excitement.
"Give way!" cried a stern, ringing voice, as the tall form of the fireman pushed through the crowd, and he demanded, hoarsely:
"What has happened?"
And a dozen voices answered that there had been an accident to the young lady he had been with just now. The rail on which she leaned had broken, throwing her into the water.
"My God!" he cried, supplicatingly, and sprang over the side to the rescue of the drowning girl!
CHAPTER III.
A GALLANT RESCUE.
"Awake, awake, oh, gracious heart—
There's some one knocking at the door!
'Tis Cupid come with loving art
To honor, worship, and implore.
Arise and welcome him before
Adown his cheeks the big tears start.
Awake, awake, oh, gracious heart—
There's some one knocking at the door."
Several moments of keenest suspense ensued, while the noisy and excited crowd watched the water where Geraldine's fair head had gone down beneath the surface.
Harry Hawthorne made a bold and gallant dive through the eddying circles on the water, and for a few breathless moments, he, too, was lost to sight.
The people shouted, in dismay and pity:
"They are both lost! They have been sucked under the boat by the swift current!"
Every face grew sad at the thought, and some tender-hearted women burst into tears.
It seemed terrible that those two beautiful young lives should have gone down so suddenly and tragically into the darkness of death.
But, suddenly, a low murmur of joy rose above the lamentations.
"See! see!"
The dark head of Harry Hawthorne had reappeared above the waves.
In another moment it was seen that he held Geraldine clasped to him with one arm, her white, unconscious face and dripping hair upturned to the light.
Supporting himself as best he could with one free arm, he halooed, loudly:
"Boat! boat!"
Oh, what a ringing cheer answered him—shouts of joy at the rescue; shouts of praise at his bravery!
In the meanwhile the steamer had been stopped, and a little boat let down. The men rowed quickly to Hawthorne, and drew him and his burden into safety.
The whole affair had passed off very quickly, but only the strength and bravery of one man had saved pretty Geraldine from a grave beneath the deep, sparkling waves of the beautiful Hudson.
As it was, she had sustained no injury, and soon recovered consciousness, looking about her with dazed eyes, to find her rescuer kneeling by her side, gazing at her with eager, dark-blue eyes, full of yearning anxiety.
"Oh, you need not look so frightened, Mr. Hawthorne. She is all right now, and I'm going to take her down stairs and lend her some of my dry clothes!" cried a gay voice, and the pretty young married woman to whom he had been about to introduce Geraldine when she fell into the river, now took the girl in charge and led her down stairs, saying, cheerily:
"You'll be all right directly. I'm going to get you some wine, and have you lie down and rest a while when you get on some dry clothes. Oh, you don't know my name, do you?
"I am Mrs. Stansbury, and Harry Hawthorne was bringing me over to see you when you fell into the water. A mercy you wern't drowned, isn't it? You certainly would have been, only for his bravery."
Closeted in the little state-room, she continued:
"How fortunate that I brought along a little steamer trunk, expecting to spend several days with my mother in Newburgh. I can lend you an outfit, for we are almost the same size, aren't we? But I'll wager that Harry Hawthorne will not be able to borrow a suit big enough for him, and will have to remain 'in durance vile' until his own clothes are dry."
Her words proved true, and she and Geraldine did not see the handsome fireman again until just before they landed, when he joined them, looking fresh and bright, and none the worse for his ducking, excusing his absence by saying, gayly, that he had been hung over a line to dry.
His eager eyes sought Geraldine's, and he said,