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@@ -1,39 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Guy Kenmore's Wife and The Rose and the Lily, by -Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Guy Kenmore's Wife and The Rose and the Lily - -Author: Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller - -Release Date: June 26, 2013 [EBook #43037] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GUY KENMORE'S WIFE, ROSE AND LILY *** - - - - -Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy -of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43037 *** CONTENTS @@ -11121,7 +11086,7 @@ Vane rises, glad to get away under any terms. "_Au revoir_," he says. "I will call again to-morrow." -He goes back to the Haven of Rest with the poets, aesthetes and such +He goes back to the Haven of Rest with the poets, æsthetes and such people, lounging on the balconies. That name is a misnomer. It appears to him a haven of unrest. He wanders away to the shell-strewn beach, and smokes like a chimney while he reviews the situation. @@ -14484,361 +14449,4 @@ Page 116, changed ? to ! in "For shame, Maud!" 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Guy Kenmore's Wife and The Rose and the Lily - -Author: Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller - -Release Date: June 26, 2013 [EBook #43037] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GUY KENMORE'S WIFE, ROSE AND LILY *** - - - - -Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy -of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - - - - - - - - -CONTENTS - - Guy Kenmore's Wife; or, Her Mother's Secret - Chapter I. - Chapter II. - Chapter III. - Chapter IV. - Chapter V. - Chapter VI. - Chapter VII. - Chapter VIII. - Chapter IX. - Chapter X. - Chapter XI. - Chapter XII. - Chapter XIII. - Chapter XIV. - Chapter XV. - Chapter XVI. - Chapter XVII. - Chapter XVIII. - Chapter XIX. - Chapter XX. - Chapter XXI. - Chapter XXII. - Chapter XXIII. - Chapter XXIV. - Chapter XXV. - Chapter XXVI. - Chapter XXVII. - Chapter XXVIII. - Chapter XXIX. - Chapter XXX. - Chapter XXXI. - Chapter XXXII. - Chapter XXXIII. - Chapter XXXIV. - Chapter XXXV. - Chapter XXXVI. - Chapter XXXVII. - Chapter XXXVIII. - Chapter XXXIX. - Chapter XL. - Chapter XLI. - Chapter XLII. - Chapter XLIII. - Chapter XLIV. - Chapter XLV. - Chapter XLVI. - Chapter XLVII. - Chapter XLVIII. - Chapter XLIX. - Chapter L. - Chapter LI. - Chapter LII. - - The Rose and the Lily; or, Love Wins Love - Chapter I. - Chapter II. - Chapter III. - Chapter IV. - Chapter V. - Chapter VI. - Chapter VII. - Chapter VIII. - Chapter IX. - Chapter X. - Chapter XI. - Chapter XII. - Chapter XIII. - Chapter XIV. - Chapter XV. - Chapter XVI. - Chapter XVII. - Chapter XVIII. - Chapter XIX. - Chapter XX. - Chapter XXI. - Chapter XXII. - Chapter XXIII. - Chapter XXIV. - Chapter XXV. - Chapter XXVI. - Chapter XXVII. - Chapter XXVIII. - - - - - No. 198 (EAGLE SERIES) 10 Cents - -GUY KENMORE'S WIFE - -AND - -THE ROSE AND THE LILY - -[Illustration] - -BY MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER - -STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - -THE EAGLE SERIES - -STREET & SMITH, Publishers - -_The Pioneer Line of Ten-Cent Novels, and the Leader_ - -RETAIL PRICE, 10 Cents - - This famous line was the original series of ten-cent books. Its - success was instantaneous. Millions of copies have been sold, and - an increasing demand for the entire series continues. The following - titles are in print, and can be supplied by all newsdealers. - - ..=199--Geoffrey's Victory. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon= - ..=198--Guy Kenmore's Wife, and The Rose and the Lily. By - Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller= - ..197--A Woman Scorned. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..196--A Sailor's Sweetheart. By St. George Rathborne. - ..195--Her Faithful Knight. By Gertrude Warden. - ..194--A Sinless Crime. By Geraldine Fleming. - ..193--A Vagabond's Honor. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson. - ..192--An Old Man's Darling, and Jaquelina. By Mrs. Alex. - McVeigh Miller. - ..191--A Harvest of Thorns. By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman. - ..190--A Captain of the Kaiser. By St. George Rathborne. - ..189--Berris. By Katharine S. Macquoid. - ..188--Dorothy Arnold's Escape. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ..187--The Black Ball. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson. - ..186--Beneath a Spell. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..185--The Adventures of Miss Volney. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox. - ..184--Sunlight and Gloom. By Geraldine Fleming. - ..183--Quo Vadis. By Henryk Sienkiewicz. - ..182--A Legal Wreck. By William Gillette. - ..181--The Baronet's Bride. By May Agnes Fleming. - ..180--A Lazy Man's Work. By Frances Campbell Sparhawk. - ..179--One Man's Evil. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..178--A Slave of Circumstances. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson. - ..177--A True Aristocrat. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ..176--Jack Gordon, Knight Errant. By William C. Hudson - (Barclay North) - ..175--For Honor's Sake. By Laura C. Ford. - ..174--Wild Margaret. By Geraldine Fleming. - ..173--A Bar Sinister. By the Author of Dr. Jack. - ..172--A King and a Coward. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..171--That Dakota Girl. By Stella Gilman. - ..170--A Little Radical. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth. - ..169--The Trials of an Actress. By Wenona Gilman. - ..168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won. By May Agnes Fleming. - ..167--The Manhattaners. By Edward S. Van Zile. - ..166--The Masked Bridal. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ..165--The Road of the Rough. By Maurice M. Minton. - ..164--Couldn't Say No. By the author of Helen's Babies. - ..163--A Splendid Egotist. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth. - ..162--A Man of the Name of John. By Florence King. - ..161--Miss Fairfax of Virginia. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ..160--His Way and Her Will. By Frances Aymar Mathews. - ..159--A Fair Maid of Marblehead. By Kate Tannatt Woods. - ..158--Stella, the Star. By Wenona Gilman. - ..157--Who Wins? By May Agnes Fleming. - ..156--A Soldier Lover. By Edward S. Brooks. - ..155--Nameless Dell. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ..154--Husband and Foe. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..153--Her Son's Wife. By Hazel Wood. - ..152--A Mute Confessor. By Will N. Harben. - ..151--The Heiress of Glen Gower. By May Agnes Fleming. - ..150--Sunset Pass. By General Charles King. - ..149--The Man She Loved. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..148--Will She Win. By Emma Garrison Jones. - ..147--Under Egyptian Skies. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ..146--Magdalen's Vow. By May Agnes Fleming. - ..145--Country Lanes and City Pavements. By Maurice M. - Minton. - ..144--Dorothy's Jewels. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ..143--A Charity Girl. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..142--Her Rescue from the Turks. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ..141--Lady Evelyn. By May Agnes Fleming. - ..140--That Girl of Johnsons'. By Jean Kate Ludlum. - ..139--Little Lady Charles. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..138--A Fatal Wooing. By Laura Jean Libbey. - ..137--A Wedded Widow. By T. W. Hanshew. - ..136--The Unseen Bridegroom. By May Agnes Fleming. - ..135--Cast Up by the Tide. By the author of Half a Truth. - ..134--Squire John. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ..133--Max. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ..132--Whose Was the Crime? By Gertrude Warden. - ..131--Nerme's Second Choice. By Adelaide Stirling. - ..130--A Bitter Bondage. By Bertha M. Clay. - ..129--In Sight of St. Paul's. By Sutton Vane. - ..128--The Scent of the Roses. By the author of Half a Truth. - ..127--Nobody's Daughter. By Clara Augusta. - ..126--The Girl from Hong Kong. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ..125--Devil's Island. By A. D. Hall. - ..124--Prettiest of All. By Julia Edwards. - ..123--Northern Lights. By A. D. Hall. - ..122--Grazia's Mistake. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ..121--Cecile's Marriage. By Lucy Randall Comfort. - ..120--The White Squadron. By T. C. Harbaugh. - ..119--An Ideal Love. By Bertha M. Clay. - ..118--Saved From the Sea. By Richard Duffy. - ..117--She Loved Him. By Charles Garvice. - ..116--The Daughter of the Regiment. By Mary A. Denison. - ..115--A Fair Revolutionist. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ..114--Half a Truth. By a popular author. - ..113--A Crushed Lily. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ..112--The Cattle King. By A. D. Hall. - ..111--Faithful Shirley. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ..110--Whose Wife Is She? By Annie Lisle. - ..109--A Heart's Bitterness. By Bertha M. Clay. - ..108--A Son of Mars. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ..107--Carla; or, Married at Sight. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ..106--Lilian, My Lilian. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ..105--When London Sleeps. By Chas. Darrell. - ..104--A Proud Dishonor. By Genie Holzmeyer. - ..103--The Span of Life. By Sutton Vane. - ..102--Fair But Faithless. By Bertha M. Clay. - ..101--A Goddess of Africa. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ..100--Alice Blake. By Francis S. Smith. - ...99--Audrey's Recompense. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ...97--The War Reporter. By Warren Edwards. - ...96--The Little Minister. By J. M. Barrie. - ...95--'Twixt Love and Hate. By Bertha M. Clay. - ...94--Darkest Russia. By H. Grattan Donnelly. - ...93--A Queen of Treachery. By T. W. Hanshew. - ...92--Humanity. By Sutton Vane. - ...91--Sweet Violet. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ...90--For Fair Virginia. By Russ Whytal. - ...89--A Gentleman From Gascony. By Bicknell Dudley. - ...88--Virgie's Inheritance. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ...87--Shenandoah. By J. Perkins Tracy. - ...85--Lorrie; or Hollow Gold. By Charles Garvice. - ...84--Between Two Hearts. By Bertha M. Clay. - ...83--The Locksmith of Lyons. By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck. - ...82--Captain Impudence. By Edwin Milton Royle. - ...81--Wedded For an Hour. By Emma Garrison Jones. - ...80--The Fair Maid of Fez. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...79--Marjorie Deane. By Bertha M. Clay. - ...78--The Yankee Champion. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. - ...77--Tina. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ...76--Mavourneen. From the celebrated play. - ...75--Under Fire. By T. P. James. - ...74--The Cotton King. By Sutton Vane. - ...70--In Love's Crucible. By Bertha M. Clay. - ...69--His Perfect Trust. By a popular author. - ...68--The Little Cuban Rebel. By Edna Winfield. - ...66--Witch Hazel. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ...65--Won By the Sword. By J. Perkins Tracy. - ...64--Dora Tenney. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ...63--Lawyer Bell from Boston. By Robert Lee Tyler. - ...61--La Tosca. By Victorien Sardou. - ...60--The County Fair. By Neil Burgess. - ...59--Gladys Greye. By Bertha M. Clay. - ...57--Rosamond. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ...56--The Dispatch Bearer. By Warren Edwards. - ...55--Thrice Wedded. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ...54--Cleopatra. By Victorien Sardou. - ...53--The Old Homestead. By Denman Thompson. - ...52--Woman Against Woman. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands. - ...51--The Price He Paid. By E. Werner. - ...50--Her Ransom. By Charles Garvice. - ...49--None But the Brave. By Robert Lee Tyler. - ...48--Another Man's Wife. By Bertha M. Clay. - ...47--The Colonel By Brevet. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...46--Off With the Old Love. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. - ...44--That Dowdy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ...41--Her Heart's Desire. By Charles Garvice. - ...38--The Nabob of Singapore. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...37--The Heart of Virginia. By J. Perkins Tracy. - ...36--Fedora. By Victorien Sardou. - ...35--The Great Mogul. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...34--Pretty Geraldine. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ...33--Mrs. Bob. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...32--The Blockade Runner. By J. Perkins Tracy. - ...31--A Siren's Love. By Robert Lee Tyler. - ...30--Baron Sam. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...28--Miss Caprice. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...27--Estelle's Millionaire Lover. By Julia Edwards. - ...26--Captain Tom. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...25--Little Southern Beauty. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ...24--A Wasted Love. By Charles Garvice. - ...23--Miss Pauline of New York. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...22--Elaine. By Charles Garvice. - ...21--A Heart's Idol. By Bertha M. Clay. - ...20--The Senator's Bride. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ...19--Mr. Lake of Chicago. By Harry DuBois Milman. - ...18--Dr. Jack's Wife. By the author of Dr. Jack. - ...17--Leslie's Loyalty. By Charles Garvice. - ...16--The Fatal Card. By Haddon Chambers and B. C. - Stephenson. - ...15--Dr. Jack. By St. George Rathborne. - ...14--Violet Lisle. By Bertha M. Clay. - ...13--The Little Widow. By Julia Edwards. - ...12--Edrie's Legacy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ...11--The Gypsy's Daughter. By Bertha M. Clay. - ....9--The Virginia Heiress. By May Agnes Fleming. - ....8--Beautiful but Poor. By Julia Edwards. - ....7--Two Keys. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ....5--The Senator's Favorite. Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - ....4--For a Woman's Honor. By Bertha M. Clay. - ....3--He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. By Julia Edwards. - ....2--Ruby's Reward. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - ....1--Queen Bess. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - - - - - Guy Kenmore's Wife - - OR - - HER MOTHER'S SECRET - - BY - - MRS. ALEX. MCVEIGH MILLER - - AUTHOR OF - - "Jaquelina," "An Old Man's Darling," "A Little Southern Beauty," - "The Senator's Bride," etc. - -[Illustration] - - NEW YORK - STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS - 238 WILLIAM STREET - - - - - Copyright, 1883, - By NORMAN L. MUNRO - - Copyright, 1901, - By STREET & SMITH - - - - -GUY KENMORE'S WIFE; - -OR, - -HER MOTHER'S SECRET. - - -By MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - - "The moonlight lay on the garden wall, - And bathed each path in a silver glow; - And over the towers of the grey hall - Its pearly banner was trailing low." - -It was a night of nights. Moonlight--the silvery, mystical, entrancing, -love-breathing, moonlight of exquisite June--fairest daughter of the -year--lay over all the land. The bay--our own beautiful -Chesapeake--shone gloriously in the resplendent light, and rolled its -foam-capped, phosphorescent waves proudly on to the grand Atlantic. - - "Ten thousand stars were in the sky, - Ten thousand in the sea. - - "For every wave with dimpled crest - That leaped upon the air, - Had caught a star in its embrace, - And held it trembling there!" - -A wind from the sea--cool, and salty, and delicious--came up to Bay View -House, and stole in with the moonlight to the lace-draped windows of the -parlor where a crumpled little figure crouched in a forlorn white heap -on the wide, old-fashioned window sill, sobbing desperately through the -plump little hands, in which the girlish face was hidden. - -The spacious parlor with its handsome, old-fashioned furniture, and open -piano, was deserted, and the weeping of the girl echoed forlornly -through the room, and blended strangely with the whispers of the wind, -and the sounds of the sea. - -Old Faith put her grotesque, white-capped head inside the parlor door. - -"Miss Irene, darling, won't you come and take your tea now?" said she, -persuasively. "There's strawberry short-cake, and the reddest -strawberries, and yellowest cream," added she, artfully appealing to the -young lady's well-known epicurean tastes. - -A sharp little voice answered back from the window seat: - -"I won't take a thing, Faith; I mean to starve myself to death!" - -"Oh, fie, my dearie, don't, now," cried Faith. "Come up-stairs, and let -me tuck you in your little white bed, there's a love!" - -"I won't, so there! Go away and leave me alone, Faith," cried the girl, -through her stifled, hysterical sobs. - -Exit Faith. - -The wind stirred the yellow curls on the drooping head, and the -moonlight touched them with fingers of light, bringing out their glints -of gold. The great magnolia tree outside the window shook a gust of -strong, sweet perfume from the large white waxen flowers, and the scent -of June roses and lilacs came up from the old-fashioned garden. But the -sweetness and beauty of the night seemed lost on little Irene, for her -grieved sobs only burst forth afresh when Faith had departed. The -girlish bosom heaved, the tears rained through her fingers, her -smothered wail disturbed the harmony of the beautiful night. - -Another step came along the hall, a hand turned the door-knob and a -handsome old man came into the room. - -"Irene, my pet, my darling, where are you hiding? Come to papa," he -called, glancing around the dimly-lighted room. - -With a scream of joy the little figure sprang down from its high perch -in the window, and ran precipitately into his arms. - -"Oh, papa, dear papa, you are home again!" she exclaimed, laughing and -crying together, and patting his grey whiskers with her loving white -hands. - -"Yes, but you aren't glad to see me one bit. You're crying because I've -come home. Shall I go back to the city, eh?" he inquired, softly -pinching her cheek, and looking at her with kind, blue eyes full of -love. - -Irene hid her lovely face on his broad breast and sobbed aloud. - -"Why, what ails my little girl?" he exclaimed. "Who's been teasing my -pet? Where are mamma and the girls?" - -With a fresh rain of tears, Irene sobbed out: - -"All g--gone to the b--ball, and would not let--let--me g--go, after -you'd told them all I might, papa." - -The old man's genial face clouded over instantly with some intangible -annoyance. - -"Why wouldn't they let you go?" he inquired. - -"Bertha said if I went, _she_ wouldn't," replied Irene, hushing