the way of women the whole world over.
as jay gardiner and sally walked to the hotel the young man had made up his mind that the wedding should be put off as much as possible.
suddenly sally touched him on the arm just as they reached the flight of steps leading to the veranda.
"i have one request to make of you," she said. "please do not tell any of my folks that you do not care for me, and that it is not a bonâ-fide love-match."
he bowed coldly.
she went on: "mamma has a relative—an old maiden cousin, ever so old—who liked my picture so well that she declared she would make me her heiress. she's worth almost as much as you are. they named me after her—sally rogers pendleton. that's how i happen to have such a heathenish name. but i'll change it quick enough after the old lady dies and leaves me her money.
"and you will call to see me often?" asked sally.
"before i promise that, i must ask what you call 'often.'"
"you should take me out riding every afternoon, and call at least every other evening."
again that angry look crossed jay's handsome face.
"in this case the usual customs must be waived," he answered, haughtily. "i will call for you when i drive. that must suffice."
jay gardiner's thoughts were not any too pleasant as he wended his way to his boarding-house. he had always prided himself on his skill in evading women, lest a drag-net in the hands of some designing woman might insnare him. now he had been cleverly outwitted by an eighteen-year-old girl.
he suddenly lost all pleasure in driving. he was thankful for the rainy week that followed, as he was not obliged to take sally out driving.
one day a telegram came from new york, requesting his immediate presence in that city to attend a critical case. with no little satisfaction he bid the pendletons good-bye.
"we intend to cut short our summer outing. we will return to new york in a fortnight, and then i hope to have the pleasure of seeing you as often as possible," sally remarked.
"i lead a very busy life in the city," he said. "a doctor's time is not his own."
"i shall not enjoy staying here after you have gone," she said, a trifle wistfully.
but he paid little heed to the remark.
the happiest moment of his life was when the train steamed out of lee.
"why don't you stay over and see the next race?" said one of his friends, wringing his hand on the platform of the car.
"i shall never go to another race," he remarked, savagely.
"what! were you a plunger at the last race?" asked his friend.
but jay gardiner made no answer.
"i am sorry if i have called up bitter recollections," laughed his friend.
then the bell sounded, and the train moved on.
jay gardiner turned resolutely away from the window, that he might not catch a look of the hotel.
"i wonder if my patient, miss rogers, and the relative this girl speaks of are one and the same person?" he asked himself.
he had once saved the life of this miss rogers, and since that time she had been a devoted friend of his.
she was a most kind, estimable woman, and he admired her for her noble character. surely she could not be the lady of whom sally pendleton spoke so derisively?
he reached the city at last, and, without taking time to refresh himself, hurried to see who it was that needed his help.
it was eleven o'clock, and the crowds on the streets of the great metropolis had begun to thin out.
his office clerk, who was expecting him, said, in answer to his inquiry:
"it is miss rogers, sir. she is dangerously ill, and will have no other doctor."
"i will go to her at once," said jay gardiner.
but at that moment a man who had been hurt in a railway accident was brought in, and he was obliged to devote half an hour of his valuable time in dressing his wounds. then with all possible haste he set out on his journey.
he gave orders to his driver to go to miss rogers' residence by the shortest route possible.
at that very moment, in another part of the city, a woman who had once been young and beautiful lay dying. the room in which she lay was magnificent in its costly hangings; the lace draperies that hung from the windows represented a fortune, the carpets and rugs which covered the floor were of the costliest description. rare paintings and the richest of bric-a-brac occupied the walls and other available places. even the lace counterpane on the bed represented the expenditure of a vast sum of money. but the woman who lay moaning there in mortal pain would have given all to have purchased one hour of ease.
"has the doctor come yet, mary?" she asked.
"no," replied her faithful attendant, who bent over her. "but he can not be long now, my lady. it is several hours since we telegraphed for him, and i have telephoned for him every hour since. at the office they say that he has already started for here."
"are those carriage wheels? go to the window, mary, and see."
the attendant glided noiselessly to the heavily draped window and drew aside the hangings.
"no," she answered, gently; "he has not yet come."
"something must have happened, mary," half-sobbed the sufferer; "i am sure of it."
ay, something out of the usual had happened to doctor gardiner.
as his handsome brougham turned into canal street, the doctor, in looking from the window, noticed a young girl hurrying along the street.
there was something about the symmetrical figure that caused the doctor to look a second time.
he said to himself that she must be young; and a feeling of pity thrilled his heart to see one so young threading the streets at that hour of the night.
so many people were making their way through the streets that the driver was only able to proceed slowly. and thus the young girl, who had quite unconsciously attracted the doctor's attention, kept pace with the vehicle.
once, as jay gardiner caught sight of her face, he felt as though an electric shock had suddenly passed through him. for a moment he was almost spell-bound. where had he seen that face? then suddenly it occurred to him that it was the fac-simile of the picture he had bought abroad.
and as he gazed with spell-bound attention, much to his disgust he saw the young woman stop in front of a wine-room and peer in at one of the windows. this action disgusted the young doctor immeasurably.
"how sad that one so fair as she should have gone wrong in the morning of life," he thought.
suddenly she turned and attempted to dart across the street. but in that moment her foot slipped, and she was precipitated directly under the horses' hoofs.
a cry broke from the lips of the doctor, and was echoed by the man on the box.
"are you hurt?" cried doctor gardiner, springing from his seat and bending over the prostrate figure of the girl.
"no, no!" cried the girl, in the saddest, sweetest voice he had ever heard. "they must not find me here when they come to the door; they will be so angry!" she said, springing to her feet.
at that moment there was a commotion in the wine-room, the door of which had just been opened.
as the girl turned to look in that direction, she saw a man pushed violently into the street.
"oh, it is father—it is father!" cried the young girl, wildly, shaking herself free from the doctor's detaining hand. "oh, they have killed my father! see! he is lying on the pavement dead, motionless! oh, god, pity me! i am left alone in the wide, wide world!"
