an appointment to call on her that evening.
A whole row of smiling, pretty girls confronted him, but among them all he could not see his heart's darling, the lode-star of his dreams—sweet Geraldine.
He accosted the nearest girl—a plump, gray-eyed beauty—who fortunately proved to be Miss Carroll.
"I wish to have Miss Harding show me some gloves. Is she here?"
Cissy Carroll shook her dark head, and answered:
"Geraldine does not attend here any more. Can I show you the gloves?"
"If you please," he replied, and as she placed them before him, he took a pair, mechanically, in his shapely hand, but continued:
"I beg your pardon, but has Miss Harding gone to another store? She is a friend of mine. I wish to see her very much."
"Your name?" asked Cissy, with a quick suspicion of the truth, for he realized in his person Geraldine's description.
"I am Harry Hawthorne."
"I thought so. And I am Miss Carroll. Perhaps you have heard Geraldine speak of me?"
He smiled, and answered:
"Yes, as her 'chum Cissy.' She told me, also, that you roomed together."
"We did—but Geraldine has left me now."
She read the palpable disappointment on his face, and added, quickly:
"She had a talent for acting, and has gone upon the stage."
She saw him start as if she had struck him a blow in the face, and he grew lividly pale, as he asked:
"At what theatre?"
"Oh, she has left New York, and gone on the road with a stock company—the one that played 'Hearts and Homes' two weeks here. You may remember Clifford Standish, the leading man. He procured the situation for Geraldine."
Then, as she saw from his face that he was taking it quite hard, she added, with womanly curiosity:
"But how happens it that you are not acquainted with these facts? The papers had some very flattering paragraphs about the beautiful salesgirl who had left a New York store to adopt a stage career."
"I—I—haven't read the papers," he murmured, faintly, like one recovering from a blow.
"Oh, then you must have been away from New York—and poor Geraldine expecting you to call every evening. Why didn't you let her know?"
"I haven't been away from the city, Miss Carroll."
"Then why did you act toward her so shabbily?"
"Shabbily! Why I had a note written to her from the hospital, explaining that an accident had overturned my engine and seriously wounded me. I've been in Bellevue Hospital ten days, Miss Carroll. Look," and he showed her the scar on his head.
"Oh, it's a wonder you were not killed," said the girl, sympathetically.
"They thought I was at first, for I didn't recover consciousness until the next day. Then, as soon as I could think clearly at all, I thought of my broken engagement of the evening before, and wondered what she would think of me. I persuaded the nurse to write a little note for me, as I was too shaky myself, and sent it by the messenger-boy at the hospital. I hoped she would write me a line of sympathy, and that—perhaps—she might even be sorry enough to come and see me there. But I never received a word!"
"She did not receive your note. Your failure to come was a mystery to her always, Mr. Hawthorne."
"Why, that is very strange. I'll go back to the hospital and see that messenger. But—will you give me her address now?" eagerly. "I will write to her and explain."
Cissy blushed vividly, and said:
"I am sorry that I cannot, but the fact is I don't know where she is, for—we parted in anger, vowing to have no more to do with each other. I disliked Clifford Standish, and tried to persuade her not to go on the stage. She went in defiance of my advice—so she has not written to me."
CHAPTER XI.
A CRUSHING SORROW
"Till now thy soul hath been
All glad and gay;
Bid it arise and look
At grief to-day!
For now life's stream has reached
A deep, dark sea,
And sorrow, dim and crowned,
Is waiting thee."
Miss Carroll was sorry for the young fireman, as she saw how pale and troubled his handsome face became at her tidings.
She exclaimed, sympathetically:
"Maybe Geraldine will get over her anger and write to me yet. She never stays angry long at a time. So, if she writes, I'll let you know."
"Thank you, a hundred times over," gratefully, "and may I call on you sometimes, to inquire?"
"Certainly," replied Cissy, who liked him as much as she had despised the actor. Almost every one has antipathies. The actor was one of Cissy's, no doubt.
Harry Hawthorne thanked her for her courtesy, paid for his gloves, and walked away with such a princely air that all the pretty salesgirls followed his exit with admiring eyes, and there was a swelling murmur of ejaculations:
"Oh, what a handsome fellow!"
"Isn't he perfectly magnif'?"
"Who is he, Cissy? A Fifth avenue millionaire?"
"Oh, no, indeed, girls; don't lose your wits! He's a fireman at the Ludlow street engine-house, that's all."
"Oh, then he must be a prince in disguise; and, come to think of it, millionaires are not usually good-looking, any way. I might have known he was poor, from his beauty. He was talking to you about Jerry Harding, wasn't he? Is she his sweetheart?"
"Perhaps so. Don't bother me! I don't know," laughed Cissy, cutting short their merry chatter.
Meanwhile the object of their admiration hurried away and returned to the hospital.
He had no trouble in finding the messenger-boy who had taken his note to Geraldine, and the youth, unconscious of having done wrong, very readily admitted that he had given the note to a gentleman, who said he was going in, and had offered to hand the letter to the lady.
"No harm done, I hope, sir?" he said, regretfully.
"Yes, more harm than you know. The man kept the letter, so the young lady never received it. It was something very important, too; and now she has gone away, and the mischief you did can never be undone."
"Oh, my! what a pity!" exclaimed the boy, readily guessing that here was a broken-off love affair. He looked pityingly at Hawthorne a minute, then continued: "I'm very sorry I made such a mistake. I thought the fellow was a gentleman. But I know him, and I'll get even with him for that trick—you see if I don't!"
"Who was he, Rob?"
"Why, that Standish that plays in 'Hearts and Homes.' An elegant swell, don't you know? Gave me a quarter, like a lord. But I'll hunt him up, and get back that letter."
"You are too late, Rob. He has gone on the road with his company."
"Whew! And the lady gone, too, with him?"
"Yes."
"Oh, what a kettle of fish! Of my mixing, too! Indeed, Mr. Hawthorne, I'm sorry; and, if I ever get a chance, I'll do that fellow up for his treachery, the villain!" cried the boy, so earnestly that the listener could but smile, for he had no faith in the possibility of such an event taking place.
He walked away, bitter at heart over the actor's treachery.
"He kept that letter, and managed to make trouble between us somehow, the cunning wretch!" he mused, sadly enough, for the case looked hopeless now.
Standish, having gained such a signal advantage over him in taking pretty Geraldine away, would follow it up by wedding her before