her -sobs, and answering in a high-pitched, indignant young voice; "she said -children had no business at a ball! The idea of calling _me_ a child! I -was _sixteen_, yesterday! Oh, papa, have you brought me a birthday -present from the city?" she inquired, eagerly, forgetting for a moment -her grievance. - -"Yes, dear. And so Bertha wouldn't let you go to the ball?" he said, -taking a seat, and drawing her down upon his knee. - -"It was mamma, too. _She_ took Bertha's part, and said I shouldn't come -out until the girls were married. Two Miss Brookes were quite enough in -the market at one time she said. As if I wanted to marry any of their -ridiculous beauxs, with their lisps, and their eye-glasses, and their -black coats. I despise them!" cried Irene, indignantly. - -"That's because, as Bertha said, you're nothing but a child," laughed -Mr. Brooke. "When you grow older you'll quite adore these black-coated -dandies, I dare say;" then he added, in a graver tone: "Did Elaine -forbid your going, too?" - -"No, she didn't say one word for, or against it. She only pursed up her -lips and looked out of the window. I never saw such a coward as Elaine," -pursued the girl, angrily. "Bertha and mamma have everything their own -way, and ride rough-shod over Elaine, and she daren't say her soul's her -own!" - -"Hush, Irene--you musn't talk so disrespectfully of your--sister," her -father said, reprovingly. - -"Well, but, papa, do you think it is right for Ellie to be ruled so by -Bertha? She's older than Bert, you know," said the girl, laying her -soft, round cheek against his, coaxingly. - -A strange, sad look came into Mr. Brooke's face at her words. - -"My dear, we won't discuss it," he said, uneasily. "Elaine is so gentle -and quiet, she will not take her own part, perhaps. But about this ball, -my pet. I'm sorry they wouldn't let you go. I brought you some pretty -fal-lals to wear." - -He handed her several parcels as he spoke, and turned up the lamps to a -brighter blaze. Irene Brooke began unwrapping the parcels, with little -feminine shrieks of delight. - -"A baby-blue sash; oh, oh, you dear, old darling!" she cried, letting -the rich lengths of wide, blue satin ribbon ripple splendidly over her -white dress. "A fan! Ivory sticks, and blue and white feathers! Oh, -thank you a hundred times, papa! And what is this tiny parcel? Oh, a -bang-net! You ridiculous old papa, what do you think I want of a -bang-net?" with a ripple of girlish laughter. - -"The shop-woman recommended it. She said they were very fashionable," -said Mr. Brooke, vaguely. - -"I don't care! I'll never put _my_ yellow curls under a bang-net," -laughed Irene, whose tears were dried now as if they had never been. -"Ellie may have it. And, oh, this little box! I had almost missed it." - -She opened it with a little girlish shriek of joy and amaze. - -"A gold chain and locket! Oh, papa, let me kiss you a hundred times!" -she cried, running to him and half smothering him with energetic -caresses. - -"Your birthday present, my love. Look in the locket and see if you like -the pictures," said Mr. Brooke as soon as he could get his breath. - -She left off choking him a moment to obey. - -"Your picture and Elaine's--the very ones I would have wished for! And -how true, how perfect, how beautiful!" she cried, kissing the pictured -faces. "Dear papa, how did you know that I would far rather have your -picture and Ellie's than mamma's and Bert's?" she inquired, smiling -fondly at him. - -"I knew you liked us best because we spoil you the most," he replied. - -"That is true of you, papa, but not to my elder sister," replied Irene, -with a touch of seriousness softening for the moment her childish face. -"Ellie is very kind to me, but she never spoils me. She reads me long -lectures in private, and I believe she loves me dearly, but she never -takes my part against mamma and Bert, when they scold and fret me. She -only looks tearful and miserable! Oh, why should she be afraid of them?" - -"Hush, Irene, I will not listen to such ridiculous fancies," said Mr. -Brooke, half sternly. "You must not imbibe such foolish notions! and, -remember, I forbid you, on pain of my extreme displeasure, ever to -mention these idle notions to your sister." - -"Indeed I never will, papa, I would not hurt Ellie's feelings for the -world," the girl said, earnestly. Then she went to his side and put her -arm around his neck. - -"Papa," she said, looking up at him, with arch, beautiful eyes that -sparkled like purple-blue pansies under their shady, golden-brown -lashes, "papa, it isn't an hour yet since they went to the ball." - -"Well?" he said, half-comprehendingly, smiling down into the eager, -charming face, and passing his hand caressingly over the wealth of -golden curls that adorned the dainty head. - -"Let us go to the ball--you and I, papa?" she said, audaciously. - -"What? Why, that would be rank rebellion! What would mamma and the girls -say when we sneaked into the ball-room? Wouldn't they march us home and -put us in irons for disobeying orders?" inquired Mr. Brooke in pretended -alarm, though Irene did not lose the humorous twinkle in his eye. - -"No, sir, you know they won't say a word if you take my part! You know -they never do. They're afraid of my dear old papa. Oh, how amazed and -how angry they would be if you and I were to walk in presently, and have -a dance together! And serve them right, too, for their selfishness! Oh, -papa, dearest, _do_ take me! I never, never saw a ball in my life, and I -had so set my heart on this one!" - -The tearful eyes and coaxing lips conquered the old man's heart as they -always did, against his better judgment. - -"Well, well, they didn't treat you right," he said, "and you shall have -your revenge on them. Go along now, and tell old Faith to put your new -white frock and blue sash on you in fifteen minutes while I am getting -ready." - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -Every lady knows that fifteen minutes is a totally inadequate time in -which to make a ball toilet. It was at least half an hour before Irene, -with the assistance of the old housekeeper, had adorned herself with all -the finery at her command. Then she came flying down the steps in joyous -haste, and burst into the parlor with the refrain of a happy song upon -her girlish lips. - -Old Faith followed more leisurely with a little white nubia and shawl -thrown over her arm. - -"Ah! dearie me, dearie me," she sighed, as she waddled uncomfortably -down the wide stairs, "the child's too pretty and too willful, and Mr. -Brooke spoils her too much! Harm will come of it, I fear me. Poor Miss -Ellie, poor Irene!" - -She laid the wrappings of her young mistress across the hat-rack in the -hall ready for her, and went back to her own domain and her own duties. -Meanwhile Irene had danced blithely into the parlor. - -"Papa," she said, to the dark, masculine figure that stood at the window -with its back to her, "I'm ready now. Don't I look nice?" - -The figure turned around from its contemplation of the moonlighted bay, -and looked at her. It was not Mr. Brooke at all. It was a younger, -handsomer man, whose brown eyes danced with irresistible mirth at her -pardonable vanity. - -"Nice enough to eat," he answered coolly, and Irene gave a little, -startled shriek. - -"Oh, dear, it isn't papa at all. Are you a bear, sir, that you talk of -eating me?" she inquired, demurely. - -The stranger came forward into the light, and stood before her. - -"Do I look like one?" he inquired, with a smile that lit up his face -indescribably. - -Then, for a moment, they stared straight at each other, taking a mental -inventory of each other's appearance. - -Ladies first--so we will try to give you some faint idea of how Irene -Brooke appeared in Guy Kenmore's eyes, though it is no easy task, for -beauty like hers, varying from light to shadow with - - "Sudden glances, sweet and strange, - Delicious spites and darling angers, - And airy forms of flitting change," - -defies all formal attempts at description. - -She was a sixteen-year-old girl, with the graceful slenderness of that -exquisite age, and the warm, blonde beauty of the south. Her eyes were -deeply, darkly, beautifully blue, and appeared almost black beneath the -long, thick fringes of the beautiful, golden-brown lashes, and the -slender, arched brows of a darker hue. These arched brows, and the -faint, very faint, _retrousse_ inclination of the pretty little nose, -gave an air of piquancy and spirit to the young face that was hightened -by the proud curve of the short upper lip. The round, dimpled chin, and -soft cheeks were tinted with the soft pink of the sea shell. The waving, -rippling mass of glorious curls was of that warm, rich, golden hue the -old masters loved to paint. Put on such a fair young girl a dress of -soft white muslin and lace--just short enough to show the tiny, -high-arched feet in white kid slippers--girdle the slim waist with a -broad, blue ribbon, and fancy to yourself, reader mine, how sweet a -vision she appeared in the eyes of the stranger. - -For him, he was tall, large, and graceful, with a certain air of -indolence and gracious ease, not to say laziness. He was decidedly -handsome, with a well-shaped head of closely-clipped brown hair, good -features, laughing brown eyes, and a drooping brown mustache. His summer -suit of soft, light-gray cloth was infinitely becoming. - -But in much less time than it took for these cursory descriptions, Irene -has spoken: - -"No, you do not look like a bear," she says, with charming frankness. -"You look like--see how good I am at guessing--like Bertha's city beau! -You are--_aren't_ you?" - -Something in this childish frankness touches him with faint annoyance. -He chews the end of his long mustache after an old habit, and answers, -rather stiffly: - -"My name is----" - -"'Norval, from the Grampian hills,'" she quotes, with audacious -laughter. - -"No,--it is plain Guy Kenmore," he answers, stifling his rising -vexation, and laughing with her. - -"There, didn't I say so? Pray sit down, Mr. Kenmore," sweeping him a -mocking, ridiculous little courtesy. "I hope you will make yourself -quite at home at Bay View. I have a great liking for you, Mr. Kenmore." - -He takes a chair with readiness, while she paces, a little restlessly, -up and down the floor. - -"Thank you," he says, languidly. "May I inquire to what circumstances I -owe the honor of your regard?" - -"You may," shooting him a swift, arch glance. "You're going to take Bert -off our hands, and I consider you in the light of my greatest -benefactor." - -He laughs and colors at the cool speech of this strange girl. - -"Indeed?" he says, with a peculiar accent on the word. "Why?" - -"Oh, because," she pauses in her restless walk, and looks gravely at him -a moment with those dark blue eyes, "because Bert is so wretchedly -selfish she won't let me go anywhere until _she_ is married off. Now -to-night there was a ball. Papa had said I might go, but when he was -called unexpectedly away to the city what did Bert and mamma do but -forbid my going! After my dress and gloves and slippers were all bought, -too. Wasn't that too bad? And if you were me shouldn't you just love the -man that would take Bertha away?" - -"A spoiled child, who hasn't the least business out of the school-room -yet," mentally decides the visitor. Aloud he says, curiously: - -"Do you know you have the advantage of me? I haven't the least idea who -you are." - -The blue eyes grow very large and round indeed. "Haven't you, really? -Did Bertha never tell you about me--her little sister, Irene?" - -"Never. She must have forgotten your existence," he answered, with an -amused twinkle in his eyes. - -"It is like her selfishness!" flashed Irene. "Never mind, I'll pay her -out for her crossness this evening. Only think, Mr. Kenmore, papa came -home just after they had gone, and said _he_ would take me to the ball. -I wonder if he is ready yet. It's quite time we were starting," she -adds, looking anxiously at the door. - -"I beg your pardon, Miss Brooke. Your dazzling _entree_ put everything -out of my mind for a moment. Your father was in here about fifteen -minutes ago. He left a message for you." - -"Why didn't you tell me, ah, why didn't you?" she demands, stamping her -little foot in impatient wrath. - -"You talked so fast I quite forgot," he answers coolly. - -"Well, are you going to tell me now?" she inquires, flashing her large -eyes at him superbly. - -"Yes, if you will keep still long enough," he answers, provokingly, and -openly amused at the impatient anger, so like that of a sadly spoiled -child. - -Irene folds her bare white arms over her heaving breast, and shuts her -red lips tightly over her busy little tongue; but her eyes look through -him with a glance that says plainer than words: - -"Go on, now, I'm waiting." - -With a stifled laugh, he obeys: - -"Mr. Brooke said that he had been most unexpectedly called away on a -little matter of business, but that he would certainly return inside an -hour and take you to the ball." - -He expected some expression of disappointment, but he was scarcely -prepared for the dire effect of his communication. - -Irene ran precipitately to the darkest corner of the room, flung herself -down on a sofa, and dissolved into tears. - -Feminine tears are an abomination to most men. Our hero is no exception -to the rule. He fidgets uneasily in his chair a moment, then rises and -goes over to the window, and listening to the low, sad murmur of the sea -tries to lose the sound of that disconsolate sobbing over there in the -dark corner. - -"I never saw such a great, spoiled baby in my life," he says, vexedly, -to himself. "How childish, how silly! She's as pretty as a doll, and -that's all there is to her!" - -But he cannot shut out easily the sound of her childish weeping. It -haunts and vexes him. - -"Oh, I say, Miss Brooke," he says, going over to her at last, "I -wouldn't cry if I were in your place. Your father will be back -directly." - -Irene, lifting her head, looks at him with tearful blue eyes shining -under the tangle of golden love-locks that half obscures her round, -white forehead. - -"No, he will not," she answers, stifling her sobs. "When men go out on -business they never come back for hours and hours--_and hours_!" -dolefully. "It was too bad of papa to treat me so!" - -"But he was _called_ away--don't you understand that? He wouldn't have -gone of himself," says Mr. Kenmore, doing valiant battle for his -fellow-man. - -"I don't care. He shouldn't have gone after he'd promised me, and I was -all ready," Irene answers, obstinately and with a fresh sob. - -"Little goosie!" the young man mutters between his teeth, and feeling a -strong desire to shake the unreasonable child. - -But suddenly she springs up, dashing the tears from her eyes. - -"I won't _wait_ for papa, so there!" she flashes out, determinedly. "All -the best dances will be over if we go so late. _You_ shall take me." - -"_I'm_ not invited, you know," he says, blankly. - -"No matter. They'll make you welcome, for Bert's sake. Any friend of -Miss Bertha's, you know, etc.," she says, with a little, malicious -laugh. "Yes, you shall go with me. It is a splendid idea. I wonder you -didn't suggest it yourself." - -He smiles grimly. - -"Indeed, Miss Brooke, I'm not at all in ball costume," he objects, -glancing down at his neat, light suit. - -"All the better. I despise their ugly black coats," she replies, warmly. -"Do you know," with startling candor, "you are handsomer and -nicer-looking than any of the black-coated dandies that dawdle around -Ellie and Bert? Come, you _will_ go, just to please me, won't you?" she -implores, pathetically. - -"No gentleman ever refuses a lady's request," he replies, with rather a -sulky air. - -Irene scarcely notices his sulky tone. Her heart is set on this daring -escapade. Smarting under the sense of the injuries sustained at Bertha's -hands, she longs to avenge herself, and show her selfish sister that she -will go her way despite her objections. It is a child's spite, a child's -willfulness, and all the more obstinate for that reason. - -"Oh, thank you," she says, brightly. "We shall have a charming time, -sha'n't we?" - -"You may. I am not rapturous over the prospect," he replies, -laconically. - -The willful girl regards him with sincere amazement. "Why, you must be -very stupid indeed, not to care for a ball," she observes, with all the -candor and freshness of an _enfant terrible_. - -"You are very candid," he replies, feeling a strong desire to seize his -hat and leave the house. - -"Now you are vexed with me. What have I done?" she inquires, fixing on -him the innocent gaze of her large, soft eyes. "I hope you haven't a bad -temper," she goes on, earnestly, almost confidingly, "for Bert isn't an -angel, I can assure you; and if you're both cross, won't you have a -lovely time when you marry." - -Vexation at this aggravating little beauty almost gets the better of the -young man's politeness. - -"Miss Brooke, if you weren't such a pretty child, I should like to shake -you soundly, and send you off to your little bed!" he exclaims. - -She flushes crimson, flashes him an angry glance from her lovely eyes, -and curls her red lips into a decided and deliberate _moue_ at him. -Then, holding her pretty head high, she walks from the room. - -"Has she taken me at my word?" he asks himself, rather blankly. - -But no; Irene has only gone to the housekeeper's room, to leave a -message for her father that she has gone to the ball with Mr. Kenmore. -It does not enter her girlish mind that she is doing an improper thing, -or that her father would object to it. - -Old Faith, wiser in this world's lore than her willful little mistress, -raises vehement objections. - -"You mustn't do no such thing, Miss Irene, darling," she says. "Miss -Bertha will be downright outrageous about you coming there along of her -beau." - -The pansy-blue eyes flash, the red lips pout mutinously. - -"All the better," she answers, wickedly. "I want to make her mad! That's -why I'm going! I'm going to the ball with her beau; and I mean to keep -him all to myself, and to flirt with him outrageously, just to see how -Bert's black eyes will snap!" - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -"Oh, Irene, my darling, why have you done this mad, disobedient thing? -Mamma and Bertha are terribly angry! When Bertha first saw you, dancing -with her lover, too, I thought she would have fainted. Her eyes flashed -lightning. I believe she could have killed you! Child, child, you will -break my heart by your willfulness! Oh, you cannot dream what this may -bring upon you!" - -The sweet voice broke in almost a wail of pain, and beautiful Elaine -Brooke drew her sister further into the shaded alcove of the bay-window -as she waited anxiously to hear her