SIXTEEN YEARS AFTER.
“Papa! papa! Where is my father?”
The speaker was a charming young girl, of about sixteen years, who came one morning tripping into the cool, private office of Adam Brewster.
Without, the day was hot and sultry, but Miss Allison Brewster might have just emerged from some shady sylvan retreat, to judge from her fresh, dainty appearance as she paused in an exquisite pose, upon the threshold of the doorway, which made her seem, for the moment, a beautiful picture painted by a master hand.
She was clad in a fine, crisp lawn, sprigged with forget-me-nots, and trimmed with delicate lace and fetching knots of blue ribbon, all of which was just suited to her flawless pink-and-white complexion, her sapphire eyes, and the gleaming gold of her abundant hair. Her pretty head was crowned with a broad-brimmed hat of white chip, whereon nodded and swayed, with every graceful movement of the little lady, three costly white ostrich-plumes, which were fastened in place by the same number of pale, pink roses and a broad band of rich satin ribbon.
But Adam Brewster was not in. The only occupant of the place was the office boy—Gerald Winchester—who was seated behind a tall desk, engaged in copying some letters for his employer.
He was, perhaps, nineteen years of age, and rather boyish in appearance, but with a face “to swear by,” with its clear, steadfast, honest eyes, its clean-cut features, its frank, genial smile, and yet possessing certain lines and characteristics which bespoke high moral principles and great strength of purpose.
He sprang to his feet at the sound of that eager voice calling “papa,” a quick flush leaping into his cheeks, an intense, peculiar light into his eyes, and, approaching the young girl, with a courteous bow, observed in a quiet tone of respect:
“Mr. Brewster went out a few moments ago. Can I do anything for you, Al—Miss Brewster?”
A look of astonishment swept over the fair maiden’s face, and for an instant she made no reply. Then her ruby lips parted and a peal of silvery laughter rang through the room, while her vivacious face dimpled and gleamed with irrepressible merriment.
“ ‘Miss Brewster!’ ” she repeated, with a saucy toss of her head, that set every spotless plume upon her hat nodding a playful reproof at her companion for his unprecedented formality; for they had known each other for years, and, hitherto, had always addressed each other by their Christian names. “Why, Gerald; how formal! Since when have you become so strictly ceremonious?”
“Since Mr. Brewster announced a day or two ago, when some one spoke of you by your given name, that hereafter you were to be addressed as Miss Brewster,” the young man responded, flushing slightly, although a smile of sympathetic amusement curled his own expressive lips.
“Did papa say that?” questioned Allison, with a shrug of her graceful shoulders. “What nonsense! Why, I have been running in and out of the bank ever since I was able to walk, and it seems absurd putting on such airs, when everybody knows me so well.”
“Still, you are a young lady now, and it does seem a trifle familiar to address you as if you were only a child,” Gerald thoughtfully observed.
Allison stood considering the matter for a moment; then she gravely remarked:
“I say, Gerald, I shall not mind the change very much from the others; but,” with an independent toss of her pretty head, “I won’t be ‘Miss Brewster’ to you.”
Gerald shot a quick, bright glance at the speaker.
“Thank you—I am sure I appreciate this mark of your esteem,” he said, in tones that were a trifle tremulous, “but,” a roguish twinkle in his fine, dark eyes, “how about obeying orders from one’s chief?”
“Well, perhaps you’ll have to do as papa wishes, when you are here with the other clerks; but, Gerald”—appealingly, yet half-defiantly—“when—when we are by ourselves, I—just won’t stand it; it will spoil all our nice times, and make us too stiff and prim for anything. Do you want me to call you Mr. Winchester?”
“I am sure I do not,” he answered, laughing at her injured air.
“Well, but I shall—if you go to playing at formality with me”—this with a charming little pout as she threw herself into a chair, seized a fan from the desk near her, and began to sway it back and forth with piquant grace, while her companion watched her with admiring interest.
“I am sorry papa is out,” she resumed, after a minute, and apparently regarding the other topic as settled, “for I want some money. I suppose I can have everything charged, but I do so enjoy having a lot of nice, fresh, crisp bills in my own hands to pay for what I buy. Will he be in soon, do you think?”
“I am sure I cannot tell,” replied the young man, glancing at the clock, then back, with an expression of yearning tenderness, to the graceful figure in the chair opposite him.
His color came and went, and his heart was beating heavily with an emotion which he was striving to conceal, for he feared that it would never do to betray to his proud employer’s daughter that he had dared to love her with all the strength of his intensely strong nature.
At least, he would not presume to betray his secret for a long while yet; perhaps, if fortune’s wheel should some time turn in his favor, he might dare to confess his affection for the lovely heiress, provided she remained the sweet and unaffected girl she had always hitherto been.
Gerald Winchester was no ordinary young man.
Confided to the care of an aunt, Miss Honor Winchester—almost from the hour of his birth, shortly after which his mother had died—he had been reared in very limited circumstances, although Miss Winchester was a well-educated and cultivated woman, and had given him careful training, both morally and intellectually.
She had a small annuity, which, as the boy grew older, she found insufficient for their mutual needs, and, desirous of doing her utmost for her charge, she resolved to leave the small town in Rhode Island, which for many years had been her home, and go to New York, where she hoped to get something to do to increase her slender income.
The move was made, and Miss Winchester, being an attractive, sensible woman, found plenty of work as seamstress in wealthy families; thus she was enabled to send Gerald to school until he was fourteen years of age, and had entered the second year of the high-school course.
But, one morning, the lad had found his best, and almost only friend, lying cold and still in her bed. She had died of heart-disease during the night, and thus he was left alone and destitute in the world, for the woman’s annuity ceased with her life.
The boy broke up their home, where they had been so quietly happy and comfortable for several years, selling off all their furniture, with the exception of an old-fashioned cricket, which his aunt had, upon one or two occasions, charged him never to part with, since it was a precious heirloom, having been brought from England during the reign of Queen Elizabeth by a remote ancestor.
It was a queer-looking, rather clumsy affair, of solid mahogany, having claw feet tipped with brass, its surface upholstered with some bright, silk patchwork, which Miss Winchester had made to replace a former defaced covering.
Gerald had almost a mind to let the thing go with the other household goods, in spite of his aunt’s wish, for he felt that it would never be anything but a burden to him; but he finally stowed it away in the bottom of a trunk, which contained all he possessed in the world, and removing to a small, cheap room, started forth to seek a situation where he could earn his own living.
At first he was cash-boy in one of the large stores of the city; later he was office boy for an eminent physician, and finally drifted into Adam Brewster’s banking-house, where he had remained until now, working