Jane Allen, Center

by George Cary Eggleston

  CHAPTER XXIX--THE BOY STANISLAUS

  As night gathered around Wellington, and while the fast train cutthrough the hills, back to the little station where so many happy, andperhaps a few sad hearts had come and gone from the old college, therewas hidden in one of the campus houses a girl who had refused hermeals, and lay disconsolate on her couch, wretched and alone; perhapseven forgotten by her erstwhile companions. This was Marian Seaton.

  "Oh, if Jane Allen were only here!" she repeated again and again. "Shewould be good enough to at least tell me what to do."

  Nor was it strange that the avowed enemy of Jane should take refuge inthis thought; for Marian Seaton well knew that Jane Allen would neverstoop to seek revenge; even from one so unloved as she.

  But Jane was in New York. She had been away when the storm broke overMarian's head, and Marian felt the full force of the blow which hadfallen without the intervention Jane Allen would have been sure toexert.

  When Drusilla and Judith had sufficiently recovered from the spell ofindignation occasioned by the perusal of the _Bugle_ account of theBarn Swifts and the "Mystery of Wellington College," they set outdirectly to call Marian Seaton to account. Nor did they allow her muchopportunity for explanation. Marian reluctantly admitted she had givenout that information, and also confessed to knowledge of the penaltyfor such an offense. During the arraignment the girl kept herself upwith that courage peculiar to most young offenders. But immediately herinquisitors were gone she collapsed.

  And there she lay, all in a miserable heap. Poor Marian! Surely Janewould be good to her when she knew how much her sympathy was needed.

  The fate of Dolorez was of little interest. She might be outside thebig gate in the shabby cottage banging around and breaking up theunfortunate furniture, for all anyone within the gates knew or cared;for Dolorez had been expelled peremptorily, the day previous. Not evena kind look from the troops of girls passing in and out was offered tomitigate her indignity. Dolorez evidently cared little for anythingother than enterprise, and that of a forbidden variety when foundaround girls' colleges, where the fostering of unwholesome vanity isconsidered detrimental to their interests.

  But Marian was still a pupil of old Wellington, and she was also ayoung and now a very heart-broken girl. With a throbbing head, shefinally arose and bathed her tear-stained face. She was determined toseek out Judith and ask for her intervention before Mrs. Weatherbeeshould arrive. Out on the lonely path--all the girls were at theirstudies after the evening meal--Marian pulled up suddenly at the sightof a shadow coming toward her. It was just dark enough to outline thefigure as that of a man. Marian stepped out of the path to allow him topass. First she was impelled to slip behind the big oak tree, then withsomething of a reckless abandon, she kept to the roadway andencountered the youth face to face, under a dimly burning street lamp.

  He stopped and raised his hat. Then spoke with an accent, inquiring forthe office. Marian directed him, and was passing on when he asked:

  "Do you happen to know is there here a young lady who is called Helen?"

  Marian could not repress a smile. A girl named Helen!

  "Oh, yes. There are a number of Helens here," she replied. "What othername?"

  "Oh, I beg pardon," and he swung his hat with a grace peculiar tocultured foreigners. "I should have said Helen Powderly."

  "Oh, yes, I know Helen very well. She is at Ivy Nook," replied Marian."But you would have to see her in the office," she added not unkindly.

  "I should suppose so," he agreed. "That is why I shall go to thebuilding. I am glad to know she is still here, and I thank you,mademoiselle."

  "You are entirely welcome," replied Marian. "But I am going towardHelen's house--could I take the message?"

  "That would be very kind. I should be glad if Helen knewI--Stanislaus--am here, if mademoiselle would tell her."

  "Oh, yes, certainly," replied Marian, a sting of conscience stabbingher at the utterance of that name "Stanislaus." That was the nameDolorez had forged to the flower card.

  And this princely young foreigner was Stanislaus. Marian turned towardHelen's cottage, a new thought possessing her. Perhaps now she could dosomething to make amends! She would give Helen the good news and--joymight banish the thought of anger, of revenge!

  Quickly Marian sped over the campus in the early night shadows, whilethe stranger continued his way to the office of Wellington College. Itwas still a reasonable time to receive messages, at least, from theoutside world, and the office kept in touch with all the campus housesfor any such emergency.

  But what if Helen were not there? She, Marian, had not been out of herroom since that eventful visit of Judith, directly after lunch, andHelen may not have been in Wellington since the day before, so far asshe knew. At that time Dolorez had promised, in her threats, she wouldoust the little Polock and give her a taste of the "sort of treatment"she, Dolorez, had been exposed to.

