Read Ebook: Betrothed for a day: Or Queenie Trevalyn's love test by Libbey Laura Jean

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Ebook has 1946 lines and 105903 words, and 39 pages

"Great heavens! what a dilemma!" cried Queenie Trevalyn, angrily. She did not pause a moment to lave his face with the cooling water so near at hand, or to take the trouble to ascertain if his headlong fall had injured him, so intent was she in hurrying away from the spot before a crowd gathered.

A moment more and she was flying across the white stretch of beach, her pink tulle gossamer robe trailing after her like a sunset cloud which somehow had fallen from heaven to earth.

She gained the hotel by a side entrance, and was soon back into the ballroom. She had been gone so short a time that few had missed her save the partner who was just coming in search of her for his waltz, the first notes of which had just struck up.

"Alone, Miss Trevalyn!" exclaimed Ray Challoner, advancing toward the palm-embowered nook in which she had seated herself. "Why, this is unprecedented. I did not suppose you ever enjoyed the luxury of being alone; such is the penalty of having admirers by the score," bowing low before the beauty, adding: "I beg to remind you that this is our waltz, and it is my favorite music, 'My Queen.'"

Queenie Trevalyn arose graciously, her rosebud lips wreathed in the sweetest of smiles. She danced and laughed, the gayest of the gay, never for an instant did her thoughts revert to the heart that was enduring the agonies of death, for love of her, down upon the cold, white sands.

Ay! There he lay, stunned almost unto death, never caring to arise and face the world again. All he wanted to do was to lie there until the tide would come in and bear him away from life and the love which he had found more cruel than death.

With such a man love, with all the intensity of his grand soul, was only possible. It was not for such a one to worship lightly at a woman's shrine.

How long he lay there he never knew. It was in reality a few moments, but to him it seemed endless centuries. He was startled by the sound of familiar voices.

"It is indeed Dinsmore, by all that is wonderful!" exclaimed a man who bent over him, while his companion said musingly: "What in the world could have happened to have felled him like this, and he strong as an ox!"

"The best and quickest way to find out is to bring him to and see," declared the other, kneeling beside the prostrate form and dashing salt water in the white face, then catching up his hands and beginning to chafe them vigorously.

John Dinsmore opened his eyes slowly and gazed into the two anxious faces bending over him.

"Are you ill, old fellow!" they both cried in a breath. "What in the name of goodness has happened that we find you like this?"

His lips opened to say: "A beautiful woman has broken my heart, and I am lying here for the tide to come in to carry me out--to death," but the words seemed to scorch his lips, he could not utter them. They helped him to his feet, still wondering.

"I was stricken with a pain at my heart," he said. "I shall be better soon."

"Let's hope so, for we have brought the means with us to make you so, if anything on this round earth can. But by the way," went on one of them, "you do not seem the least surprised to find the two chums, poor as church mice, whom you left behind you in broiling New York, apparently 'doing' fashionable Newport, though it is like catching sly old dog Time by the tip of his tail, coming here on the last evening, when the play is about over, and they are just going to ring down the curtain."

His two companions linked arms with him, one on either side, and drew him along the beach, each waiting for the other to unfold to John Dinsmore the amazing news which had brought them there.

While they hesitated thus you shall learn their identity, reader.

The tall, dark-haired young man on the right was Hazard Ballou, artist; French as to descent, as his name indicated, who was struggling for fame and fortune by painting pictures which nobody seemed to want to buy, and illustrating the joke articles in an evening paper to earn support in the meantime.

His companion was Jerry Gaines, a reporter, that was all, though he did have wonderful ambition and always alluded confidently to the time when he should be the editor of some great New York paper, and when that time arrived, what he should do for the remainder of the trinity, his author and artist friends, who were always ready to share their crust with him when luck went dead against him in being able to gather in good news articles, and getting up acceptable copy. His gains lay all in his name at present, instead of the more practical place--his pocket.

The "Trinity," as the three young men styled themselves, occupied one and the same room in a New York boarding house, each swearing never to sever the bond by marrying, though a veritable Helen of Troy should tempt them.