reply. - -Pretty little Irene shrugged her dimpled white shoulders, and pouted her -rosy lips. - -"Now, Ellie, you needn't begin to scold," she said. "You know you all -treated me unfairly, and so papa said when he came home!" - -"Papa _has_ come, then?" asked Miss Brooke, in a tone of relief. - -"Yes, and he gave me leave to come, so you needn't lecture any more, -Ellie," said the girl, with an arch, pleading glance. - -But a long and bitter sigh drifted over the grave, sweet lips of Elaine -Brooke. - -"Then why, ah, why _didn't_ papa bring you himself?" she said, wringing -her slender white hands together. "He should have known that Bertha -would be enraged at your coming with Mr. Kenmore." - -"Don't scold any more, Ellie, _please_ don't," said her little sister, -impatiently; "papa _was_ coming, but, while I was up-stairs dressing, he -was called away for an hour. So when I came down to the parlor there was -Mr. Kenmore, and I made him go with me. Please let me go now. I want to -dance some more." - -"Oh, Irene, indeed you must not dance again to-night! Promise me you -will not!" exclaimed her sister, anxiously. - -Irene shook the white hand off her shoulder, dismayed and rebellious. - -"I'm engaged to Mr. Kenmore for ever so many dances," she exclaimed, -"and I don't want to break my word! You're selfish, Ellie, and want to -have all the pleasure to yourself!" - -"Selfish," Elaine echoed, with almost a moan. "Oh, child, you don't -understand!" then she added, almost piteously: "Irene, in the large -parlor next to the dancing-room there are some young people like -yourself who are not dancing at all, but playing games and having -charades and tableaux. Darling, won't you join them, and keep out of -Bert's and mamma's sight? Perhaps they won't be so angry, then." - -"I'm not afraid of them----" Irene began, rebelliously, but stopped -short as she saw a glittering tear splash down on her sister's cheek. -"Oh, Ellie, you great baby," she said, "must I give up all my pleasure -just to please you?" - -"Yes, for this once, love," answered Elaine, tremblingly. "I'll try to -make it up to you, indeed I will, some other time, dear," and drawing -Irene further into the shadow of the lace curtain, she bent down and -kissed the fresh young lips. - -"But here comes Mr. Kenmore, now. What shall I say to him about our -dances?" asked the girl, with a sigh of disappointment. - -"Oh, I'll make your excuses," Elaine answered, readily, as Mr. Kenmore -came toward them, not looking very eager, certainly, over the dances he -was fated to lose. - -His handsome brown eyes lighted with admiration as they fell upon Elaine -Brooke, and she was well worthy of it, for in her maturer style she was -as lovely as the girlish Irene. - -The family Bible registered the eldest Miss Brooke as thirty-two years -old, and she had all the repose and dignity of the age, with all the -charms of ripe loveliness. Men called her a "magnificent woman," envious -girls sneeringly dubbed her an old maid. This latter was her own fault, -certainly, for she had admirers by the score who went wild over her rare -blonde beauty. But Miss Brooke, unknown to all, treasured a broken dream -in her heart like her hapless namesake: - - "Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable; - Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat." - -So the years went and came, and Elaine answered no to all her suitors, -though her mother frowned and her father sighed, while deep down in her -heart she echoed the "Lily Maid's" song: - - "Sweet is true love, though given in vain, in vain, - And sweet is death who puts an end to pain." - -But none of this pain was visible on Elaine's face as she looked up at -Guy Kenmore with that calm, sweet smile, softly bright, like the -moonlight that shone on the outer world. - -"Mr. Kenmore, I know you will excuse Irene from her dances," she said -sweetly. "She wants to go and play games with the other children in the -parlor." - -"_The other children_," Irene muttered ominously, and before Mr. Kenmore -could murmur his ready assent, she exclaimed, in a tone of witching -_diablerie_: - -"Yes, but I'm not going to desert my partner! Come along, Mr. Kenmore, -and you shall be my play-fellow with the children." - -With a gay little laugh and a triumphant glance at her sister, Irene -slipped her hand in his arm, and led her captive away, leaving Elaine -gazing after them in silent dismay and despair. Irene had outwitted her -after all, and her artful scheme for keeping her apart from Bertha's -lover was an ignominious failure. - -With a sinking heart and a face as pale as death, she turned away to -convey the tidings of her failure to her mother. - -Mrs. Brooke, a still handsome woman of the brunette type, received the -news with an ominous flash of her large black eyes. - -"Little minx! she shall pay for it, dearly," she muttered, between her -teeth. - -"Oh, mamma, it is only thoughtlessness I think. She doesn't really mean -to be disobedient," faltered Elaine, tremulously. - -Her mother gave her a swift, displeased glance that silenced the -excusing words on her lips. - -Bertha came up, flushed from the dance, a dark, haughty beauty, three -years younger than Elaine, but never owning to more than twenty years. - -"Where is Mr. Kenmore? I left him with you, mamma," she said. - -"He left me to seek his partner for the next dance," Mrs. Brooke -answered, in a tone of repressed fury. - -Bertha turned her large, flashing dark eyes on her elder sister. - -"I thought mamma sent you to get Irene out of the way," she said, -imperiously. - -"I did my best, Bertha," Elaine answered, gently. "I persuaded her to go -and play games in the parlor. Unfortunately Mr. Kenmore came up as she -was going, and she playfully carried him off with her. I am sure he will -return to us directly. He regards Irene as the merest child." - -"She is as old as you were when she was----" Bertha sneered in her -sister's ear, making the last word so low it was inaudible. - -Beautiful Elaine's cool, white cheeks crimsoned, then grew paler than -before. She answered not a word. - -"Hush, Bertha. Are you crazy, making such remarks in this crowded room?" -whispered her mother, in angry haste. - -"I shall not be answerable for what I say or do unless you get my lover -away from that wretched girl," the dark-eyed beauty retorted furiously -in her ear. - -"Come, then, let us go and see their games," Mrs. Brooke answered, -soothingly, to allay the young lady's violent rage. "He will leave Irene -and come to you as soon as he sees you." - -The three moved away to the crowded parlor where the girls from twelve -to sixteen, and the lads from sixteen to twenty, were enjoying -themselves, to the top of their bent. Having exhausted everything else, -they had determined on having a wedding. Mr. Kenmore being the most -grown-up of the gentlemen, was selected for the groom, and Irene Brooke -for the bride. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -Mr. Kenmore, having vainly protested at first against making a show of -himself, has now resigned himself to his fate, and stands awaiting his -martyrdom with a rather bored look on his handsome face. Irene, on the -point of a vehement refusal to enact the bride's part, suddenly catches -a glimpse of Bertha's face glowering on her from the door, and on the -instant her mood changes. - -Never so willing a bride as she. - -After that one glance she does not seem to see Bertha. She stands with -lowered eyelids waiting while the gay young girls fasten a square of -tulle on her hair with a spray of real orange blossoms from the pet -orange tree that is the pride of the hostess. No one sees the mischief -dancing under the demurely drooping lashes. - -"Poor old Bert--how mad she is," the girl is saying to herself. "I think -I've almost paid her out now for her meanness. As soon as the wedding is -over she shall have her fine beau back. I believe I have almost teased -her enough." - -"Who will be the preacher?" she inquires, glancing around at the lads. - -"Mr. Clavering, Mr. Clavering!" cried half a dozen voices. "He looks the -parson to the life, with his black coat and little white tie. There he -is on the balcony. Go and ask him, Mr. Kenmore." - -Guy Kenmore steps lazily through the low window and addresses the -little, clerical-looking figure standing meditatively in the moonlight. - -"Excuse me," he says, in his bored tone. "We are going to have a -marriage, by way of a diversion for the young people. Will you come in -and perform the ceremony for us?" - -Mr. Clavering turns a pale, dreamy, rather delicate face, toward the -speaker. - -"Isn't it rather sudden?" he inquires. - -"Rather," Mr. Kenmore asserts, with a careless laugh, and without more -words they step through the window into the parlor, where the babel of -shrill young voices goes on without cessation. - -The bride, and a giggling string of attendants, are already on the floor -awaiting them. Guy Kenmore laughingly steps to his place. Somebody puts -a prayer-book into Mr. Clavering's hand and merrily introduces him to -the bride and groom. He bows, and, with quite an assumption of gravity, -opens the book and begins to read the beautiful marriage service. - -To Bertha Brooke, glaring with scarce repressed rage at the mock -marriage, it all seems horribly real. Irene has put on a shy, frightened -look, supposed to be natural to brides, and no one takes note of the -suppressed merriment dancing in her blue eyes, as she pictures to -herself Bertha's silent rage. Mr. Kenmore, impressed beyond his will by -the solemn marriage words, looks a little graver than his wont. The -babel of voices is momentarily still, while bright eyes gaze entranced -on the beautiful scene. It seems to Bertha as if she can no longer bear -it; as if she must scream out aloud as she hears Guy Kenmore's deep, -full voice repeating after Mr. Clavering: - -"I, Guy, take thee, Irene, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold -from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in -sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, -according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth." - -"Mamma, for God's sake, stop it," Bertha utters, in a fierce whisper, -clutching her mother's arm. - -"Don't be a fool, Bertha! It is nothing but child's play," Mrs. Brooke -replies, impatiently, and, in a minute more the ring is slipped over -Irene's finger, and the minister utters, in tones that sound too solemn -for this pretty mockery: - - "Whom God had joined together, let no man put asunder." - -Gay congratulations followed, and Irene, a little paler than her wont, -slipped over to Elaine, who was white as death, with the dew of unshed -tears glittering on her long, thick lashes. - -"You dear old owl, how solemn you look," she said. "But I didn't like it -myself. It sounded too horribly real. Once I had half a mind to break -loose, and run away!" - -Mrs. Brooke glared at her youngest pride in silent rage. The vials of -her wrath were reserved till to-morrow. - -Irene darted to Mr. Kenmore's side and looked at him with laughing eyes: - -"You may go and stay with Bert now," she said, carelessly, "I believe I -have teased her quite enough, and I mean to be good the remainder of the -night." - -He looked at the bright, arch face curiously a minute, then moved away -to join Bertha. - -She received him with a curling lip, and an irrepressible flash of her -proud, dark eyes. - -"I did not know you were so fond of juvenile society, Mr. Kenmore," she -said, in a tone of pique. - -"I am not; I was rather forced into this affair, Miss Bertha," he -replied, languidly, and with a rather bored expression. "But come, let -us promenade the balcony in the moonlight. Or would you prefer to -dance?" - -"The balcony by all means," answered Bertha, remembering what an -opportunity it would afford for a sentimental _tete-a-tete_, and also -that a pretty woman never looks more lovely than by moonlight. - -"When did you leave Baltimore?" she inquired, as they stepped through -the low French window, and walked arm-in-arm along the moonlighted -balcony. - -"Only to-day," he answered. "I remembered my promise to visit you at Bay -View, and thought it a good time to keep my word, not dreaming that you -would be absent. I half-feared you would have forgotten me, it has been -so long since your visit to the city," he added, half-quizzically, for -Irene's innocent prattle that evening had let in some light upon his -mind. He understood that Bertha claimed him openly as her lover, and -fully calculated on marrying him, while the truth was that though he had -a lazy admiration for the beautiful brunette, he had never dreamed of -aspiring for her hand. His intimate friends did not consider him "a -marrying man." - -"As if I could ever forget my visit to Baltimore," said Bertha, -sentimentally, with an effective upward glance into his face from her -dark, long-lashed eyes. - -Mr. Kenmore returned the coquettish glance with interest. He was an -adept at flirting himself when he could conquer his natural indolence -enough to exercise the art. - -"I hope it will not be long before you visit the city again," he said. -"Your friend, Miss Leigh, sent you as much love as I could conveniently -transport, and an urgent message to come again." - -"I shall be delighted," exclaimed Bertha, who was fast forgetting -Irene's naughtiness, and recovering her spirits in the charm of her -admirer's presence. Now that she had him all to herself, her horrible -fears of her younger sister's rivalry grew less, and she resolved to -make the very most of this glorious _tete-a-tete_ under the beautiful -moonlight with the soft notes of the entrancing dance-music blending -with the murmuring of the melancholy sea. - -She was succeeding almost beyond her expectations. Mr. Kenmore was -lending himself to her efforts to charm with unqualified approval. - -He had dropped his indolent air of being bored by everything, and his -dark eyes sparkled with interest, when suddenly the scene was changed, -and Bertha's sentimentalisms interrupted by a little flying white figure -that came through the window with a rush, and clutched Mr. Kenmore's arm -frantically, with two desperate young hands, and looked up at him with -eyes that were wide and dark with horror. - -"Mr. Kenmore, oh, Mr. Kenmore," panted the sharp, shrill, frightened -young voice, "do you know what they are saying in yonder?--what Mr. -Clavering is saying? That--that--he is a _real minister_, and that it -was a _real marriage_! It isn't true! Oh, my God, it can't be! Go, and -make them say it is all a wretched joke to frighten me!" - -There was a moment's stunned silence broken only by a scream of dismay -from Bertha. Irene was gazing with a blanched face, and wild, beseeching -eyes, up into the handsome, startled face of the man. Suddenly he pushed -the white hands from his arm, broke loose from Bertha's clasp, and -strode hastily through the window. - -Irene fell upon the floor, all her childishness stricken from her by -this terrible blow, and grovelled in abject terror. - -Haughty Bertha spurned the little white figure with her dainty slippered -foot. - -"Get up," she said, harshly. "Get up, Irene, and tell me the truth! Is -it true what you were saying, or only one of your miserable jokes?" - -Irene dragged herself up miserably from the floor, and clung to the -balcony rail around which clambered a white rose vine. The snowy, -scented roses were not whiter than her haggard young face. - -"Oh, Bertha--Bertha, it is true," she said, despairingly. "That stupid -Clavering didn't know we were joking. He is a minister--really a -minister--but no one in the room knew it, because he is a stranger about -here, you know, and staying at the hotel for his health. Oh, -Bertha--Bertha, what shall I do? I don't like Mr. Kenmore! I don't want -to be his wife!" - -Bertha shook from head to foot with jealous rage. - -"Listen to me, Irene Brooke," she said, in a hoarse, low voice of -concentrated fury. "If this is true, if you really are Guy Kenmore's -wife, I am your bitterest foe as long as you live! I'll make you repent -this night's work in dust and ashes to your dying day!" - -As the cruel words left her writhing lips, Mr. Kenmore came out, -followed by Mrs. Brooke and her eldest daughter. - -Irene's wild eyes searched the man's face imploringly, - -"Yes, it is true," he said to her abruptly, almost harshly. "The man is -an ordained minister, licensed to marry. You are really my wife!" - -A piercing shriek, full of the sharpest anguish, followed on the last -cold word. Irene threw up her white arms wildly in the air and fell like -one dead at the bridegroom's feet. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -When Irene Brooke recovered her senses she was lying on a sofa in the -old familiar home-parlor which she had quitted such a little while ago a -careless, happy, willful child. The soft locks that hung about her -forehead were all wet and dabbled with _eau de cologne_, and Elaine bent -over her with the face of a pitying angel, bathing her cheeks and -temples with the refreshing perfume. The clock in the hall chimed the -midnight hour, and lifting her head, that felt strangely dull and heavy, -she gazed wonderingly around her. - -In the subdued light that flooded the spacious parlor, Mr. Kenmore was -walking slowly up and down with his hands behind his back. He came and -knelt down by her side. - -"You are better," he said, gently. - -All her troubles rushed overwhelmingly over Irene, and she turned from -him with a shudder. - -"Ellie, where is papa? I want papa," she said, longing to lean in her -trouble on the grand strength of the father who was dearer to her than -all the world. - -"He has never come home yet," Elaine answered in a troubled tone. - -"Not yet, and he promised to return within the hour!" Irene exclaimed in -vague alarm. - -"He has been detained, doubtless," Mr. Kenmore said, soothingly. "You -know you said to-night, Irene, that when men went out on business they -never came back for hours and hours." - -Irene looked at him in wonder, his tone was so kind and gentle. A great, -deep pity shone in his speaking eyes. He laid his strong white hand -lightly on hers. She could not understand why his touch thrilled her -through and through, and pulled her hand quickly away. - -"Irene, do not turn from me so coldly," he said, in the same gentle tone -at which she had wondered so much, "I have something to say to you. Will -you listen to me?" - -She lifted her dark blue eyes to his face, inquiringly. - -"Since we brought you home, and while you lay unconscious, my child, I -have been talking to your sister," he said. "I think--we both -think--that you and I will have to accept the situation." - -Elaine rose delicately and went to the window. Irene answered not a -word. He went on, holding her gaze within his steady, grave, brown eyes: - -"Through our carelessness and love of fun, we have fettered ourselves so -effectually that we cannot break our bonds without exposing ourselves to -a notoriety that would be galling alike to the pride of the Brookes and -the Kenmores. Do you understand me, my child?" he inquired, pausing, and -waiting for her reply. - -"I understand--you mean----," she said, then paused, sensitively, while -her cheeks grew very white, and her dry lips refused to go on. - -"That it is doubtful if the law will free us from the marriage vows we -so unthinkingly uttered," he said. "If it did, it would only be at the -expense of a newspaper notoriety that would be galling to our pride and -a death-blow to sensitiveness. I own that I am proud," a deep flush -coloring his face for a moment. "I cannot bear the thought of making the -subject of numberless inane witticisms and newspaper paragraphs. I had -rather accept the consequences of my folly." - -"You are taking all the blame upon yourself," she said, in a low, -strange voice that sounded very womanly for Irene, "when you know that -it was all my fault." - -"Do you think so? No, I was too careless, I should not have been led -into their child's play," he said. "Well, no matter, let us make the -best of it. I will be your faithful husband if you will be my true -little wife, Irene." - -The tone was very kind, but it was not that of a lover. Irene, though -she had never been wooed, instinctively felt the subtle difference. - -"You do not care for me--that way," she said, "and I--do not like you!" - -"I have heard it said that it is best to begin with a little aversion," -he answered, in a tone of patient good-humor. - -"You belong to Bertha," she said. - -"I belong to you," he retorted. - -Elaine came slowly back from the window, looking like some tall, fair -goddess in her shimmering pearl-gray silk. The tears were shining in her -azure eyes. - -"Irene, Mr. Kenmore is very kind," she said. "Believe me, he has made -the wisest decision, if only you will acquiesce in it." - -"Ellie, I don't wish to be married," cried the child. - -"You are married already," Elaine answered, with a sigh, quickly -repressed. - -The beautiful child, who, by her own willfulness, had brought this doom -upon her head, struggled up to a sitting posture. The sweet blue eyes -had a dazed look. Grief had strangely changed her already. - -"Let me alone, Ellie, and you, Mr. Kenmore, for a little while," she -said, pitifully. "Wait until papa comes. He shall tell me what is best. -Oh, it cannot be right that two lives should be spoiled by such a little -mistake! Three lives, I mean," she added, wildly, "for Bertha loves him, -and he belongs to her." - -"Yes, he belongs to me," said a low, menacing voice in the door-way. "He -belongs to me, Irene Brooke. Do not dare to take him from me!" - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -It was Bertha's voice. She had been to her room, to indulge in a fit of -mad passion and jealousy, but had returned and stood listening at the -door for some moments--long enough indeed to hear all that had been -spoken since Irene had recovered consciousness. Mad with passion she -stood before them. - -"He is mine," she said again, hoarsely. "Woe be to you, Irene Brooke, if -you take him from me!" - -She looked like some mad creature with the loosened coils of her shining -hair falling down like long black serpents over the corsage of her ruby -satin robe, and her black eyes flashing forth jealousy and defiance. The -jeweled serpents that wreathed her white arms seemed to dart menace from -their gleaming emerald eyes as she shook her hand. - -Slowly Guy Kenmore turned and looked at her, honest amazement stamped on -his handsome features. - -"Miss Brooke, your assertion is a most strange one," he said. "I cannot -understand why you should wish to complicate this unhappy affair still -further by such a palpable injustice. On what grounds do you base your -claim?" - -Her flashing eyes fell a moment before the proud wonder in his. Then she -asked, with a heaving breast and in deep agitation: - -"Do you deny that you have made love to me? That you came to Bay View to -woo me?" - -A deep, warm color drifted over his face. - -"Is it possible, Miss Bertha, that you have taken our idle flirtation in -earnest?" he exclaimed, shame, surprise and self-reproach struggling -together in his voice. "If you have, I beg your forgiveness a thousand -times, for I thought you were simply amusing yourself, as I was. I -admired you, certainly, but I never dreamed of love, I never thought of -marriage." - -If love changed to hatred could have slain, Guy Kenmore would have -fallen dead before the vengeful lightnings of the brunette's eyes. -Strong man though he was he shivered under their baleful glare. Her very -voice was changed when she spoke again. It seemed to cut the air like a -keen-bladed knife. - -"So you were only amusing yourself," she said. "You made a plaything of -a woman's heart! Did you ever hear of playing with edged tools? Ah, -beware, Guy Kenmore, beware! My love would have been a thousand times -better than my hate! And do you pretend to love _that_ creature?" -pointing a scornful finger at the drooping form of Irene. - -Instinctively he moved a step nearer to his girl-bride, as if to shield -her from some threatening danger. - -"I make no idle pretences," he answered. "Irene is my wife. Love will -come." - -"Love," she sneered. "Love! Your cold, selfish heart is incapable of -that divine passion! I understand why you would hold that willful child -to the fetters so unwittingly forged! It is the Kenmore pride, that is -afraid of being dragged through the mire of the divorce court! You will -never love her, never make her happy! You only take her to save your -overweening pride." - -"Oh, Bertha, hush! It is the best way out of our trouble," pleaded -Elaine, gently. - -"Best--ah, yes, you never dreamed of such a marriage for your -_fatherless child_? A Kenmore--rich, honorable, high-born--to mate with -the child of shame, the _nameless creature_ whom we have shielded with -our own honest name to save our family honor! Ha, ha, Guy Kenmore, are -you not proud of your high-born bride--Elaine's base-born child, who -never had a father?" screamed Bertha, wild with jealousy and anger, and -flashing the lurid lightning of her great black eyes upon their blanched -faces. - -Like some beautiful enraged tigress, Irene sprang from the sofa, and ran -to Bertha. She clutched her small white fingers in the brunette's round -white arm, and their frantic clasp sunk deep into the flesh. - -"You wicked, cruel woman, how dare you utter such a fiendish lie?" she -panted, hoarsely. "How dare you malign the honor of my beautiful, -pure-hearted Ellie? How dare you name us--Ellie and me--the honest -daughters of old Ronald Brooke--in the same breath with dishonor!" - -"I dare because it is true," hissed Bertha, breaking loose from the -child's frantic grasp, and laughing like a beautiful demon. "Don't take -my word for it! Ask that woman there whom my very words have crushed -down to the earth! Ask her if she is not your mother! Ask her the name -of your father! Ha, ha, Guy Kenmore, accept my congratulations on your -brilliant marriage," she sneered, as she rushed from the room. - -Elaine Brooke had indeed sunk wretchedly to the floor at her sister's -terrible charge. She crouched there forlornly, her face hidden in her -trembling hands, her golden hair falling loose, and streaming in sad -beauty over her quivering, prostrate form. Guy Kenmore, with blanched -face and starting eyes, recalled Arthur's words to his faithless -Guinevere. They seemed to fit this crushed woman: - - "Yet think not that I come to urge thy crimes; - I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere, - I, whose vast pity almost makes me die - To see thee, laying there thy golden head, - My pride in happier summers, at my feet." - -With a single bound Irene reached the prostrate form. Her small hand -fell heavily on Elaine's white, quivering shoulder. - -"Ellie, Ellie, look at me," she said; "I want to see your face! I want -to see the truth in your eyes!" - -With a groan Elaine obeyed the imperious mandate of the sharp, young -voice. She raised her head and looked into Irene's clear, searching eyes -with a woful, white, white, face, on which the very agonies of death -could not have written such despair. - -"Irene, my love, my darling, do not curse me," she moaned. "It is true! -I am your wretched mother!" - -The beautiful, kneeling figure reeled backward with one hand pressed on -her heart as if it had been pierced by a sword-point. - -"My mother--Elaine Brooke my mother," she groaned. "Oh, God, was ever -sin and shame hidden beneath such true, sweet eyes and the face of an -angel before? Do not ask me not to curse you! God may forgive you, but I -never can! Now I know why they hate me, your mother and your sister. I -have no right in the world, I have no name, no place, I am the living -badge of my mother's dishonor! Great God, pity me! Strike me dead this -moment at the feet of my guilty, shameless mother," she prayed, wildly -lifting her wild, white face and anguished eyes to Heaven. - -Guy Kenmore gazed like one paralyzed at the unhappy mother and daughter. -He could not speak one word to either. The shocking disclosure of the -maddened Bertha had almost stunned him. He was a proud man, as he had -said. It was horrible to think of the stain on the girl he had -wedded--the willful, naughty, yet beautiful girl whom with all her -faults he had been proud to think was nobly born as the Kenmores. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -Elaine dragged herself up from the floor, and held out her arms -imploringly to the lovely, imperious young creature, who regarded her -with angry, scornful eyes. - -"Irene, hear me," she said, humbly. - -But Irene pushed off the clinging hands, cruelly. - -"Do not touch me," she said, bitterly. "I am bad enough myself. The -brand of shame is on me, and I have no name and no right in the world; -but it is no sin of mine. _You_--_you_ are the guilty one! The touch of -your hand would burn me! Oh, God! oh, God! how came she by that angel's -face and devil's heart?" - -She had forgotten Guy Kenmore's presence as she hurled her denunciations -at the lovely, despairing, sinful woman before her. Elaine did indeed -have the face of an angel. Even in this moment, when her long-hidden and -shameful secret became revealed to her child, her exquisite face had on -it no remorseful shame. The rather it was touched with the despairing -resignation of some pure, high heart which has found itself cast down -and destroyed in its struggle against the wicked world. She lifted her -sweet, sad, violet eyes, and cast a look of pathetic reproach upon -Irene. - -"My child, do you indeed believe me so vile and wicked?" she asked, -mournfully. - -"I am forced to judge you by your confession," Irene answered, with -passionate shame. - -"I have made no confession yet, I wish to do so now, if you will listen -to me, Irene," said the beautiful woman in a tone of sad patience. "I am -not guilty as you think me, oh, no, no, no!" she cried, shudderingly. - -"You are my mother, and you are ashamed to claim me! You are a wretched -sinner, and instead of hiding your disgraced head in seclusion, and -trying to win the pardon and mercy of offended Heaven, you flaunt your -beautiful face before the world, unforgiven and unrepentant!" cried out -Irene, with all the hard severity of a young mentor. - -Elaine wrung her beautiful, jeweled hands together, and tears fell one -after another in a rapid stream down her cheeks upon the corsage of her -dress, spotting and staining the rich silk. - -"Irene, will you indeed be so hard and unforgiving?" she cried. "Will -you judge and condemn me without hearing? Are you the sweet, loving -child, whom I could always lead and persuade with a kind word?" - -"I am no longer a child!" the girl cried out, bitterly. "I am a woman -now. The events of to-night have laid years on my head and a burden on -my heart! You might have led me by one thread of your golden hair while -I believed you to be my pure, true-hearted sister who bore your mother's -and sister's tyranny like an angel because you were too gentle to resent -it. I understand it all now. You were afraid of them. Conscience made a -coward of you, and they held your shameful secret like a whip-lash over -your head and drove you hither and yon at the bent of their own wills! -Oh, shame, shame!" cried Irene, withering her mother by her sharp scorn. - -"Yes, I have been a slave, a coward," Elaine murmured, mournfully. "But, -oh, Irene, my poor child, I bore it all for my father's sake. He, at -least, was kind and forgiving!" - -The words recalled to Irene's mind the fond, indulgent old man whom she -adored with all the strength of her ardent young heart. Mrs. Brooke and -Bertha had been too harsh and cold to command her love, Elaine had vexed -her impetuous spirit by her shrinking cowardice. But her father--the -loving old man who has ever taken her part bravely against them all--it -rushed over her with a chill like that of death that he belonged to her -no longer, by that dear filial tie that had been the one unalloyed joy -of her willful life, and a cry of exceeding bitter pain fell from her -white lips. - -"Papa, oh, my dear, my darling, I must lose you with the rest," she -cried out in a voice sharp and shrill with despair. "Nothing of all I -thought mine belongs to me! I must lose you, too, whom I loved with all -my soul--lose you through the sin of her who brought me into a world -where I have no place, no name! Oh, God, I cannot bear it! I wish that I -were dead!" wailed Irene, in the bitterness of her despair. - -Elaine gazed at her daughter like one dazed. All the youth, the joy, the -childishness seemed stricken from her forever by the terrible revelation -of to-night. The slender young figure stood apart from her in desperate -grief, seeking no friendly arm to lean on in its terrible isolation; the -beautiful young face was cold and rigid with despair; the blue eyes, -black now with her soul's emotion, flashed scorn through proud tears -that would not fall. A woman's outraged soul, forlorn yet proud, shone -through the tense young form. - -Suddenly a firm touch fell on Irene's arm. - -"Irene," said Guy Kenmore, low and sternly, "no more of these wild -reproaches to your mother! You shall hear her offered confession first." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -There was a moment's perfect silence in the room. The sound of the sea -came to them soft and low, the wind stirred the flowers in the garden, -and sent a gust of exquisite perfume through the windows. In the -stillness Elaine moved a little nearer to her daughter, looking at the -stern young face with unutterable love and longing in her eyes. - -Irene turned coldly from that yearning glance and looked at Mr. Kenmore -with a rebellious flash in her eyes. - -He was very pale, the sparkle of mirth had died out from his dark eyes, -his lips were compressed sternly. - -"Hear your mother's story first," he repeated, gravely. "Do not condemn -her before you know her whole sad secret. See how she suffers." - -The calm, grave, masterful tone influenced Irene against her will. She -glanced reluctantly at Elaine's face, and saw how terribly she suffered -beneath the fiery lash of her daughter's scorn, but she spoke no word of -comfort, only lowered her white-lidded eyes to shut out that harrowing -sight. - -"Why should I listen to her?" she said, almost sullenly. "What can she -say to excuse her sin?" - -"Hear me, and judge, Irene," said Elaine, creeping a little nearer, with -a wistful gaze at the obstinate girl. "You, too, Mr. Kenmore. You have -heard me taunted with my sin. Stay and hear my exculpation." - -He bowed silently and placed a chair for her; then he drew Irene down to -a seat upon the sofa beside himself. She yielded with strange -passiveness, unconscious that while she sat there his arm lay lightly -but firmly around her waist, gently detaining her. She was conscious of -nothing but a sharp, tearing pain at her heart, and that she was waiting -with a sort of numb indifference to hear Elaine's palliation of her sin. - -Elaine sat silently a minute, with her white hands locked convulsively -in her lap. When she spoke she seemed to be communing with herself. - -"Dear God," she whispered, "I had hoped that the child need never know -her mother's secret! Ah, I might have known how hard and cruel Bertha -would be some day!" - -She lifted her eyes and fixed them in a sort of unwilling fascination on -Irene's beautiful, mutinous face. - -"I have lived years and years of sorrow and despair," she said, "but -when I look back it seems only yesterday that I was a pretty, willful, -loving child, such as Irene was until to-night. Ah, so like, so like, -that I have sometimes shuddered and wept, fearing her fate would be like -mine." - -Irene made a passionate gesture of loathing and dissent. - -"Ah, my child, you do not know," Elaine said, sadly. "The greatest -temptation of woman has never come to you. You have never loved." - -The fresh, young lips curled in utter scorn of that master-passion whose -fire had never breathed over her young heart. - -"You have never loved," Elaine repeated, with a gesture of despair. -"When that master passion first came to me I was a younger girl than -you, Irene, and just as willful and headstrong and passionate. Bertha -and I were away at boarding-school when I first met my fate." - -She paused, trembling like a leaf in the wind, and resumed, mournfully: - -"He was a cousin of one of the pupils, and came to a musical festival -given by us at the first of the mid-winter term. I sang one or two -solos, and it was then and there that this handsome scion of a proud and -wealthy house fell in love with me." - -"I have never loved as you say," interrupted Irene in her clear, -bell-like voice, "but I should hesitate to call that feeling which only -aims at the ruin of its object by the pure name of love." - -Elaine bowed her golden head wearily. - -"Let us say that he pretended to love me, then," she amended, sadly. -"But, ah, Irene, if you had seen and heard him you would have believed -his vows, too--you would have trusted in him as I did. No girl ever had -a handsomer, more adoring lover." - -"I was young, romantic, willful," she continued. "It seemed to be a case -of true love at first sight. We met several times, and some foolish -love-letters passed between us. There are more opportunities for such -things than you would guess at the average boarding-school, Mr. -Kenmore," she said, turning her blushing face upon him for a moment. "At -this one, love-letters, stolen walks, secret meetings were carried on to -an alarming extent, one third of the pupils at least being as foolish -and romantic as I was." - -"I can understand," Mr. Kenmore answered, gently. - -"Mamma was a stern and proud woman," Elaine resumed, with a sigh. "She -was exceedingly proud of my beauty and my fine voice. A brilliant future -was mapped out for me. But first I was to become a perfect prodigy of -learning and accomplishments. At sixteen, when I was to finish the -course at the Institute where I then was, I was to be sent to the Vassar -College for a few years. 