  "Yes, there is a light," she murmured, looking up over the little porchat the window she knew to be Helen's. "How shall I tell her?"

  Running lightly up the stairs of the tastefully arranged Ivy Nook,Marian was presently at Helen's door. She hesitated, patted her hair,and corrected the flying ribbon of her tie. The situation of meetingHelen now actually confronted her, even the courage so gratefullyaccepted when down the campus path, seemed waning. But, presentlyMarian tapped lightly at the door.

  There was a step within, and then the door opened. Helen drew back atthe sight of her visitor. She had not expected Marian Seaton.

  "Oh, Helen," gasped Marian. "I have such good news----"

  "_You_ have good news," repeated the astonished girl, with anunpleasant inflection of the pronoun.

  "Yes, Helen. Do be--reasonable. I am in such a hurry. There is a callerfor you at the office----"

  "Won't you step in?" asked Helen, interested now.

  "Oh, yes, Helen," and Marian, condescending and abject, crossed thesill. "I don't know how to tell you, but he gave the name Dolorezforged to your card. He says he is--Stanislaus!"

  "Oh, my Stanislaus! Where is he! You are not deceiving me again!" andwith this question, the excited girl seized Marian, whirled her aroundto the light, and glared into her frightened face.

  "Oh, no, Helen. I would not deceive you like that. I did not write thatcard, or think of it. It was Dol----"

  "Yes, you need talk to me of her, and I believe you now, although--butnever mind," suddenly breaking off her unfinished sentence. "Where isthe one who says he--is--my--Stanislaus?"

  "At the office. I met him looking for you, and I offered to come. Butjust one moment, Helen, please. I am in deep trouble, and I want to askyour forgiveness first."

  The Polish girl breathed heavily, and drew away just a trifle. But thataction gave Marian her answer.

  "But you know Jane would be reasonable, Helen, and I want to have thecourage to face her--when she comes. Think, you have had so much worry,but now it will soon be over surely, yet I am more alone than you, forI have no--good friend."

  This appeal touched the heart of the other, and she quickly laid herhand into that of the trembling Marian.

  "I see your grief is sincere, and, as you say, Jane isalways--forgiving, so if it pleases her, you need have no fear from me.But let me get to the office. Are you coming back?" asked Helen.

  "Yes, no, I don't know. I am so anxious to see them first, after thetrain comes in. It will be due very soon. You go along, Helen, andthank you. I hope your friend brings you very good news."

  "Oh, he will! Stanislaus never fails!" and at that Helen was off downthe stairs, and only the light slam of the door closing, brought toMarian the realization of being alone.

  The door opened as she mounted the steps, and Miss Bennet, secretary toMrs. Weatherbee, awaited her arrival.

  "I just phoned over for you, Miss Powderly," she said. "A friend iswaiting," and her smile betrayed something of the good news expected.

  "Oh, Stanislaus! My friend! My brother!" exclaimed the overwroughtHelen, r
ushing in and grasping the two outstretched hands of the youngman who stood in the center of the office. "At last you have come! Oh,it is too good!"

  "And as good to me, little sister!" replied the young manaffectionately, returning Helen's greeting. "It seems years I have beenlooking."

  "Let us sit down," said Helen, finally releasing the hand of hercaller, "over there by the big palm. You see, Stan, I have a verylovely home. And we will tell our story in English, Stan, for MissBennet is my very good friend."

  Miss Bennet smiled her appreciation of the compliment. Had Helen chosento use her native tongue, Polish, the secretary would have felt likeone endured through sufferance, but English has a way of floatingaround, even to the corners of such an office as that of Wellington.

  "And now tell me, Stan dear," begged Helen. "Where have you been andhow did you lose me?" She smiled prettily at this question, thencontinued. "After that you may tell me how you have found me."

  The young man smiled in return. He was of light complexion, and hadcurls to add to his distinguished appearance--but wait until Jane orJudith would see those curls! Noting his wonderful broad forehead, evenMiss Bennet guessed he must be a very talented young man, indeed.

  "I will tell you all about it, little sister," he began in a subduedvoice. "After I left you at the young ladies' seminary at Blindwood Ireturned to New York, and there, I found, I was being watched by thoseRussians!"

  "Oh, those men! I, too, saw them, and had much trouble to get away!"interrupted Helen.

  "Then I knew I should not again risk going to your school, or evensending a letter. I waited for weeks, hoping to find some way to sendyou word, when I was suddenly called West to fulfill a contract in abig city. That took me far away, and with sorrow I left you, sending noword. It was like the old world then, here in this America. The traitorwas everywhere and I could not risk your happiness once more. So I wentto the West."

