They Looked and Loved; Or, Won by Faith
Alex. McVeigh Miller
Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
They Looked and Loved; Or, Won by Faith
CHAPTER I.
A WEB OF FATE
"I would sell my soul to Satan for a chest of gold!" cried a despairing voice.
It was a young girl who uttered the words. She was standing under a tree in Central Park, watching the equipages that rolled past in a constant stream. A handsome victoria, in which sat a golden-haired beauty, one of the famed Four Hundred of New York, had just whirled past, and the dust from the wheels had blown into the speaker's face, drawing those reckless words from her lips:
"I would sell my soul to Satan for a chest of gold!"
Of a truth, the girl was fair enough to have exchanged places with the regal woman in the carriage, for her face and form had been shaped in beauty's fairest mold, though the cheek was wan and pale from the pangs of grief and hunger, and the peerless form was draped in worn and shabby garments.
But the fires of pride and ambition burned brightly in the large Spanish-looking dark eyes, as the girl clasped her small ungloved hands together.
"Would you marry me?" asked a low, sneering voice in her ear.
She turned with a start of terror, and it appeared to her as if her reckless words had summoned the arch-fiend himself to her side.
The person who had addressed her was a horribly ugly and grotesque-looking old man.
He was at least sixty-five years of age, bent and stoop-shouldered, with features that were homely to the point of grotesqueness. His nose was large, his mouth wide, his small malevolent gray eyes peered beneath bushy red eyebrows supplemented by grizzled hair and whiskers of the same lurid color. His clothing was scrupulously neat, but well-worn and of cheap material.
"Would you marry me?" repeated this old man, and the beautiful girl gave a start of surprise not unmixed with fear.
"You—you—why, you are as poor as I am!" she gasped, her eyes roving over his shabby attire.
"Appearances are often deceitful, young lady. I look like a beggar, I know, and, truth to tell, I live like one, but I am rich enough to give you your heart's desire—a chest of gold. Did you ever hear of Charles Farnham, the miser?"
"Yes."
"I am Farnham, the miser, young lady, and for once I have a generous impulse. You are young, beautiful, and poor. I am old, ugly, and rich. In the world of fashion such marriages are not uncommon. Will you marry me?"
She gazed into his repulsive features, and shuddered.
"No, no, no!"
"You are very independent," he sneered. "What is your name? Where do you live?"
"My name is no concern of yours. My home will soon be—in—the—river!"
"What mean you, girl?"
"What I have just told you, sir. I am a poor and honest girl, out of work, penniless, and friendless, turned into the streets to-day to starve. Before nightfall I shall end my sorrows in the river."
"A girl with that beautiful face and form need never starve," returned the old miser, with a significant leer.
The pale, young face flushed to a burning crimson, and the large, dark eyes flashed angrily.
"I have been told that many times, sir, but I am an honest girl. I can die, but I cannot do wrong."
"It is too beautiful a day to die," returned the old miser, looking around him at the green grass and flowers and golden sunshine.
The park was crowded. There were throngs on foot, throngs in carriages. Beautiful women were plenty, but none of them could compare with the young girl standing there in the dust of their carriage-wheels talking to the old miser.
"Look at those handsome creatures in their magnificent carriages with liveried servants—look at their silks and jewels. Do you not envy them?" demanded Farnham. "You are more beautiful than they are. It is very foolish of you to drown yourself for lack of bread when I offer you wealth and splendor as my wife."
"But I could not love you. You are old—hideous—and I could not marry any one I did not love; I would rather die."
A fierce g