'Ossa on Pelion piled,'" she quoted, with a -mournful smile. - -"I knew that a love affair on my part would not be tolerated for years," -she resumed. "My lover, as regards his family, was placed in the same -position comparatively. A marriage of convenience was arranged for him, -and he was forbidden to think of another. Madly in love with each other, -and rebelling against our fetters, we planned an elopement. In three -months after I met him we ran away to another State and were married." - -"Married?" Irene echoed, with a hopeful start. - -"We were married--_as I believed_," said Elaine, with a shudder. "There -was a ceremony, a ring, a certificate. I was a child, not sixteen yet, -remember, Irene. All appeared satisfactory to me. We went to a luxurious -boarding-house where six months passed in a dream of perfect happiness. -My husband remained the same fond, faithful lover he had been from the -first day we met until the fateful hour when we parted--never to meet -again," sobbed Elaine, yielding to a momentary burst of despairing grief -that showed how well and faithfully she had loved the traitor who had -ruined her life. - -But feeling her daughter's cold, young eyes upon her, she soon stemmed -the bitter tide of her hopeless grief. - -"Our funds ran low," she continued, after a moment, "and he was -compelled to leave me to go to his father and ask pardon and help. We -were both young, and having been reared in the enervating atmosphere of -luxury, knew not how to earn a penny. He went and--never came again." - -"Villain!" Guy Kenmore uttered, indignantly. - -"After waiting vainly a week I wrote to him," said Elaine, bowing her -lovely head upon her hands. "His father came, full of pity and surprise. -My God! I had been deceived by a mock marriage. He whom I loved so -dearly, whom I believed my husband, had gone home, wedded the woman of -his father's choice, and taken her abroad on a wedding trip. I had been -ruthlessly forsaken. - -"Then I remembered papa, whom I had loved truly and tenderly as you did, -Irene. In my extremity and despair I wrote to him. He came, the dear -father I had deserted and forgotten in the flush of my wifely happiness. -He pitied and forgave me. - -"Mamma and Bertha would not forgive, but they plotted to save the family -honor. The affair had never been publicly known. We went abroad, and -among strangers, where in a few months you were born, my poor wronged -Irene. When we came home mamma claimed my child for her own, and by her -stern command I took my place in society and played my part as calmly as -if my heart were not broken. Now, Irene, you know the full extent of -your mother's sin. I have been wronged as well as you, my darling. You -are nameless, but not through sin of mine." - -Her faltering voice died into silence. Irene made no answer. She had -dropped her face in her small white hands. Guy Kenmore felt the slight -form trembling against his arm. - -"I was mistaken in my first estimate of her," he thought. "She has more -depth, more character than I thought." - -Then he turned to Elaine. - -"You have indeed been wronged bitterly," he said. "The fault is not -yours, save through your disobedience to your parents." - -"Yes, I was willful and thoughtless, and I have been most terribly -punished for my fault," she replied, sorrowfully. - -"Is there no possibility that you have been deceived by your husband's -father? Such things have been," said Mr. Kenmore, thoughtfully. - -"There was no deception. He was armed with every proof, even the -newspaper, with the marriage of his son to the wealthy heiress whom his -family had chosen for him," answered Elaine, blushing crimson for her -unmerited shame and disgrace. - -"Then your lover was a villain unworthy the name of man. He deserved -death," exclaimed Guy Kenmore. - -Elaine's angelic face grew pale as death. She sighed heavily, but made -no answer. - -Suddenly Irene sprang to her feet, with blazing eyes. - -"His name!" she cried, wildly, "his name!" - -"My poor child, why would you know it?" faltered Elaine. - -"That I may hunt him down!" Irene blazed out. "That I may punish him for -your wrongs and mine!" - -"Alas, my darling, vengeance belongs to Heaven," sighed the martyred -Elaine. - -"It belongs to you and to me," cried Irene. "His name, his name!" - -"I cannot tell you, dear," wept the wronged woman. - -"Then I will go to Bertha," flashed the maddened girl. - -"Bertha is bound by an oath never to reveal that fatal name," Elaine -answered. - -The door opened, Mrs. Brooke entered, stern and pale. She glanced -scornfully at Irene, then turned to her daughter: - -"Elaine, I am sorry this has happened," she said. "I could not keep -Bertha from betraying you. The poor girl was driven mad by her wrongs. -If Irene had remained away from the ball to-night, as I bade her do, you -would have been spared all this. Her disobedience has caused it all." - -Old Faith put her head, with its flaring cap-ruffles, inside the door -before Elaine could speak. - -"Oh, Mrs. Brooke, Mrs. Brooke!" she cried, and wrung her plump old hands -disconsolately. - -"Well, what is it? Speak!" cried her mistress, sharply. - -"Oh, ma'am, some men have come--with news--they found master down on the -shore--oh, oh, they told me to break it to you gently," cried the old -housekeeper, incoherently. - -A flying white figure darted past old Faith and ran wildly down the -broad, moon-lighted hall, to the old-fashioned porch, bathed in the -glorious beams of the moonlight. - -Mrs. Brooke went up to the woman and shook her roughly by the arm. - -"What are you trying to tell me, Faith? What of your master?" she -exclaimed. "Speak this instant!" - -Elaine came up to her other side, and looked at her with wide, startled -eyes. - -"Oh, Faith, what is it?" she cried. - -"They told me to break it gently," whimpered the fat old woman. - -At this moment a shrill young voice, sharpened by keenest agony, wild -with futile despair, came floating loudly back through the echoing -halls: - -"_Papa, oh, darling papa! Oh, my God, dead, dead, dead!_" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -They bore him into the parlor and laid him down. He was dead--the -handsome, genial, kind old father, who had been Elaine's truest friend -in her trouble and disgrace. It was strange and terrible to see the -women, each of whom had loved the dead man in her own fashion, weeping -around him. - -Their gala robes looked strangely out of place in this scene of death. -There was Bertha in her ruby satin and shining jewels, Elaine in her -shimmering silk and blue forget-me-nots, Mrs. Brooke in crimson and -black lace, lighted by the fire of priceless diamonds. Saddest of all, -little Irene, crouched in a white heap on the floor at his feet, adorned -in the modest bravery he had brought her for a birthday gift. Poor -little Irene who has lost in this one fatal day all that her heart held -dear. - -A physician was called to satisfy the family. He only said what was -plainly potent before. Mr. Brooke was dead--of heart disease, it -appeared, for there were no marks of violence on his person. He was an -old man, and death had found him out gently, laying its icy finger upon -him as he walked along the shining sand of the bay, in the beautiful -moonlight. His limbs were already growing rigid, and he must have been -dead several hours. - -"Dead! while we laughed and danced, and made merry over yonder in their -gay saloons," Elaine wailed out, in impatient despair. "Oh, my God, how -horrible to remember!" - -Only Guy Kenmore saw that the right hand of the dead man was rigidly -clenched. - -"What treasure does he clasp in that grasp of death?" he asked himself, -and when no one was looking he tried to unclasp the rigid fist. He only -succeeded in opening it a little way--just enough to draw from the -stiffened fingers a fragment of what had once been a letter--now only -one line remained--a line and a name. - -Guy Kenmore went to the light, spread the little scrap open on his hand -and looked at it. The writing was in a man's hand and the few words were -these: - - "_That the truth may be revealed and my death-bed repentance - accepted of Heaven, I pray, humbly._ - - "_Clarence Stuart, Senior._" - -Suddenly a cold little hand touched his own. - -"I saw you," said Irene, in a low, strange voice. "What does it mean?" - -"A great deal, or---- nothing," he answered, in a voice as strange as -her own. - -She read it slowly over. The fragmentary words and the proud name seemed -to burn themselves in on her memory. - -"Who is Clarence Stuart?" she asked, wonderingly. - -"I intend to find out," he answered. "When I do, I shall tell you, -little Irene." - -In his heart there was a deadly suspicion of foul play. Who had torn -from old Ronald Brooke's hand the letter whose fragmentary ending he -grasped within that clenched and stiffened hand? Had there been murder -most foul? - -He went back and looked attentively at the corpse. It was true there was -no sign of violence, but was that the face of one who had died from one -instant's terrible heart pang, who must have died before he had realized -his pain? No, the face was drawn as if in deadly pain, the open eyes -stared wide with horror. - -"I shall say nothing yet," he said to himself, gravely. "Let them think -that death came in the quiet course of nature. But if old Ronald Brooke -was murdered I shall bring his murderer to justice." - -And on the man's handsome face, usually so gay and debonair, was -registered a grim, firm purpose. - -Mrs. Brooke and Bertha had been led away to their rooms now. No one -remained for the moment but Elaine. She came slowly to her daughter's -side. - -"Irene, you must come with me now, she said, pleadingly, but the girl -broke from her clasp and ran to throw herself on the dead man's breast. - -"I cannot leave him yet," she sobbed. "He was my all!" - -Elaine shivered, as if some one had struck her a blow. She followed her -daughter, and solemnly took the dead man's hand in her feverish, -throbbing clasp. - -"Irene, my daughter, this, my own father whom I deceived and deserted, -whose loving heart I broke by my folly--he pitied and forgave me," she -said, mournfully. "My sin against you was far less, for it was not -premeditated. Here by papa's cold dead body I ask you, darling, to pity -and forgive me. Will you refuse my prayer?" - -Irene lifted her head from its chill resting-place and looked at her -suppliant mother with a strange, grave gaze. - -"We forgive every one when we are dying--do we not?" she asked, slowly. - -"Yes, my darling, but you are young and strong. You have many years to -live perhaps. I cannot wait till your dying hour for your love and pity. -I need it now," sighed poor Elaine. - -There was a moment's silence. Irene looked down at the dead man's face -as if asking him to counsel her in this sad hour. As the wide, -horror-haunted eyes met hers she recoiled in terror. - -"_He_ forgave you," she said, solemnly. "He cannot counsel me, but I -will follow his example. Mother," she reached across that still form and -touched Elaine's hand, "I forgive you, too. Always remember that I -pitied and forgave you." - -There was a strange, wild light in her eyes. It startled Elaine. - -"My darling," she cried, half-fearfully. - -"I must leave you now, poor mother," continued Irene, with that strange -look. "I must go down to the shore where death waited for papa to-night. -He is waiting there for me!" - -She turned with the words and ran swiftly from the room. Frightened by -her strange looks and words Elaine followed behind her, but her -trembling limbs could scarcely carry her body. - -Young, light, swift as a wild gazelle, Irene flew down the steps and -across the garden. The moon was going down now, and only the flutter of -her white dress guided the frantic mother in her wild pursuit. The -garden gate unclosed, there was a patter of flying feet along the sands -outside, there was a wild, smothered, wailing cry of despair, -then--then Elaine heard the horrible splash of the waves as they opened -and closed again over her maddened, desperate child. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -The sound of Irene's pliant young body as it struck the cold waters of -the bay, fell on the wretched mother's heart like a death-blow. The -horrors of this fatal night culminated in this. - -One long, terrible shriek as of some wounded, dying creature, startled -the midnight hour with its despairing echoes, then she sprang wildly -forward with the desperate intent to share her daughter's watery grave. - -The weakness of her overwrought body saved her from the crime of -self-destruction. Her head reeled, her limbs failed her. As she pushed -the gate open with faltering hands she staggered dizzily and fell like a -log on the hard ground. Merciful unconsciousness had stolen upon her. - -That prolonged, despairing shriek reached Guy Kenmore's ears in the -library, where he was gravely conferring with the men who had found Mr. -Brooke dead upon the shore. - -His first thought was of Irene. A dreadful foreboding filled his mind. -He rushed from the room and followed the sound, the two men behind, all -terrified alike by the anguish that rang in that mysterious shriek. - -Outside the garden gate they found Elaine, lying like one dead on the -hard earth. With tender compassion they lifted the beautiful, rigid form -and bore it into the house. - -That long, deep, deathly swoon was the beginning of a severe illness for -Elaine Brooke. It culminated in an attack of brain fever. - -On recovering from her long spell of unconsciousness, Elaine revealed -the cause of her illness. Two hours, perhaps, had passed since Irene's -maddened plunge into the water. It was too late to save her then. The -cold waves kept their treasure, refusing to yield it up to the efforts -of those who, headed by Mr. Kenmore, made an ineffectual trial to find -even the cold, dead body of the desperate girl. Dawn broke with all the -roseate beauty of summer, and the golden light glimmered far over land -and sea, but neither the wide waste of waters nor the sandy reaches of -shore gave back sign or token of her who had found life too hard to -bear, and so had sought Nepenthe from its ills and pains. - -Guy Kenmore remained to Mr. Brooke's funeral, then returned to Baltimore -a softened, saddened man--a man with a purpose. Two things had confirmed -him in his purpose to trace the writer of the fragment found in the dead -man's hand. - -On the night of Mr. Brooke's death no sign of violence had been -discovered on his person. On the day following a purplish mark was -discoverable on the old man's temple--a strange, discolored mark. -Careless lookers believed it to be the effects of decomposition. - -Guy Kenmore, studying it with suspicious eyes, believed that it was -caused by a blow--a blow that had caused Ronald Brooke's death. - -Another thing was, that when Elaine Brooke went into a delirious fever, -that terrible dawn that broke on the tragic night, he had stood by her -side a few moments, gazing at her in pain and sorrow. While he stood -there she had startled him by calling wildly on one name. It was -"Clarence, Clarence, Clarence!" - -He sought Bertha. - -"Will you tell me," he asked, gravely, and without preamble, "the name -of the villain who deceived your sister?" - -Bertha colored and trembled in shame and agitation. - -"I cannot," she answered. "I am under a sacred promise not to reveal -it." - -"Was it Clarence Stuart?" he asked, coolly, and Bertha gave a terrible -start. - -"She has revealed it in her delirium," she exclaimed. - -"Yes," he answered, calmly, knowing that he had surprised the truth from -her reluctant lips. - -Walking slowly along the shore, listening to the murmur of the waves, in -which his bride of an hour had sought oblivion from the ills of life, -Guy Kenmore thought it all out to his own satisfaction. That fragmentary -line of a letter had told the whole sad story. - -Elaine Brooke had been truly a wife. Her husband's father had deceived -her by a trumped up story, and divided her from her young husband. -Dying, he had repented his sin, and written a letter of confession to -her father. - -And here he fitted the second link of the story. - -Some person unknown had found it to be against his or her interests that -the truth should be revealed. That person had followed the bearer of -Clarence Stuart's letter, and had torn it from old Ronald Brooke's -grasp, with a blow that meant death to the gentle, kindly old man. - -Guy Kenmore honestly believed in the truth and accuracy of these -deductions. - -"If I can only find out where these Stuarts live, I will discover the -guilty party," he said to himself. "I will not ask Mrs. Brooke nor -Bertha. They would only believe me impertinent. I must depend on the -gentle Elaine for information." - -He concluded to return to his home in Baltimore, and await the issue of -Elaine's illness. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -The time came weeks after when Elaine, pale, wan, shadowy, the sad ghost -of her former beautiful self, came down to the parlor again and joined -her mother and sister in the broken family circle whose severed links -could never be re-united again. - -Mrs. Brooke and Bertha were subtly changed, too. Their black dresses -made them look older and graver. Bertha's grief at the loss of a kind, -indulgent father, and her chagrin at Guy Kenmore's defection, had -combined to plant some fine lines on her hither unruffled brow, and a -peevish expression curled her red lips, while her large brilliant black -eyes flashed with discontent and scorn. Over Irene's tragic death she -had shed not a tear. She had always disliked the girl for her youth and -winsome beauty and looked down on her for the stain upon her birth, -always deploring that she had not died in infancy. The poor girl's -willfulness the night of the ball had changed Bertha's dislike to hate. -She was secretly glad Irene was dead. Better that than to have lived to -be Guy Kenmore's wife. - -Mrs. Brooke shared Bertha's feelings, only in a less exaggerated degree. - -So Elaine found no sympathy in the loss of the beautiful daughter whom -she had secretly worshiped, and over whose pretty defiant willfulness -she had oftentimes shed bitter, burning tears of grief and dread. - -The old gray hall which her sweet songs and musical laughter had once -made gay and joyous was now hushed and silent as the tomb. The few -servants glided about as if afraid of awaking the lonely echoes that -slept in the wide, dark halls, and quiet chambers. No song nor laugh -disturbed the silence. The mistress sat in the parlor pale and grave in -her sweeping sables. Her daughters were no less grave and still, sitting -in their chairs like dark, still shadows, with averted faces and silent -lips, for Elaine had not forgotten Bertha's treacherous betrayal of her -shameful secret; and Bertha, while she felt no remorse for her cruel -work still felt shame enough to cause her to turn in confusion from the -clear, sad light of her sister's eyes. - -In the meantime that sad truth that oftentimes makes the pang of -bereavement harder to bear, was coming home to them. - -Mr. Brooke had died almost insolvent. - -Once a man of almost unlimited wealth and position, the old tobacco -planter had been almost ruined by the war which had freed his slaves, -and left him only his broad-spreading, fertile acres, with no one to -till them. His great income was almost gone, for with his losses through -the war, he could not afford to replace with hired workmen the skilled -labor he had lost. - -In order to keep up the dignity of appearances which his proud wife -considered necessary to herself and her beautiful young daughters, Mr. -Brooke had been forced to sacrifice his land from time to time, until -now, at the end, only a few acres remained of his once princely estate. -The fine old gray-stone mansion, Bay View, remained as a shelter for -their heads, indeed; but the sacrifice of the remaining land would -barely support them a year or two. Mrs. Brooke and Bertha were aghast at -the prospect. They had expected that the latter would have been married -off to some wealthy personage before the dire catastrophe of poverty -overtook them. They quailed and trembled now beneath the subdued -mutterings of the storm of adversity. - -When Elaine came down and mingled with them again, they broke the bad -tidings to her rudely enough. - -"No more playing fine lady for us," Mrs. Brooke said, bitterly. "We can -live on the land a little while, then we must sell our jewels, then our -home, and when all is done, we shall have to work for our living like -common people." - -The aristocratic southern lady, who had never soiled her white, jeweled -fingers in useful toil, broke down and sobbed dismally at the grievous -prospect. - -"Oh, I have had more than enough of trouble and sorrow in my life," she -complained. "First, there was Elaine's disobedience and disgrace; then, -losing our negroes by the war; then my poor husband dying so suddenly, -without a farewell word, and now this horrible nightmare, poverty! Oh! I -have never deserved these visitations of Providence," asseverated the -handsome, selfish widow, energetically. - -Bertha joined in these lamentations loudly. She would not know how to -work when it came to that, not she. They should have to starve. - -Elaine regarded them with troubled eyes. - -"Mamma, do not grieve so bitterly," she said. "We are not come to -absolute want yet." - -"You take it very coolly," Bertha sneered. "When the last few acres of -land are sold, how long will the proceeds keep three helpless women, -pray?" - -Elaine did not answer Bertha--did not even look at her. She went up to -her mother's side. - -"Mamma, I have foreseen this trouble coming," she said. "We have been -living beyond our means for years, and even if poor papa had lived this -crash must have come some day; I am very sorry," she repeated, gently. - -"Sorrows will not put money into our empty purses," Mrs. Brooke -answered, spitefully. - -"I know that," Elaine answered, patiently. "But I have a plan by which -your money may be made to last a little longer. I am going to leave you, -mamma." - -"Leave me," Mrs. Brooke echoed, feebly. - -"Rats always desert a sinking ship," flung in Bertha with coarse irony. - -Again her elder sister had no answer for her. - -"I am going away," she repeated. "Even if papa had left us a fortune it -would be the same, I could not stay here after--all that has happened." - -"You mean,"--said Mrs. Brooke, then paused. - -"I mean since I have lost papa and Irene," her daughter answered, sadly. -"You know, mamma, you and Bertha have never been kind to me since my -great--trouble. You only tolerated me because my father wished it. I -have long been in your way. It is all over now. To-morrow I shall leave -you forever." - -"Forever," Mrs. Brooke repeated, blandly, while Bertha exclaimed with a -coarse, spiteful sneer: - -"You will return to the life of shame from which papa rescued you -perhaps." - -"I am going to New York to earn my living by honest work," Elaine said, -speaking pointedly to her mother. "You know I have a good voice, and -talent for music. I shall give music lessons, probably." - -"My daughter giving music lessons! Oh, what a disgrace to the family!" -cried the aristocratic lady. "Are you not ashamed to put yourself so -low, Elaine?" - -"Don't be silly, mamma," flashed Bertha, sharply. "It is a very good -plan, I think. Besides, it is only right for Elaine to give up the -remainder of her property to us. If we had not been burdened with the -support of her daughter for sixteen years there would have been more -money for me." - -"It is quite settled, mamma, I shall go," said poor Elaine, and the -selfish mother weakly acquiesced. - -The next day she went, glad of her freedom, glad to fling off the -slavery of sixteen years. - -"I could not have stayed even if poor papa had left me a fortune," she -said to herself. "The sound of the waves sighing over Irene's watery -grave in the lonesome nights breaks my heart!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -We must return to Irene Brooke that fatal night, whose accumulating -horrors induced a transient madness that drove the wretched girl to seek -oblivion from her woes in self-destruction. - -Life is sweet, even to the wretched. Irene's sudden, violent plunge into -the cold waves cooled the fever of her heart and brain like magic. In -that one awful, tragic moment in which the waters closed darkly over her -golden head, a sharp remorse, a terrible regret woke to life within her -heart. - -Out of that swift repentance and awful despair, a cry for pity broke -wildly from her almost strangling lips: - -"Oh, Lord, pardon and save me!" - -As she came back from the depths with a swift rebound to the surface of -the water, the girl threw out her white arms gropingly, as if to seize -upon some support, however slight and frail, on which to buoy her -drenched and sinking frame. - -Joy! as if God himself had answered her wild appeal for help and pardon, -a strong, wide plank drifted to her reach. Irene grasped it tightly and -threw herself upon it, while a cry of thankfulness broke from her lips. -Alone in the dark and rushing waves, her heart filled with relief at the -thought of this frail barrier between herself and that mysterious -Eternity, to which a moment ago she had blindly hastened. - -"If I can only hold on a little while, Elaine will bring me help and -rescue," she said to herself, hopefully, and calling her mother by the -old familiar sisterly name, for the name of mother was strange to her -young lips yet. - -Alas, for her springing hopes! Poor Elaine lay white and still in that -long, long trance of unconsciousness that followed on her realization of -her daughter's suicide. Her locked lips did not unclose to tell her -anxious watchers the story of that white form floating on the dark -waters, waiting, hoping, praying for rescue, while her strength ebbed, -and her arms grew tired and weak, clinging so tightly to that slender -plank that floated between her and the death from which she shrunk -tremblingly now with all the ardor of a young heart that has found life -a goodly thing and fair. - -No rescue came. The girl floated farther and farther out to sea in that -thick darkness that comes before the dawn. Hours that were long as years -seemed to pass over her head, and hope died in her breast as the cruel -waves beat and buffeted her tender form. - -"I am forgotten and deserted," she moaned. "My mother has raised no -alarm. Is it possible she was glad to be rid of me, and held her peace?" - -A jeering voice seemed to whisper in her ear: - -"It is best for all that you die. Bertha and her mother hated you. You -were a stumbling block in your mother's path. You had involved Guy -Kenmore in a fatal entanglement. You had no right and no place in the -world. Not one whom you have left but will be glad that you are dead." - -A cry of despair came from the beautiful girlish lips in the darkness. - -"Oh, God, and only yesterday life seemed so beautiful and fair! Now I -must die, alone and unregretted! Oh, cruel world, farewell," she cried, -for she felt her strength forsaking her, and knew that in a moment more -her arms would relax their hold and that she would sink forever amid the -engulfing waves. - -But in that last perilous moment something occurred that seemed to her -dazzled and bewildered senses nothing less than a miracle. - -In her bodily pain and mental trouble, with eyes blinded by the salt sea -waves that mixed with her bitter tears, Irene had not perceived the -faint grey light of dawn dispelling the thick darkness of the night. But -suddenly, all suddenly, the crest of the waves was illuminated -marvellously by a gleam of brightness that shot far and wide across the -water; the blank horizon glowed with light. - - "And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn - God made Himself an awful rose of dawn." - -Startled by the swift and seemingly instant transition from darkness to -light, Irene uttered a shrill, sharp cry and looked up. The beautiful, -life-giving sun was just peeping across the level green waves, and -touching their foamy crests with gold. Through half-dazzled eyes she saw -riding, like a thing of beauty on the beautiful water, a stately, -white-sailed yacht only a few rods away. Irene could see moving figures -on her decks. - -There was one awful moment when the girl's breath failed, her heart -stood still, and she could scarcely see the moving yacht outlined -against the rosy dawn, for the mist that filled her eyes. Then she shook -off the trance that threatened to destroy her, and with one last, -desperate effort sent her sharp young voice ringing clearly across the -waves: - -"Help! Help! In God's name, help!" - -The cry was heard and answered by the moving figures on the vessel's -deck. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -Was it hours or moments before the gallant figure that sprang over the -side of the yacht reached Irene's side? - -The girl never knew, for even as she watched his progress through the -water, and admired his swift and graceful swimming, a dizziness stole -over her; her arms relaxed their hold; the friendly plank slipped from -beneath her, and she felt herself sinking down, down into the fathomless -depths of green water. - -It was well that her rescuer was a skillful diver, or our hapless -heroine's history must have ended then and there. - -But the dauntless swimmer who had gone to her assistance was brave, -bold, daring. He redoubled his speed, made a desperate dive beneath the -water and reappeared with the form of the exhausted and unconscious girl -tightly clasped in one arm. - -In the meantime a small boat had been lowered from the yacht, and was -coming with rapid strokes to her assistance. - -When Irene came to herself again she lay on a pile of blankets upon the -deck of the yacht. An anxious group was collected around her, -conspicuous among them being one wet and dripping figure whom she -instinctively recognized as her gallant preserver. - -Irene opened her beautiful eyes, blue as the cerulean vault above, and -smiled languidly at the stranger. - -The man, who was middle-aged and had the rich, dark, picturesque beauty -of the southern climate, started and bent over her. He grew ashy pale -beneath his olive skin. - -"She recovers," he said, hoarsely. "She will live." - -"Clarence, Clarence," cried a thin, peevish, authoritative voice at this -moment, "I insist that you shall go and change your wet clothing this -moment! You will catch your death of cold standing around here drenched -and shivering." - -Irene turned her languid eyes and saw a pale, faded, yet rather pretty -little woman, clothed in an elegant blue yachting dress with gold -buttons. She was looking at Irene's rescuer with a peevish look in her -light hazel eyes. - -The man scarcely seemed to heed her, so intent was his gaze at Irene. -Some one handed him a glass of wine at that moment, and, kneeling down, -he lifted the girl's head gently on his arm and held it to her lips. - -"Drink," he said, in a voice so kind and musical it thrilled straight -through the girl's tender heart. She drank a little of the beautiful, -ruby-colored liquid, and it ran like fire through her veins, warming and -reviving her chilled frame. - -"Clarence," again reiterated the woman's peevish voice, "do oblige me by -changing your wet clothing. You seem to think less of your own health -than of this total stranger's." - -His brow clouded over, but he forced a smile on his handsome face. - -"Very well, Mrs. Stuart, I will do so to oblige you," he said; "but pray -do not make me ridiculous among my friends by such unfounded -apprehensions! I am not a baby to be killed by a bath in salt water!" - -He went away, and several ladies came around Irene, gazing curiously at -the pale, fair face. They whispered together over her wondrous beauty, -which, despite the long hours of suffering endured in the water, shone -resplendently as some fair white flower in the beams of the rising sun. - -"Her clothing should be changed, too," said one, more thoughtful than -the rest. "She shall have my bed and dry clothing from my wardrobe. She -is about my size, I believe." - -Irene smiled her languid gratitude to the kind-hearted lady, then her -weary eyes closed again. An overpowering drowsiness and languor was -stealing over her. When they had changed her drenched clothing for warm, -dry, perfumed garments, and laid her in a soft, warm bed, she could no -longer keep awake. She swallowed the warm, fragrant tea they brought her -and fell into a long, deep, saving slumber. - -The ladies were all burning with curiosity over the beautiful waif so -strangely rescued from the cruel waves, but they refrained through -delicacy from asking her questions when they saw how weary and exhausted -she was. When she was asleep they examined her wet, cast-off linen for -her name, but were disappointed, for they found none. - -Then, with feminine curiosity, they peeped into the gold locket that -hung by its slender chain around Irene's neck. - -"What a handsome old man, and what a beautiful woman!" they cried. "Who -can the girl be?" - -Everyone was eager and interested except the faded, peevish Mrs. Stuart. -She openly railed at her husband for risking his life for an utter -stranger. She would not allow anyone to praise his bravery in her -presence. - -"I will not have him encouraged in such bravado and foolhardiness," she -said, angrily. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -"Oh, Mrs. Leslie, isn't she just lovely? And she cannot be much older -than I am!" - -Irene had slept profoundly for a day and night, being physically and -mentally exhausted by her terrible ordeal in the water. When she awoke -after twenty-four hours of restful slumber those words of admiration -rung in her ears, uttered by a soft, girlish voice, interrupted by an -ominous hacking cough. - -Irene opened her eyes and glanced languidly around her. Beside her bed -she saw Mrs. Leslie, the little lady who had been so kind to her the day -before. Next to the lady, in a low, cushioned rocker, sat a girl of -thirteen or fourteen, richly and tastefully dressed, but with a thin -face as white as alabaster, save for two burning spots of hectic on her -hollow cheeks, and with large, brilliant black eyes burning with the -feverish fire of consumption. - -"So you are awake at last!" cried the girlish voice, joyously, "I -thought you were going off into a regular Rip Van Winkle sleep, and I -have been just dying of curiosity over you." - -Irene felt the sudden crimson dying her cheeks at the vivacious -exclamation of the delicate-looking girl. - -"Lilia, my love, you startle her," said Mrs. Leslie, gently; then she -bent over Irene, saying kindly: "You feel better, I hope, after your -long rest. This is Miss Stuart, the daughter of the gentleman who saved -your life. She has been very anxious over you." - -Irene looked gratefully at the dark-eyed girl who rose impulsively and -kissed her. - -"You are so pretty, I love you already," she cried, and Mrs. Leslie -laughed. - -"Pretty is as pretty does," she said, gaily, and Irene crimsoned -painfully, as if the words had been a poisoned shaft aimed at her -breast. - -"Are you going to be well enough to sit up to-day?" pursued Lilia -Stuart, anxiously. "Because if you are, I want you to come into my -little saloon with me. I will give you my softest lounge to lie on. -Aren't you very hungry? Will you take your breakfast now?" - -"Yes, to all of your questions," Irene answered, looking in wonder at -this girl who was but two years younger than herself, yet who seemed so -very light and childish. Alas, poor Irene, that fatal night had forced -her into a premature womanhood. - -When she had taken a light, appetizing breakfast, and been robed in a -white morning-dress, Mrs. Leslie advised her to spend the day in Lilia -Stuart's saloon. - -"She is a spoiled child," she said, "but we humor her all we can, for -hers is a sad fate. She is dying of consumption." - -"Dying---- so young!" cried Irene with a shudder, remembering how -horrible the thought of death had appeared to her while she was -struggling in the cold, black waves. - -"Yes, poor child, she is surely dying," sighed Mrs. Leslie. "Her father -bought this beautiful yacht to take her to Italy by the advice of her -physicians. They fancied a sea voyage might benefit her. But I do not -believe she will survive the trip. Some days she is very ill. Poor -little Lilia. It is very hard. She is Mr. Stuart's only child." - -They went to Lilia's luxurious saloon which was fitted up with every -comfort, and was exquisitely dainty and charming, though small. Mrs. -Stuart was there with her daughter. She gave the stranger a little -supercilious nod, and invited Mrs. Leslie to go on deck with her. - -Lilia, who had just recovered from a violent spell of coughing, led her -visitor to a softly cushioned satin lounge. - -"You may rest here," she said. "I am well enough to-day to sit up in my -easy-chair, but some days I lie down all day. You may call _me_ Lilia. -What shall I call you?" - -"You