The three friends had toiled hard, but even in their work they were happy, for they had few cares, and had not been touched by the fever called Love.

"You had better tell him what brings us," whispered Ballou to Gaines, as John Dinsmore seemed in no hurry to question them.

"Reporters are generally chosen to break startling news to people," remarked that young gentleman, dryly. Then, turning to Dinsmore, he began, abruptly: "I say, old fellow, you were a sly dog, when you heard us cussing rich folks in general, never to mention that you had great expectations in that direction, I vow."

"I do not understand you, Jerry," remarked Dinsmore, looking at his friend in puzzled wonder.

"My poor old Uncle George!" cut in John Dinsmore, surprised for the moment out of the grief which had taken such a deep hold of him. "And he is dead. I am deeply grieved to hear it. And you say he has left his enormous wealth to me. I can honestly say that I am astounded. He has always given me to understand that I need not expect one cent from him. He was deeply angered at me for my love of roving about the world. There were others nearer and dearer to him who had every right to expect to inherit his fortune. I am bewildered; I cannot understand why he chose to make me his heir.

"If you had brought me this wonderful news yesterday, boys, you would have made me almost insane with joy and gratitude--ay, have made me the happiest of men. Now it is but as dross to me. The gods have sent the golden gift to me too late--too late."

"You did not wait for me to finish, old fellow," said Gaines, coolly. "There is a string tied to the inheritance. If you accept it you must take a girl with it--for your wife, so your uncle's will reads."

"Then let the inheritance go if it be mine only on condition that I take a wife with it," exclaimed John Dinsmore, proudly. "I will have none of it. Never mention it to me again if you are true friends of mine and respect my feelings. I would not marry the loveliest or the richest woman the world holds. I could never look into a woman's face with love in my heart for her, and the man who marries a woman without loving her is a villain, a rascal of the deepest dye. Heaven forbid that I should sell my honor and my manhood for such a price. Say no more about the inheritance, boys, I spurn it."

"You have actually gone mad, Dinsmore," cried Ballou, vehemently. "It would do for an actor on the stage to rant about wealth in that way, but in real life it is quite a different matter. One would think to hear you that you never knew what it was to want a square meal when your stories were returned with thanks, or to borrow enough from your friends to buy a paper dickey and cuffs in which to make a neat show before an editor. Bah!--don't be a fool, I say. Take the goods the gods provide."

"And I echo Ballou's sentiments," declared Jerry Gaines. "No one but a positive madman would let such a chance slip. Money can do anything, old fellow. It can purchase comfort and position, the luxury of idleness, royal good times, every enjoyment--ay, and last but not least, the hand of a beautiful woman in marriage. What more could you want?"

"I should want the heart of the woman I wedded, and money cannot buy the love of a true, good woman's heart," returned John Dinsmore, huskily.

As he spoke he thought of the royally beautiful creature from whom he had so lately parted on those self-same white sands, the girl to whom he had given all the love of his loyal heart, only to be scoffed at and spurned; the girl whom he had blindly believed Providence had especially given to him since the hour he had saved her life so miraculously, risking thereby the loss of his own. He had been so sure of her that he never for one instant doubted fate's intentions, and had given himself up to his idolatrous love for her, body and soul, heart and mind.

"Say no more on the subject, good friends. You both mean well, I know, but it can never be," said Dinsmore, earnestly. "Believe me, I know why I speak thus. Say no more to me of the inheritance. Help me to forget that it was ever in my grasp; that will be true friendship shown to me."

"We must leave you for an hour or so to write up this gay ball and send in the sketch of it," said Gaines, wishing Dinsmore to have plenty of time to think over his good fortune, and not to decide to cast it from him too hastily.

The "Trinity" walked slowly back to the hotel. On the veranda they parted, the two friends going in the direction of the ballroom, while Dinsmore threw himself into a chair in the shadow of one of the great pillars--to think.

