CHAPTER VIII.

HELEN PLANS HER FUTURE.

"I have decided to leave San Francisco. I will not have Dorothy's life spoiled by this wretched scandal, which she will never be allowed to forget if we remain here. I am going to put three thousand miles between our past history and ourselves. I am going to New York City to live."

Thus announced Helen Hungerford while discussing her future with her lifelong friend, Mrs. Horace Hamilton, who had been not only her chum throughout their college course, and her maid of honor at her marriage, but had faithfully stood by her in all her trials since her return from Europe. It was she who had helped her to secure music scholars, who had been first and foremost in introducing her as a chamber-concert singer, and launching her upon the career that had proved such a signal success. She had also been especially kind and loyal at the time of her husband's desertion, and shielded her in every possible way from the gossip and scandal attending the unfortunate separation.

"Mercy, dear, won't it be flying in the face of Providence for you to race wildly off to the other side of the continent?" exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, in a startled tone, adding sympathetically: "I am forced to admit that your position here is certainly very trying, Helen; but this seems to me like a perfectly mad scheme. Do you know a single soul in New York?"

"No, I do not; and that is just the reason why I am going there."

"But you are so well established, and have so many stanch friends here; the sympathies of every one who knows you and the trials you have had to encounter are with you," objected her companion.

"I know that; everybody has been heavenly kind to me, and I fully appreciate it," said Helen, with starting tears. "But I don't want _sympathy_--I simply want to forget; and I will not have Dorothy weighed down with pity, and all the brightness and hope crushed out of her life," she concluded passionately, and flushing with hot resentment against her hard lot.

"But I am afraid you will have an awfully hard struggle all alone in New York," said her friend, looking deeply troubled. "And yet--I don't know"--her face clearing suddenly--"Lena Jerome, Horace's sister, is prominent in society there. She is a dear, and would do anything to help a friend of ours. You certainly are a fine music teacher, Helen--you make all your pupils love you, and I believe that is one secret of your success; and you sing divinely at drawing-room functions. Lena would be just the one to aid you in securing the right kind of scholars, and to secure for you the entrée to society for entertaining, as you have done here. After all, I do believe it will be the very best thing for you to do, if--if the expense of such a change will not be too much for you," Mrs. Hamilton concluded, with some embarrassment, for she believed that John Hungerford had left his wife absolutely penniless.

"I have saved some money from my own earnings," Helen explained. "It has been uphill work since John gave up business, but I have never allowed myself to spend every dollar of my income; I have managed to put away something every month--'an emergency nest egg,' I have called it. Then, the little my father left me I have sacredly hoarded to defray the expense of a college course for Dorothy; so I am sure I can manage very well, even in New York, until I can secure pupils and engagements. I shall be very grateful to Mr. Hamilton's sister if she will take me under her friendly wing for a little while, until I become established. Belle, what should I have done without you? You have been my sheet anchor in this heartbreaking storm."

She reached out, clasped her friend's hand, and laid it against her lips, as she ceased speaking.

Mrs. Hamilton slipped an affectionate arm about her waist, and drew her close, hot tears of rebellion welling to her eyes as she recalled the evening of Helen's brilliant wedding, when they had stood side by side beneath the great arch of white roses in the Appletons' lovely home, and contrasted the seemingly bright outlook of that occasion with her present blighted hopes and broken heart.

"Well, you know it was always 'you and I together, love,' in the old days at college--one never had a pleasure or a trouble that the other did not share, and I am sure we love each other as well to-day, if not better, than we did then," she fondly replied; then added, with cheerful animation: "Now, let me tell you that your plan appeals to me more and more. I can see that you and Dorothy will escape a great deal of depressing and exasperating scandal by this change; thus, as you have said, the dear child's future will not be marred by continual reminders of the unhappy experiences of the last few years. You have brought her up admirably thus far, Helen--she gives promise of becoming a beautiful and talented woman; and I believe when we have you well settled in New York you will both be happier than you have been for a long time."

"What a blessing it is to have a loyal friend!" breathed Helen gratefully. "You have cheered me more than I can tell you, and, with your assurance of Mrs. Jerome's influence to help me in my future career, my courage is greatly strengthened. I--I shall ask you to introduce us to her as--Mrs. and Miss Dorothy _Ford_," she concluded, with some hesitation, as she searched her friend's face to see how she would receive this suggestion.

"That is another plan of which I heartily approve," returned Mrs. Hamilton, with unfeigned satisfaction. "Put away from you--_forget_--all that is possible pertaining to the sad past, and take a new lease of life and happiness. But for Dorothy, I would have advised that you resume your maiden name. 'Ford' will do very nicely, though. A new name may have the effect of strengthening your feeling of independence, and will not expose you to inquiries concerning John Hungerford. Now, dear heart, I must go straight home--it is almost dinner time, and I am eager to tell Horace of your plan for the future. I feel sure that he also will think well of it. I will send the car around for you and Dorrie to come and dine with us to-morrow night, and we will all talk it over together more at length."