  "But you were very wise, Stan," Helen insisted, "for all the time atthat school, I had money, and all things I wanted. You arranged thingsso beautifully."

  "I am happy, Siostra," he replied, using the Polish term for sister. "Iwould that little Helka had never to know sorrow, she has suffered toomuch."

  "But now--no more," and Helen grasped his hand in sheer gratitude.

  "It was while in Chicago," continued the young man, "I met a socialworker, she was called, and this young lady told me what to do to get amessage to you. She wrote a letter to the New York worker, Miss Mahon,and that was how I found you had come here from Blindwood."

  "Oh--I see!" exclaimed Helen, as if the information had answered a longstanding question.

  "But now tell me how it is with you, Siostra? You are very happy here?"

  Memories of the tearful face of Marian Seaton delayed for a moment herreply. Then she smiled brightly and told him, it was a very wonderfulschool, and she had many very good friends, but her benefactor!

  "You shall know the most wonderful girl of all," enthused Helen. "Myreal sister and protector, Miss Allen. You have yet, my friend,something great to know, for you will learn what a girl can do forkindness alone."

  "Oh, little one. I know what anyone can do for so good a sister asHelka Podonsky, but I shall like also to know this wonderful friend. Ihope she may not take all the glory from Stanislaus?" This a playfulquib proclaimed the youth of the boy, and one capable of enjoyingpersiflage.

  "That could not be," replied Helen. "But I must tell you about the manwho followed me in New York. He came one day to my apartment where Iwas with Miss Allen and her friend. He waited until he knew I wasalone, then he came to my door. I was so much terrified I could onlyshut that door, then I fainted."

  "Poor little girl," replied the young man, "I knew they would followyou, but how did you elude them?"

  "That very day we left New York, and came safely to this far-awayplace. Oh! Stanislaus, you cannot know what Miss Allen has done for me.Always when she asked to find my friends, and I say--wait--she will wait.If then she make known where I am, I would again be found by thoserobbers," and the violet eyes blazed at the thought.

  "But I do know something of your good friend," he replied. "The socialworker of New York wrote in her letters of this young lady. She saidmany fine things about her."

  "She could not say half," briefly replied Helen.

  The sound of a motor outside interrupted them. Miss Bennet opened thedoor to admit the wayfarers from New York City.

  CHAPTER XXX--THE ACORN AND THE OAK

  "Oh, it's Jane! Come on!" called Judith, dragging in her wake such ofthe girls as she could collect from the study hall. "Come on and hearall the news."

  At that moment the party from New York, Mrs. Weatherbee, Jane and theirdistinguished guest, Mme. Nalasky, were being shown in to the halls ofold Wellington. There, just across the polished floor within theconfines of the cozy office, Helen and her guest awaited, expectantly,and with evidence of suppressed excitement.

  "Here we come!" announced Jane, who led the way. "Helen--you here? Westopped at your house," then seeing the strange young man, Janerepressed her joyous enthusiasm.

  Madam Nalasky was holding back a little, at the urgent request of hersecretary, Marie, who openly rebelled that Madam should so endanger hervoice with all this excitement. Mrs. Weatherbee was saying a privateword with Miss Bennet, and that left Jane with Helen and the stranger.Jane had volunteered to go on ahead to prepare Helen for the news. Shestood now, debating how to undertake her task.

  "Helen, you can never guess who is here?" she finally blurted out intrue school girl fashion. "Have you ever heard of the fairies?"

  "Of a fairy godmother--yes," replied Helen with surprising promptness."I want to introduce to you. Miss Allen, my childhoodfriend--Stanislaus," she said simply.

  The young man bowed, and Jane smiled, as she accepted the introduction.But her eye was over her shoulder on the door where Mme. Nalasky wasbeing held back.

  "Oh, Helen, I am all excited," admitted Jane. "We have such wonderfulnews. We have found--guess whom?"

  "Oh, not my Matka! Do not tell me my dreams are all come true. Itcannot be my mother!" and Helen, too overcome to say more grasped Janeand clung to her, trembling visibly.

  "There is a lady here who cannot wait another moment to see you, mayI----"

  But the tide could no longer be stemmed and in rushed Mme. Nalasky.

  "My baby! My own darling!" exclaimed the singer, brushing into the roomand embracing the astonished Helen.

  Jane drew back, and stood near Stanislaus, who was viewing the scenewith quite as much astonishment as it were possible for a young man toexperience. At the moment Jane could not refrain from indulging herold-time delight of clapping her hands. As if that were a signal,Judith and her followers actually entered the room in battle formation.Mrs. Weatherbee was about to expostulate, when Madam Nalasky turnedsmiling to the group.