How long he sat there he never knew. He was startled at length by the sound of voices. Two people had approached and seated themselves on the rustic bench on the other side of the wide pillar. A massive potted palm screened them from him, performing for him the same service, but he knew well that musical girlish voice which had the power to move his heart at will even yet. It was Queenie Trevalyn, and with her was Raymond Challoner, the handsomest of all the fast, gay set of young millionaires at Newport.

I strictly affirm, dear reader, that it was not Dinsmore's intention to remain there and listen. He would have arisen instantly and quitted the veranda, but fate seemed to decree otherwise. He was unable to raise hand or foot or utter any sound. A terrible numbness seemed to close down upon his every faculty, holding them as in a vise.

Words cannot tell the agonies he suffered there. The tortures of the rack, where he would have been stretched limb from limb, until death relieved him, would not have been harder to endure.

He heard handsome, indolent Raymond Challoner pour into those pretty pink-tinted ears the story of his love, and he heard the lips of the girl who was more to him than life itself accept the young heir of the Challoner millions, in the sweetest of words.

"I have just one odd determination, call it a notion if you will," he heard the young heir of Challoner say, "and that is, never to wed a girl to whom any other man has ever whispered words of love. No man has ever spoken of love to you, Queenie, or ever asked you to be his bride, has there?"

And the girl from whom he had parted on the white sands less than half an hour before steeped her red lips with the horrible falsehood of answering:

"No, Raymond, I have never given any one save yourself encouragement to speak to me of love, believe me."

"I almost believed the bronzed and bearded, mysterious Mr. Dinsmore might take it into his head to try to win you," he remarked, musingly.

Queenie Trevalyn laughed an amused laugh.

"What absurd nonsense," she cried. "Why, he has never been anything more to me than a mere acquaintance," and she polluted her lips with a second lie when she went on smoothly: "Papa paid him for the service he rendered me in that elevator affair, and that ended any obligation on my part. Furthermore, I must say that you do not compliment my taste very highly to imagine for an instant that I could possibly fall in love with such a dark-browed, plebeian-appearing man as Mr. John Dinsmore! The very thought that you could have imagined so mortifies me exceedingly."

"There, there, Queenie, do not take it to heart so. Of course you couldn't; only he followed you about so constantly that I own I was furiously jealous, and thought seriously of calling him out to mortal combat. Now that I do consider it soberly, I agree with you that he is hardly the type of man to inspire love in a young girl's romantic heart, despite his bushy whiskers and melancholy air. But let us waste no more words upon him. We can spend the fleeting hours much more advantageously by talking of love and our future."

They walked away laughing, arm in arm, leaving the man on the other side of the pillar sitting there like one carved in stone. The heart in his bosom had seemed to break with one awful throb, rendering him almost lifeless, and thus his friends found him when they came out to search for him an hour later.

"Did you think our hour an unusually long one?" laughed Gaines, adding, before his friend had time to reply:

"I have now another commission on my hands which is far more important than writing up the grand ball. Shortly after leaving you I received a lengthy telegram from our editor, ordering me to wait over instead of taking the midnight train back to New York, as was first arranged, to meet one of Pinkerton's men, who ought to arrive here at any hour now.

"It seems that he is in search of a young fellow who is giving the police here, there and everywhere no end of trouble. He is a high-flyer with expectations, and taking advantage of future prospects, has gone in heavy--borrowing money, gambling, and even forging for big amounts. He appeared suddenly in Saratoga one day last week, at the races, and was one of the most desperate plungers at the track. The climax to his rapid career is he had a furious encounter with a man that night, who had won large sums on the track, and the upshot of the affair was the man was found murdered in the early dawn of the following morning, and the only clew which could lead to the identity of the perpetrator of the deed is the imprint of a ring of most peculiar design upon the temple of the victim--a triangle, set with stones, diamonds presumably, with a large stone in the center. This is the only clew Pinkerton's man is following, since the descriptions differ so radically."

"This gives an added zest to our trip," laughed Ballou, who was always ready for anything which promised excitement. "Will you walk over to meet the incoming train with us?" addressing Dinsmore.

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