Mr. Hamilton, who was a wise counselor, did think well of Helen's contemplated change of residence, and as he advised her to get away as early as practicable from all unpleasant reminders, she began at once to prepare for her departure.

She disposed of all her household furniture, knowing it would be very expensive and troublesome to move it across the continent; and, as she still had some fine old pieces that had been in her family for many years, she realized from this sale a snug sum, that would go far toward furnishing her new home upon reaching her destination.

This involved much care and labor, and she found her fortitude and strength were well-nigh spent when all was over, and her once pretty apartment shorn of all that had once made it an attractive home.

The Hamiltons had insisted upon having Dorothy and herself spend a week with them and have a good rest before leaving for New York, and Helen had deferred until this time a few errands and small matters of business that remained to be attended to.

One of these was the withdrawal of Dorothy's money from the institutions where it had been deposited. But when she opened her treasure box, where she had always kept important papers, her mother's jewelry, and other choice mementoes, the bank books were not to be found.

She could not believe the evidence of her own eyes, and searched the contents of the receptacle over and over, with, alas! the same result.

With a sinking heart, she flew to the bank officials, to make inquiries, only to be told, with evident surprise, in view of her ignorance of the fact, that Mr. Hungerford had, as Dorothy's legal guardian, closed the accounts some three months previous.

This terrible and unlooked-for blow was the overflowing drop in Helen's cup of woe, and for the first time in her life she was utterly prostrated, the shock resulting in a serious illness that kept her in bed for three miserable weeks.

Once again faithful Belle Hamilton and her good husband proved the unfailing loyalty of their friendship. The pleasantest room in their beautiful home was assigned to the suffering woman; the family physician and a good nurse were drafted into her service, and nothing spared that would contribute to her comfort and restoration.

But Helen was not only physically exhausted; she was also heartsick and weary of the struggle to live, and, for a time, it seemed doubtful which way the tide would turn. But her motherhood was her salvation, and the crisis was at length safely passed.

"If it were not for Dorrie, I would gladly give up the battle," she said weakly to her friend one day, when she was beginning to convalesce, yet with her strength at a very low ebb. "If--if I _have_ to leave her, Belle, I know you will still be a good friend to her, as you have been to me."

"Next to Horace and you, Dorrie is my best beloved, and I have no children of my own. I do not need to say more, Helen," returned Mrs. Hamilton, her composure sadly shaken. "But, dearie," she added cheerily, as she fondly stroked the brown head upon the pillow, "you will not have to leave her. Doctor Allen told Horace yesterday that you are coming out all right, and I beg you will not allow yourself to think anything else, for Dorrie needs her _mother_; no one else can do for her what you can do. Now, Helen," she went on, with grave authority, "you simply _must_ put out of your consciousness every desponding thought, for your own sake, as well as ours. Don't worry about money, or how you are going to manage when you get to New York; everything will be taken care of for you until you can take care of yourself, and I know if you will only call back your courage, take a fresh grip on hope, and do your best to get well, you will ultimately conquer every adverse circumstance, and you and Dorothy will yet have a beautiful and happy life together."

This sensible advice, together with the love and cheerful atmosphere surrounding her, was very helpful to the invalid, and she improved more rapidly from that time.

She _had_ "worried about money" and what would be the outcome of her overwhelming misfortune, for, with what little she had left, she knew it would be impossible to defray the expenses of the journey to and make a home upon her arrival in New York. It had almost seemed as if she were fated to remain in San Francisco and meekly take up again the work she had just relinquished, even though Dorothy's whole future might be marred thereby.

But her friend's reassuring talk had put new heart into her, and she immediately began to plan her work for the coming winter. By another week she was able to be up and dressed, and, with her physician's sanction, the day of her departure was set seven days later.

One evening, on coming home to dinner, Mr. Hamilton informed his wife, after they were all seated at the table, that important business called him to New York, and, with the time it would take going and returning, he would probably be absent from home nearly a month. He concluded by inquiring, in a matter-of-fact tone:

"How would you like to come with me, Belle, and make that long-promised visit to Lena?"

"How delightful! I should like it exceedingly," replied Mrs. Hamilton, lifting a searching look to her husband's face. This was the first she had heard about "business in New York," and she had a strong suspicion that some other motive had prompted this sudden trip.

A twinkle shot into the gentleman's eyes as they met her own, which quickly suffused with tears as she realized that this plan was simply a ruse to protect and support Helen throughout her long journey and see her comfortably settled in her new home upon the far side of the continent.

Mr. Hamilton hastened to her rescue, for he saw that she was very near losing her composure and spoiling everything.

"We haven't had a real outing together, dear, for a long time," he smilingly observed; "and when Mr. Ashley told me this morning he thought we'd better send some one to New York and Washington to look into some complications that have arisen in connection with our new patents, I told him I would be glad to go myself. I thought it would be very pleasant for you and me to bear our departing friends company on their long journey--oh, Dorrie, what do you think of it?" he concluded, turning to the girl, who always sat at his right hand at table--a privilege she greatly appreciated.

