Chapter XXI: Brother and Sister

As Miss March bent over the locket she uttered an exclamation of wonder and delight.

The portrait revealed was that of a singularly handsome man in the prime of life. The calm, thoughtful eyes and the sensitive mouth were those of the young actress herself; the likeness was not only unmistakable, but remarkable.

"Is it possible that this picture has been here all these years, and I have never known it?" the girl exclaimed.

"You might never have discovered it," replied Al. "I should not have known but for the fact that I have a locket precisely like it, which opens in the same way."

"Then there can be no doubt----"

"That you are my sister."

"Brother!"

The next moment the singularly united couple were folded in each other's arms.

It was a moment that in all their after lives neither of them ever forgot, a joy that no future sorrow had the power to efface from their memories.

When the first transports of emotion were over, the young girl said, tremulously:

"My mother--when shall I see her? Oh, I must go to her at once! I must, I must!"

"Of course, Mr. Wattles will give you leave of absence as soon as we tell him what we have discovered."

"I do not see how he can."

"Why can't he?"

"I have no understudy. No, I must remain; he has been very kind to me, and I could not ask a favor that I knew it would be so very difficult for him to grant."

"That is right, sister. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll telegraph to mother to come on here at once. She will arrive before the evening performance."

"Do so, brother---- Oh, how strange, yet how delightful, it is to utter that sacred name! But do not tell her the truth until she comes."

"No, indeed. Why, I think the shock would almost kill her. We must break it to her gently."

At this moment Mr. Wattles came bustling into the room.

"The advance sale," he began, "is something unheard of in Rockton. Why---- But what's the matter? Nothing wrong, is there?"

"No, indeed," Al replied. "Everything is all right."

And he proceeded to acquaint the manager in a few words with what had happened.

"Well," said Mr. Wattles, when he had finished, "you beat the deck, young man. I'm going to write a romance about you when the season is over. You're no sooner done with one startling adventure than you're right in the midst of another. Why, you're almost equal to one of Dumas' heroes! Well, I sincerely congratulate you both."

After a hearty handshake the manager added:

"And now I must be off to give this story to the papers."

"No, no!" cried Miss March.

"Not by any means," added Al.

Mr. Wattles stared at them.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We mean," said Al, "that this is a private affair with which the papers have nothing to do."

"But, my dear boy, think--only think--what a grand ad. it would make for the show!"

"No matter; we don't want a word printed about it."

"Of course not," said the actress. "I should think you would understand our feelings in the matter, Mr. Wattles."

"Well, I don't," returned the manager, evidently chagrined. "I cannot, to save my life, see why you are willing to throw away such a chance for a stunning free ad. Nor"--addressing Al--"can I understand your scruples. By Jove! you are the queerest combination of impudence and modesty that I ever met. But have it your own way, my children; throw away the chance if you want to."

As he was about to leave the room the old gentleman turned again, saying:

"I almost forgot that I had a letter for you, Miss March. Here it is, and I think I know the handwriting."

As the actress glanced at the superscription on the envelope she changed color.

"It is from that wretch, Farley!" she exclaimed.

"So I thought," said Mr. Wattles. "You had better look out for that man, my dear. He is, or thinks he is, desperately in love with you, and he may give you some trouble yet. If you don't mind, I should like to know the contents of that letter. Believe me, it is not from mere idle curiosity that I ask you to let me read it."

"I know that, Mr. Wattles," said Miss March. "Ever since I have been in your company you have been like a father to me. You shall open the letter yourself if you will."

She handed the epistle to the manager, who tore it open. As he glanced at its contents a frown appeared upon his usually cheerful countenance.

"The scoundrel!" he muttered, crushing the letter in his hand; "if I ever meet him again I will thrash him within an inch of his life--I will, by Jove!"

"What does he say?" the girl asked, anxiously.

"It will do you no good to know the contents of this precious epistle," replied Mr. Wattles. "You had better let me destroy it."

But Miss March's feminine curiosity was now aroused, and she insisted upon knowing what was in the letter.

"Well, if you will have it," said the manager, resignedly, "I'll read it to you. But if you don't sleep nights for the next week or two you mustn't blame me."

"Go on, go on!"

The old gentleman read as follows:

"GLADYS: This is to remind you that, although we are
separated, I am near you. Do you remember what I told
you the last time we met, that no power on earth could
make me give you up? I meant what I said, I mean it
still. I am not far away; you will see me sooner than
you think."

"Is there no signature?" asked Miss March.

"None, but there can be no doubt as to the identity of the writer."

"Of course not."

"I don't want to alarm you, my dear, but you ought to be very careful."

"I shall be."

Al laughed.

"I don't think there is much danger," he said. "That letter sounds like an extract from a sensational novel. A barking dog never bites, you know."

"I don't know anything of the sort," returned Mr. Wattles. "Some barking dogs do bite; and this one, as you have reason to know yourself, has sharp teeth. Well, just let me lay my hands on him and I'll settle him in short order."

"What will you do?" smiled Al.

"First, as I said before, I'll give him a sound thrashing. Oh, you may laugh, but I can do it, if I am not a boy. And then I'll hand him over to the authorities. By Jove! I had no idea that the fellow was such a scoundrel when he was in my employ, or I wouldn't have kept him an hour. But now I really must be off. Do your best to-night, Miss March; you'll have one of the biggest houses of the season--thanks to the exertions of that sharp young brother of yours."

And the manager rushed out of the room.

"Brother!" the girl said, softly. "How sweet the name sounds. To think that I have a brother! And a mother!"

"Don't cry--please don't!" entreated Al, with a boy's horror of feminine tears.

"They are tears of joy, brother. And now you must go and send the telegram."