  "Ah, this is all too beautiful! Like a grand opera climax. I would nothave the young ladies leave, if you please, madam," to Mrs. Weatherbee."May they not all hear our wonderful story? I think of a certainty, thecompanions of Miss Allen must indeed be worthy of so much pleasure."

  Judith almost chuckled. Jane dragged her in nearer and squeezed herhand. Drusilla, Dicky, Weasie, Gloria, besides all the others waitingimpatiently in the big hall could hear their invitation to take part inthe climax of the grand opera. Helen was dumbfounded. She stood staringat the woman beside her, as if she could not trust her senses. ThenMarie, the faithful protector of talent, stepped up and deliberatelyled her mistress to a chair. Madam did sit down. She knew Marie'spower, but from the small throne she might still direct that girls'opera.

  She motioned Helen to come nearer, and then begun in true stage fashionto unfold the tale.

  "This little girl," she said, "is my own sweet daughter. When I lefther in Petrograd at a conservatory she was in the care of the verywonderful man, my uncle. I had been--somewhat with the nobility, wasobliged to leave the beautiful Poland, and too soon my kind olduncle--
he who had taken Helka to watch over, was gone also!"

  Stanislaus stood there like a guard, Jane thought, and as Madamdescribed the scene it was truly one of dramatic value.

  "When my uncle was gone, my baby was lost to me entirely. I had no wayof finding her as these Russian artists who wanted her for her talenthad put her in another conservatory. She showed talent so early in herbaby life when her dear father would play his beloved violin," shepaused at this memory, then proceeded. "I searched the whole countryand at last found she had come to America."

  She stopped while Stanislaus was exchanging significant looks, but hedid not venture to interrupt the narrative. Jane was having all shecould do to keep the girls in check, for Judith tugged at her sleeve.Weasie had pulled off her coat, while Gloria was making such eyes,across the room, poor Jane felt almost helpless, under the silentdemands of her constituents. She wigwagged, and blinked, but had noreason to believe they would restrain themselves if this recital didnot soon come home to Jane.

  "When I found she came to America I followed," went on Madam. "But notone word was I able to get of the child until to-day, this wonderfulyoung girl came to me to ask me to sing at this concert--" indicatingthe surrounding as Wellington. "How, can you say, she was not sent tome directly, when all these years I have sought in vain, and every clueI would come to I soon would lose in some mysterious way--perhaps alwaysarranged by those enemies?"

  "May I speak, Madam--Matka?" Helen corrected herself. "You do not knowhow I reached America. It was through this young man, who like me wasleft at that awful conservatory. He got the passports and I came toAmerica with him and his good old aunt."

  Everyone now turned to the embarrassed Stanislaus.

  "But that was very little, Madam," he said with his gallant sweepingbow. "I only got the passports and we came here to study more safely. Ihad hoped to reach my good old friend, Madam Strutsky, but she hadgone, my aunt had found the school for young ladies, and there Helkawent. From there I also lost her."

  "Helen! Helen!" exclaimed Jane. "How could we guess we had such a lostand found girl among us?"

  "Ah, but my friend," and Helen stepped forward, still keeping up thestage effect, "I have been through much trouble, and have found manyfriends, but it was Jane Allen who saved me when all the others were sofar away. Even my good, kind Stanislaus had left me for the time, whenshe came, and everyone here knows how she has quietly worked to keep mefrom despair in the dark hours."

  "Please! please!" interrupted Judith. "If I do not speak, Mrs.Weatherbee, something dreadful will happen. You see, I was with Janefrom the beginning of this episode, and I feel I should be permitted tosay something for the girls. You would not close a scene like thiswithout a chorus?"

  "Judy!" begged Jane, thinking of that dreadful glee stuff about thegirl, and her name was Jane, "Please don't start any cheering."

  "Oh, _no_," but her voice said "Oh, _yes_." Then, "You just wait untilthe girls get their breath. I am emoting like a six cylinder."

  Jane glanced over the heads of those surrounding her, and in the hallcaught sight of Marian Seaton's face. It was strained and saddened, andthe look returned to Jane's pleaded silently for the unhappy outcast.

  "Oh, Marian," called Jane instantly. "Do come in and let us tell youthat the story in the _Bugle_ helped wonderfully to untangle--thetangle. After all, it did no damage, but good."

  "But the good came through you," said Marian, entering the room. "Jane,I am sorry, and have told Helen so."

  "Now, come on, girls, and all join the circle," exclaimed Jane, smilingas she took Marian's hand. "We will have a wonderful time afterdinner."

  THE END