"Oh, Uncle Horace, I think it will be just--_grand_!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands for joy. "It won't seem _quite_ so much like going away from you and Aunt Belle altogether."

He reached out a shapely hand and patted her softly on the shoulder, a suspicion of tears in his own eyes, for the child had greatly endeared herself to him during her stay in the house.

"Well, then, Belle, dear, if you can get your grip packed by Monday morning, I will be ready to act as escort for the party to the great and terrible city of Gotham."

"Grip, indeed!" exclaimed his wife, in mock indignation, but giving him a roguish look. "I am expecting to take a trunk, containing several empty trays, with me, if you please. Pray, did you imagine that you were going to take me to New York--the Paris of America--and bring me home again, without being well stocked with the prettiest things I could find?"

Mr. Hamilton gravely put down his knife and fork, drew forth a very flat-looking wallet, and laid it upon the table before Dorothy, with a dejected air.

"Open it, sweetheart, and tell me if you do not think your auntie is a very unreasonable woman and your uncle a much-abused man," he said, in an injured tone.

Dorothy unfolded the receptacle, carefully looked it through, and brought to light a single twenty-dollar bill.

Her brows contracted in perplexity. She studied the crisp note for a moment, then naïvely returned:

"Why, Uncle Horace, that isn't _all_ you will have to spend in New York, is it? I--I thought you were--were very rich!"

A burst of laughter greeted her innocent remark, at which Dorothy flushed rosily, to find a joke had been played upon her; then, quietly returning the bill to its place, she passed the wallet to Mr. Hamilton, and observed demurely:

"I guess auntie knows what she is about, and where to find more when she wants it," at which a second outburst brought a dimple into her own cheeks.

"Dorothy, I did not think that of you! Do you know what faithful Mrs. Micawber was in the habit of saying to Mr. Micawber?" inquired Mr. Hamilton, with an assumption of severity.

"Yes, sir; but I don't think _Mr._ Micawber was in the habit of playing _tricks_ upon _Mrs._ Micawber," retorted Dorothy, the mischievous dimples deepening, while Mrs. Hamilton applauded gleefully with both hands.

"So you are going to desert me, if I play tricks upon you! Well, I can't afford to lose my sweetheart, so we will try to be good friends--at least until we reach New York, and I promise you auntie shall not suffer for pretty things," said the gentleman, bestowing a fond look upon her and a smile upon his wife.

"Oh, Uncle Horace, I wish _you_ were going to live in New York, too," the girl observed wistfully. "If I could only have you, and Aunt Belle, and Grace Winthrop, I would be perfectly happy."

"You will miss Grace, but you will find nice friends wherever you go," said Mrs. Hamilton kindly; then the conversation turned upon plans for the coming trip.

The next few days were busy ones, and Monday morning found the party of four en route for the East; and with her good friends to bear her cheerful company Helen bade a final farewell to her "Valley of Achor," and turned her face toward the rising sun, with something of hope in her heart, to begin anew the battle of life for herself and her child, in a great, unknown city.

Upon their arrival in New York, the Hamiltons helped her to find and furnish a small apartment in a good location, these faithful friends manifesting a keen enjoyment and interest in their work that was most inspiring to Helen.

It certainly was a very attractive little nest when the last touches were put to it--"a haven of rest," she told them, after her battle with the rough storms and winds that had wrecked her bark and left her bruised and broken upon the barren shore of despair.

Before it was time for the Hamiltons to return to San Francisco, both mother and daughter began to feel quite at home in their quiet corner of the mighty city, and to manifest a serenity, even something of happiness, that was very gratifying to these good people, who felt deeply concerned for their future.

They had been introduced to the Jeromes, who had cordially opened their hearts and home to them, and who assured Mr. Hamilton that they would do everything in their power to launch Mrs. Ford upon her career during the coming season; while Mollie Jerome, their daughter, about the same age of Dorothy, was at once greatly attracted to her new little friend.

"Mamma, I think she is _almost_ as nice as Grace, and isn't it beautiful to have found some one to love so quickly?" Dorothy confided to her mother one night, on her return after having been entertained all day in the elegant home of the Jeromes.

By the first of October, through the influence of Mrs. Homer Jerome, Helen had secured a number of pupils and an engagement to sing at a fashionable reception, the date of which was set for the third of November.

With this small but promising beginning, her spirits began to rise, and she found all her former energy and love for her work returning.

She was gaining rapidly in flesh and strength; the lines of care and trouble were fast fading out of her face, even though there were times when she was broken-hearted and passionately rebellious, in view of her husband's dishonor and faithlessness, and her own miserable position as a deserted wife.

Her first work, after getting settled in her little home, was to put Dorothy into a good school, after which she gave herself up for several hours of every day to systematic practice to get in good voice for her first appearance in New York society as a drawing-room artiste.