may call me Irene," was the answer, while a burning flush mounted -to the speaker's forehead. - -"Irene---- what a soft, sweet name! I like that," said Lilia, and just -then the door unclosed and her father came in softly. "Ah, here is papa! -you see I have a visitor, papa," she cried. - -Mr. Stuart was a handsome, stately-looking man, middle-aged, with -abundant threads of silver streaking his dark hair. His mouth, in -repose, looked both sad and stern. - -Irene arose and held out her hands. - -"I owe you my life," she said, gratefully. - -A transient, melancholy smile lit the grave, dark face. - -"You need not thank me," he said, almost bruskly. "Wait until years have -come and gone, and you have fairly tested life. It will be a question -then whether you will award me blame or praise for the turn I did you -yesterday." - -The large, dark, melancholy eyes held Irene's with a strange -fascination. - -"Ah! you think that youth is all sunshine and roses," she answered, -almost against her will. "I have already learned the reverse of that, -and yet I find life sweet." - -"How came you to be in the water?" he asked, anxiously, sitting down and -drawing Lilia to a seat upon his knee. - -The deep color rushed over Irene's pale, lovely face. A deep shame -overpowered her, and yet against her will something within her forced -her to confess her sin. - -"You will be shocked," she said; "but I must tell you the truth. I threw -myself in." - -"No," he exclaimed, in surprise. - -"Yes," she answered, sadly. - -"Oh, Irene, why did you do that?" exclaimed little Lilia. - -"Why did you do it?" echoed the man. - -"I had lost the only friend I had on earth, and I did not wish to live," -she answered. - -"Then I was right. You will not thank me for saving your life," -exclaimed Mr. Stuart. - -"Yes, for I repented my rashness as soon as my body struck the cold -waves," she answered, shivering. "I am thankful my life was spared to -me. Life is hard, but death is harder." - -He looked at the beautiful, agitated girl with deep interest. He began -to see that there had been some romance in her life. Her face had a -tragedy written on it. - -"You will wish to return to your home and your friends?" he said. - -An exceedingly bitter expression crossed the lovely young face, and for -a moment she was silent. To herself she said: "I have neither home, nor -friends, nor name. Those whom I left will be glad to think that I am -dead." - -Her heart was hardened against them all. She believed that her mother -had left her to perish without one effort at rescue. - -"She was glad to be rid of her illegitimate child," she said to herself, -with inexpressible bitterness. - -Mr. Stuart, thinking she had not heard him, repeated his question. - -"You will be glad to return to your home and friends?" - -She raised her large, beautiful eyes to his face. They were dark with -unutterable despair. - -"I have neither home nor friends--nor name!" she said. - -He started, and looked at her keenly. - -"You must have borne some name in the world," he said, almost sternly. - -"I did; but I had no right to it, and I have renounced it forever. I am -called Irene. That is the only name I can rightfully claim," she -answered, bitterly, and drooping her shamed eyes from his earnest gaze. - -For a moment both were silent. - -Mr. Stuart's dark, sad eyes were fixed on her with a look that was -almost pain. This fair, mysterious waif from the sea, stirred his soul -to its deepest depths. His presence held the same mysterious fascination -for her. - -Lilia, the most innocent child in the world, and who had been listening -with deepest interest, broke the silence, wide-eyed. - -"You have only one name," she said. "How strange! I thought everyone had -two names. I have. Mine is Lilia Stuart. Mamma's is the same. Papa's -name is Clarence Stuart." - -She paused, for a stifled cry broke from Irene's lips. The dainty -saloon, the faces of the father and child seemed to fade before her. She -was back in the parlor of Bay View, that fatal night when they had -brought old Ronald Brooke home dead. Again she saw, through the blinding -mist of her tears, Guy Kenmore extricating the fragment of paper from -the dead hand. Again she looked over his arm and read: - - "That the truth may be revealed, and my death-bed repentance - accepted of Heaven, I pray humbly. - - "CLARENCE STUART, Senior." - -"My God! what does it mean?" she asked herself; and Guy Kenmore's -ambiguous answer recurred to her mind: - -"A great deal--or nothing!" - -"Irene, are you ill?" asked Lilia, anxiously. "You almost screamed out, -and your face is as white as chalk!" - -"I am very nervous. You must not let me frighten you, Lilia," the girl -answered, sadly. - -Lilia came coaxingly to her side. - -"I am going to tell you something," she said, with her pretty air of a -spoiled child. "While you were asleep I was very naughty. I peeped at -the beautiful lady in your locket!" - -"Lilia!" her father exclaimed. - -"All the ladies looked, papa," Lilia answered, self-excusingly. "And I -am going to have one more peep! Irene will not care, I know!" - -She flashed the lid open suddenly before his dazzled eyes. He could not -choose but see that fair face, with its haunting eyes, and tremulous -smile, and golden hair, Elaine's perfect image, even to the shadow of a -tragedy that even a stranger could read on her beauty. - -He gazed and gazed, and the breath fluttered sharply over his parted -lips. Then, all in a moment, with a smothered cry of despair, he put out -his hands and shut out the sight of the lovely face, even as his head -fell back against the chair, his breath failed, and he lay all white and -corpse-like before the two frightened girls. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -Bertha had promised to keep Guy Kenmore informed of the progress of -Elaine's illness, and she was glad to keep her word, as it afforded her -a pretext for writing to the young man, and thus keeping her memory -alive in his heart. - -Since the supposed death of poor Irene, the artful Bertha was again -laying plans for the capture of Mr. Kenmore. She hoped in time to allay -the unfavorable impression she had created in his mind the night of the -ball, and to establish an empire over his heart. Mr. Kenmore belonged to -one of the wealthiest and most aristocratic families in Baltimore, and -it was the hight of her ambition to become his wife. - -Though the young man's interest in Elaine afforded her a pretext for -corresponding with him, Bertha was vaguely displeased at his anxiety -over her sister. It filled her with secret jealousy. Elaine was still -young and beautiful enough to win the heart of the man who had married -her daughter. Bertha was determined not to tolerate her as a rival. - -"There is no accounting for men's tastes," she said, angrily, to her -mother. "I supposed that his knowledge of Elaine's shameful secret would -utterly disgust him with her. But he is almost as anxious over her as if -he were her lover." - -"Men regard these things somewhat differently from women," replied Mrs. -Brooke. "It is possible he may regard Elaine with pity, rather than -disgust. And pity is akin to love, you know." - -In her heart Mrs. Brooke was rather elated at Guy's interest in Elaine. -If she could not secure him for Bertha, she would be very pleased to -have him for her elder daughter. - -Bertha saw the bent of her mother's mind, and inwardly raged at it. Day -and night her mind was filled with projects for diverting Guy's mind -from the charms of her elder sister. On this particular state of her -mind Elaine's announcement of leaving Bay View fell like healing balm. - -Several days elapsed after her departure before Bertha communicated the -fact to Mr. Kenmore in a brief, ambiguous note. - -It was no part of her plan that he should become acquainted with their -poverty, or with the reason of Elaine going. - -So she wrote simply: - -"Elaine convalesced more rapidly than was expected, and has left us in -anger, declining to live with us longer, and making a mystery of her -destination. Come down to Bay View and I will give you the particulars." - -The note had the effect she anticipated of bringing Mr. Kenmore down to -Bay View without delay. - -Then Bertha told her story with well-acted grief and penitence. - -"It was all my wretched fault," she sighed. "Elaine would not forgive me -for giving way to my jealous passion that dreadful night, and betraying -her shameful story. It was all in vain that I declared my penitence on -my knees and implored her forgiveness. She would not hear me. She -declared that she should hate me so long as she lived, and that the -same roof could not shelter us both. So she went away from mamma and me, -declaring that it was forever." - -The arch deceiver here shed some quiet, natural-looking tears into her -perfumed, black-bordered handkerchief. - -"It was very hard, losing papa and Elaine, and poor little Irene, all, -as it were, at one fatal stroke," she declared, sobbingly. - -Mr. Kenmore was gravely, sadly silent. He did not think of doubting -Bertha's clever tale. It seemed very natural that poor Elaine should -resent her sister's cruel betrayal of the long-guarded secret of Irene's -birth. He scarcely wondered that she had gone away desperately wounded -and unforgiving, in the smart of her bitter pain. - -"Oh, if you could know how bitterly I have repented all that I said that -dreadful night," sighed Bertha, giving him a sidewise glance under her -long, black lashes. "I must have been mad, I think. You know the great -poet says, 'There's madness in the moon,' and that night Irene had -fairly driven me wild. Oh, if I could only think you had forgotten the -unkind things I said to you in my foolish passion!" she pursued, -remorsefully. - -Her pretty shame and penitence touched him. - -"I wish that you could forget it as freely as I forgive it, Miss -Brooke," he answered, kindly. - -"Oh, thank you, thank you," she cried. "I have repented my folly in -bitterness and tears. I let my own heart deceive me. I know now that a -woman should not give her heart unasked, still less betray its tender -throbbings to the cold and careless." - -She hid her face in her hands as if she could not bear his kindly gaze. -Guy, touched by her tears and sorrow, did not know what to say or do. He -was intensely sorry for her, forgetting how much he had disliked her -that night when she had shown herself in her true colors. - -"Let us forget it all, Miss Brooke," he said, uneasily, anxious to dry -up her springing tears. - -The beautiful brunette gave him a swift, shy look of gratitude. - -"Oh, how gladly I will do so!" she exclaimed, putting out her delicate, -white hand to him. "Shall we be friends as we were before---- that fatal -night?" - -"Yes," he replied, pressing her hand kindly, but lightly, for he had no -mind to be drawn into the _role_ of a lover again. - -"And you will come down to Bay View sometimes? Mamma and I will be so -lonely and sad now, after losing so many dear links from our family -circle," said the dark-eyed beauty, following up her advantage. - -"Sometimes--when I can find leisure," he replied ambiguously. - -And with that Bertha was obliged to be content. She hoped great things -from the concessions he had already made. Now that Irene was dead, and -Elaine gone, she would have no rivals, and surely, surely her beauty, -her fascination, her tenderness for him must win him even against his -will. - -She brought the whole battery of her charms and graces to bear upon -him, but was obliged to confess to herself that she had never seen him -so sad, so grave, so pale and so _distrait_. - -"It cannot be that he is sorry over that child's death. He ought to be -glad," she thought to herself. "It must be that he assumes this gravity -in deference to my affliction." - -Yet she was troubled and chagrined when he left her so indifferently and -went down to the shore. She watched him from her window, standing -quietly, with folded arms, a tall, dark shape, outlined against the -brightness of the summer eve. - -"Of what is he thinking?" she asked her heart, uneasily. - -It would have seemed strange to her if she had known. It even seemed -strange to himself. - -He was standing there gazing with dark, heavy eyes at the rolling waves, -much as if he had been gazing on a grave. - -He was recalling to mind the winsome, changeful, perfect beauty, the -fire, the soul, the passion of the girl he had so strangely wedded, the -girl who had recklessly flung herself into the deep, relentless waves, -leaving him only the memory of the few, brief hours in which she had -flashed before him in the extremes of joy and despair---- one moment a -beautiful, spirited, happy child, the next a passionate, despairing, -crushed and broken-hearted woman! - -"Poor little Irene," he said to himself. "If she had lived, who -knows"--then a sigh, deeper than he knew, finished the regretful words. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -He stood there a long, long time, listening to the beat of the waves, -and thinking of Irene and her mother. Bertha grew tired of watching him -and stole away to try the effect of a new mourning bonnet that had just -been sent home from the milliner. Guy had forgotten her. He was wrapped -in other thoughts. New feelings had come to him since that night, when, -indolent, _blase_, careless, he had come face to face with his fate. He -was haunted by a voice, a face. Some sad words came to his mind: - - "How could I tell I should love thee to-day, - Whom that day I held not dear? - How could I know I should love thee away - When I loved thee not anear?" - - "Oh, that word Regret! - There have been nights and morns when we have sighed: - 'Let us alone, Regret!'" - -He turned away at last warned by the darkening twilight that fell like a -pall over his lost bride's "vast and wandering grave." - -"I must bid adieu to Mrs. Brooke and Bertha and return home to-night," -was the thought in his mind. - -Mrs. Brooke was in the parlor alone, Bertha being still absorbed in the -new bonnet. A sudden impulse came to Guy Kenmore. - -He sat down by the matron's side and gazed sympathetically into her -still youthful-looking and handsome face. - -"Miss Brooke left you no address when she went away, I presume?" he -inquired in a tone of respectful anxiety. - -Mrs. Brooke had received her cue from Bertha and answered accordingly: - -"No. She has deserted us most heartlessly, and I fear, I fear"---- she -broke down and buried her face in her handkerchief. - -"You do not suppose that she can have made away with herself?" he cried -in low, awe-struck tones. - -"No, no; worse, far worse," groaned the apparently deeply agitated -woman. "Oh, Mr. Kenmore, pity the grief and shame of a heart-broken -mother--I fear that Elaine has returned to her wicked deceiver." - -"Impossible!" he exclaimed, in stern and startled tones. - -"Would that I could think so," sighed the unjust mother. "But my heart -is torn by cruel suspicions. Elaine has never ceased to love that wicked -wretch, and to whom else can she have gone?" - -To herself she said, self-excusingly: "Poor Elaine, I would not blacken -her name still more, only to help Bertha. If she marries him I shall -manage to let him find out the real truth about Elaine directly -afterward. She shall not lie under that base imposition any longer than -is necessary for Bertha's welfare." - -She was startled when she saw how reproachfully and sternly his brown -eyes gleamed upon her. - -"A mother is the last person to impute sin to her child," he said. - -Mrs. Brooke only sobbed into her handkerchief by way of answer to this -reproach. - -"I have become deeply interested in your daughter's sad story, Mrs. -Brooke," he went on. "Pray do not think me inquisitive if I ask you one -question." - -She looked it him in startled surprise. - -"It is only this, Mrs. Brooke," he said. "Will you tell me in what city -lived the man who so cruelly wronged beautiful Elaine?" - -"It can do no good to rake up these old things," she said, -half-fretfully. - -"It was only a single question. It cannot hurt you to answer," he said, -almost pleadingly. - -She said to herself that it could not matter indeed, and she did not -wish to offend the young man whom she hoped to capture for her -son-in-law. - -"It is very painful re-opening these old wounds," she sighed; "but since -you insist upon it I will answer your question. The young villain lived -at Richmond." - -He bowed his thanks. - -"I already know his name," he said, "and since you have no son to send -upon this delicate mission, Mrs. Brooke, I will make it my business to -inquire if your elder daughter has indeed deserted you for her base -betrayer." - -She was about to protest against his doing so on the first pretext she -could think of, when Bertha's entrance suddenly closed the conversation. - -He made his adieux and departed, giving an evasive reply to the young -lady's wishes for his swift return. - -One week later Mrs. Brooke received a letter from him dated at Richmond. - -"You wronged your daughter by your unkind suspicions," he wrote; "she is -not with the man you thought. Clarence Stuart left Richmond on the very -day of your husband's death, in his own yacht, with his wife and -daughter, and a party of friends. They were on a pleasure-trip to Italy. -You will no doubt be glad to hear that Elaine is not so wicked as you -believed her." - -Thus the letter closed abruptly. Mrs. Brooke, in a curt note, thanked -Mr. Kenmore for his information. She did not dare give way to her -indignation at his interference, dreading that it would injure the -success of Bertha's husband-hunting. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -Lilia Stuart was very much frightened by her father's strange seizure. -She was about to scream loudly for help when Irene, with a sensitive -horror of scenes, laid her white hand gently but firmly over the parted -lips. - -"Do not be frightened, Lilia," she said. "Get some cold water. That is -all that is necessary." - -Lilia sprang to the ice-flagon and returned with a glass of cold water -in her trembling grasp. Irene thrust her white hand into the cold fluid, -and deluged Mr. Stuart's rigid white face with it. - -It produced the desired effect. Mr. Stuart shivered, opened his eyes, -and stared blankly around him for a moment. - -"Oh, papa, you are better," cried Lilia, springing to throw her arms -around his neck. "I am so frightened, dearest papa, shall I not call -mamma?" - -Something like dread or fear flashed for a moment into his open dark -eyes. - -"No, for Heaven's sake, don't!" he exclaimed, testily; "I detest scenes! -There is nothing at all the matter with me! Say nothing to your mother, -Lilia. You understand me?" - -"Yes, papa," the girl replied, obediently. "But what made you faint?" -she continued, curiously. - -An expression of deep annoyance clouded Mr. Stuart's handsome face. - -"Pooh, I did not faint," he said, sharply. "A mere dizziness overcame -me. Don't let your fancies run away with your reason, Lilia." - -He rose as he spoke, and without a glance at Irene or the open locket -that still swung at her throat, hastily quitted the room. Lilia, -forgetting her guest, followed after him. - -Irene thus left alone, fell into a startled revery. - -She had not been deceived like Lilia by Mr. Stuart's short assertion of -dizziness. She knew that he had actually fainted, and she believed that -the bare sight of her mother's face in the locket had been the cause of -his agitation. - -"He recognized the face, and it had power to stay the very pulses of his -life for a moment," she said to herself. - -A terrible suspicion darted into her young mind, chilling the blood in -her veins, and driving it coldly back upon her heart. - -"Can this man be my father, my mother's base betrayer?" she thought. - -She did not like to think so. Her heart had gone out strangely to this -man, the savior of her young life. She liked to think that he was noble, -good and brave. For the villain who had betrayed her trusting young -mother she had nothing in her heart but hatred, and a burning desire for -revenge. - -Suddenly the saloon door opened softly. Mr. Stuart had eluded Lilia and -returned. - -He came to her side and sat down again. His dark face was strangely pale -still. There was a troubled look in his large, dark eyes. - -"You must have thought my agitation strange just now, Irene," he said. - -"Yes," she answered, gravely. - -"And--you guessed the reason?" he inquired, slowly, fixing a keen glance -on her face. - -She raised her beautiful, troubled blue eyes steadily to his. - -"You recognized the pictures in my locket," she replied, touching it -with her trembling hand. - -"My God, yes!" he answered hoarsely. "Irene, child, for the love of -Heaven, tell me what this man and woman are to you." - -She had no answer for him. In her own heart she was saying, dumbly: - -"I cannot tell him. It is my mother's secret. She guarded it for sixteen -years, and I must not betray her." - -He looked at the white, agonized face of the girl, and repeated his -question: - -"Tell me what this man and woman are to you." - -"I cannot tell you, Mr. Stuart," she replied, falteringly. - -"You mean you will not," he said, studying her downcast face, with -grave, attentive eyes. - -"I _cannot_," she replied. "It is a secret that belongs to others. I -cannot betray confidence." - -A baffled look came into his troubled, marble-white face. - -"Do you mean to preserve an utter _incognito_ among us?" he asked. - -"I must," she answered, while great, trembling tears started beneath her -drooping lashes. "I can say no more than what I have told you already. I -am homeless, friendless, nameless!" - -"How old are you?" he inquired. - -"I was sixteen years old but a few days ago," she answered. - -He looked again keenly at her face, and bending forward, again looked at -the beautiful, pictured face of Elaine Brooke. - -A shudder shook his form. - -"You are strangely like her--strangely like," he said. "Child, I would -give much to hear you say what this beautiful woman is to you." - -Irene looked gravely at him, her young bosom shaken by a storm of -suspicion. - -"Confidence invites confidence," she said, harshly. "I will tell you -what this woman is to me if you tell me what she once was to you." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Irene's stern, abrupt question produced a startling effect upon Mr. -Stuart. His face grew ashy pale, even to his lips, and he gazed -suspiciously, almost angrily, at the girl's grave face. Seeing only an -earnest wonder mirrored in her clear, sweet eyes, he sprang abruptly -from his seat, and without replying to her question began to pace -rapidly up and down the room. - -Her grave, troubled eyes followed him slowly up and down, while a -terrible pain tore her heart. - -He seemed to have forgotten her presence, as with clenched hands and -wildly staring eyes he paced up and down, muttering bitter phrases to -himself. - -Irene caught the echo of some passionate words quoted in a voice of -raging scorn: - - "Falser than all fancy fathoms, - Falser than all songs have sung, - Puppet to a father's threat, - And servile to a shrewish tongue." - -Suddenly he stopped in his wild march, and came back to her side. - -"No, child, keep your secret," he said, hoarsely. "Keep your secret, and -I will keep mine. God help you if yours be as hard to bear as mine." - -She must have pitied the dreary despair of his face and voice if her -heart had not been hardened against him by her terrible suspicions. A -hard, scornful laugh broke over her lips. - -"Remorse is always hard to bear," she said, bitterly, to herself. - -He looked at her in wonder. - -"We will keep our own sad secrets," he repeated, mournfully. "But you -are friendless. I will be your friend. You are homeless. My home shall -be yours. You are nameless. You shall be Lilia's sister, and share her -name. It is a noble one, and has never been stained by disgrace." - -She looked at him gravely, fixedly. - -Did he speak the truth? Did not her mother's shame and hers lie at his -door? - -"Do you accept my proposition?" he inquired, anxiously. - -For a moment she was tempted to give him an angry passionate denial, to -say bitterly: - -"No, I will not have these things on sufferance that should be mine by -right. I will not have your favor or your pity, you demon, who blasted -my mother's life and mine! I could rather curse you!" - -But on a sudden she remembered that her suspicions were merely -suspicions. She had no proof that this noble-looking man, who seemed -crushed by the weight of some inward sorrow, was her father. Perhaps she -wronged him in her thoughts. - -"I must give him the benefit of the doubt, since he saved my life," she -thought, and put out a cold, little hand to him. - -"I must perforce accept your kindness," she said, mournfully, "since I -have not a friend to turn to in all the wide, wide world." - -He crushed the slender fingers in his firm clasp. - -"I will be your friend, always--remember that," he said. - -Irene would have thanked him feebly, but the saloon door hastily -unclosed, admitting Lilia and her faded, peevish-looking mother. - -"You here, Clarence!" exclaimed the latter, in a tone of marked -displeasure. - -He gave her a quick, cold look. Her eyes fell before it. Cowed by her -husband's superior will, she vented her spite on Irene. - -"Lilia has been telling me that you threw yourself into the water," she -said, flashing her eyes full of greenish rage on the pale young girl. -"Oh, you wicked, wicked girl!" - -"Madam!" exclaimed Irene, in a proud and haughty tone. - -Mr. Stuart advanced, and drew his wife's arm through his own. - -"Come with me, Mrs. Stuart, I want you," he said, leading her -deliberately from the room. - -Lilia stood looking at Irene's indignant face, with a strange -expression. The child was like a cat, one moment all silky fur and -purring fondness, the next ready to attack with teeth and claws. - -She saw the resentment at her mother's coarse attack burning in Irene's -dark blue eyes, and exclaimed, with peevish childishness: - -"Mamma says you must have done something very bad, indeed, or you -wouldn't have thrown yourself into the water! She says you are a bad, -wicked girl, and that I musn't entertain you in my pretty saloon, so I -guess you had better go back to Mrs. Leslie, and let me have my lounge!" - -Irene gazed at the child, almost petrified by her startling change from -sweetness and affection to spite and rancour. She saw the mother's -spirit flashing from the eyes of the child, and rising with a proud -step, left the room without a word. - -"Is he really my father," she asked herself, "and is that coarse woman -the one who was thought better to bear his name than my angel-hearted -mother? And that sickly, petted child--does she shed greater lustre on -the proud name of Stuart than I would have done?" - -She hastened to Mrs. Leslie's tiny apartment, and finding herself alone, -threw herself down upon the white bed and burst into a torrent of bitter -tears. - -Mrs. Leslie entering more than an hour later found her there, still -sobbing and weeping in a very abandonment of despair. She stooped down -impulsively and kissed the pure, white brow. - -"Do not mind Mrs. Stuart, my dear," she said consolingly. "She is a -spiteful, jealous cat, and hates you for your fair, young face." - -Irene looked up, startled. How had Mrs. Leslie learned so much? - -"Oh, I have heard about her naughtiness to you just now," smiled the -lady. "Do not grieve, Irene. I will be your friend. I am a wealthy -widow, and have no one to please but myself. I have fallen in love with -you, you mysterious little waif! You shall be my _protege_ if you will." - -Seeing that Irene could not speak for tears, she slipped a little note -into her hand. - -"Dry your eyes and read that," she said. "It is my recommendation to -your favor." - -Irene obeyed her in surprise. It was a pencil scrawl, hastily done. - -"My poor, unfortunate child," it ran, "owing to the hardness of my wife -I am unable to take you into the bosom of my family, as I wished to do; -but I am none the less interested in your welfare. You will be Mrs. -Leslie's _protege_. She is one of my oldest friends, and will be like a -sister to you, while you may always command me as your best friend. It -will be necessary, perhaps, that you should assume some name in order to -avoid censure and suspicion. The world is very hard and cold, as you may -have learned ere now, and it is best to put every defense possible -between you and its sneers. Let Mrs. Leslie assist you in the selection -of a suitable name." - -The hurried note closed abruptly with the name of Clarence Stuart. Irene -raised her eyes wonderingly to the lady's face. - -"Why does he take such an interest in me?" she asked. - -"He saved your life, my dear, and you seem in some sort to belong to -him. Besides, he is naturally one of the noblest and best of men. His -heart is full of pity for the weak and helpless," said the lady, -enthusiastically. - -There was a moment's silence; then Mrs. Leslie said, kindly: - -"What do you say, my dear--will you be my little sister, and let me care -for you?" - -"Yes, until I can act for myself," Irene answered, softly, and pressing -her girlish lips gratefully upon the lady's small white hand. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -Mrs. Leslie smoothed the girl's rippling golden curls tenderly. - -"And the name?" she said. "Shall you not take Mr. Stuart's advice about -that? It will be far--far better." - -Irene was silent, warm blushes drifting over her fair, young face. - -"Think," said the gentle lady, "there must surely be some name to which -you have a legal right. Is there not, my dear?" - -Deeper and warmer grew the blush on the fair, girlish face. - -She had suddenly remembered Guy Kenmore, and the ceremony which Mr. -Clavering had declared to be binding upon them. - -"My name is Mrs. Kenmore," she said to herself, with a strange feeling -trembling at her heart as she recalled the handsome man to whom she was -bound. - -Then a flash of pride usurped the thrill of almost unconscious -tenderness. - -"He did not wish for me to be his wife," she said to herself. "I -remember he regarded me simply as a spoiled child. I shall not claim his -name, shall never trouble him more. He shall think me dead." - -She looked up gravely at her kind friend. - -"Mrs. Leslie," she said, "there is no name from out my past that I wish -to claim. I have severed myself violently from all that once bound me. I -have done no wrong, I have sinned no sin, but I have been terribly -wronged and sinned against. It is true I have borne a name in the world -where I used to move, but when I found it was not mine I flung it away. -I will not be called by it, I will have nothing to remind me of the -past. Now tell me what I shall do." - -Mrs. Leslie was silent a few moments. She wondered who had been so cruel -as to wrong this beautiful girl, whose words, whose looks, whose every -action was so pure and high-toned. - -After a moment's reflection she said: - -"My maiden name was Berlin; will you bear that, Irene?" - -"You would give your own name to me, an utter stranger?" Irene cried, in -grateful surprise. - -"Yes, because, as I said just now, I have fallen in love with you. -Whatever may be the sad secret of your past I can look into your eyes -and see that you are pure and good. The name of Berlin is an old and -honorable one, but I do not believe you would disgrace it in the -bearing," said the sweet lady, heartily. - -"Then I accept the loan of it with sincerest gratitude," replied Irene, -through springing tears. - -"Then you shall be called Irene Berlin," said Mrs. Leslie. "It is a -pretty name, and will suit you. And now we will discuss other affairs. I -am going to Italy with the Stuarts. Shall you be willing to go with me?" - -"Nothing could please me better than to leave my native land behind me," -replied the girl. - -"That is settled, then. And now do you feel well enough to go on deck -with me? It is a lovely day. The sun is shining softly and brightly. The -sea is almost as calm and blue as the sky. The fresh air will do you a -world of good." - -"I have nothing to wear," said Irene, flushing deeply. - -"That is true," laughed Mrs. Leslie. "The party dress in which you came -among us is not exactly a yacht costume. But I can remedy that defect, I -think, from my own wardrobe. Fortunately we are about the same size." - -She brought out from her trunk a dark blue velvet suit and a cap of the -same with a jaunty bird's wing on one side. Nothing could have become -Irene better. The suit fitted to a charm, and when Mrs. Leslie set the -jaunty cap on the streaming curls she exclaimed in wonder at the -dazzling loveliness of her _protege_. - -"It is no wonder Mrs. Stuart was jealous of you, you are the loveliest -creature I ever saw," she exclaimed frankly. - -"If I were not so unhappy you would make me vain, Mrs. Leslie," sighed -the lovely girl. - -"You are too young to be unhappy, my dear. I hope you will soon forget -your sorrows. But come, let us go on deck and I will introduce you to -your _Compagnons du Voyage_." - -They went out and Irene's eyes were dazzled with the beauty of the day. -The sky was deeply blue, with little white clouds sailing over it. The -sun shone on the blue waves, and white-winged sea-gulls darted here and -there. Several ladies and gentlemen were on deck, walking and chatting. -They started in surprise--the women envious--the men admiring--at the -new comer. She looked like a young princess. Her step was light and -proud, her bearing calm and self-possessed. The sun shone on her golden -curls, her fair face and her velvet blue eyes, making her look like a -perfect picture. Several gentlemen came around Mrs. Leslie, waiting -eagerly for an introduction. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -Lilia Stuart had not failed to repeat Irene's confession of her -namelessness to her mother. Mrs. Stuart, with the malice of a little -mind, industriously disseminated the news among her guests. Curiosity -and excitement were rife, regarding the mysterious waif from the sea. - -So when Irene came upon deck, looking so wondrously lovely in the blue -velvet dress and her rippling, waving, golden curls, they all came -around her, full of wonder and surprise. They were amazed and -disconcerted when Mrs. Leslie, with the cool self-possession that never -deserted her under any circumstances, proceeded to introduce her -_protege_ by the name of Miss Berlin. - -"Why, we thought she had no name--that she was a child of shame. Mrs. -Stuart certainly said so," the ladies exclaimed to each other in -whispers. "Depend upon it there is something wrong. We will be very shy -of having anything to do with her." - -If Irene had been homely and stupid, they might have pitied her, but her -girlish beauty and grace at once enlisted the spite and envy of their -little minds. Mrs. Leslie was the only lady on board who did not wish -that she had perished in the cold waves. They regarded her as an -interloper and unwelcome burden on them. - -The gentlemen took a different view of the matter from their feminine -friends. They were full of wonder and admiration over the beautiful -stranger. - -There were three gentlemen beside Mr. Stuart, on board the yacht, as -there were three ladies. With two of these men our story has no -interest. The third one, who was a distant relative of Mr. Stuart, and -who at once fell desperately in love with our heroine, we will slightly -describe. - -He was tall and slight, with very dark eyes and hair, and a face that -though weak and irresolute in expression, was rather handsome, having an -effeminate mouth and chin that lent sweetness to his ever-ready smile. -His dark eyes had a trick of falling beneath your glance, as if some -inner consciousness made him shrink from meeting you with an open, -steady gaze. In dress and manner he was rather a dandy, and was counted -popular among the fair sex for his obliging disposition, and also a very -fair tenor voice, with which he accompanied himself on the guitar. He -answered to the name of Julius Revington. - -On the heart of this handsome ladies'-man, the fair, blonde loveliness -of Irene at once committed terrible havoc. - -He gazed as if fascinated, on that arch, bright face to which the -delicate color mounted in a roseate glow at his ardent gaze. - -Mrs. Leslie smiled as she saw how deeply he was smitten with her -_protege's_ charms, and immediately introduced him. - -He acknowledged the introduction with delight, and invited Miss Berlin -to promenade the deck with his arm for support. - -As Irene gently declined, pleading weariness for excuse, he brought her -a comfortable chair and stood beside her ostensibly to shade her face -from the too ardent kisses of the wind and sun, but really that he might -feast his eyes on her fresh and pearl-fair beauty. Revington holding his -umbrella over Irene provoked some mirth and more envy in the breasts of -Brown and Jones. The ladies were unanimously disgusted. It was too bad -that she should wile Revington from them. Miss Smith, a tall brunette -who rather regarded him as her own prey, looked daggers. Mrs. Leslie was -secretly amused and delighted. She knew that Mrs. Stuart had been -forming a coalition against Irene, and it pleased her to see how hard -they took Revington's desertion to the banner of the newcomer. - -But rave as they would, Irene's conquest was potent to everyone but -herself. She who had never had a lover in the course of her brief, -secluded life, was innocent of coquetry and unversed in the arts of -love. She accepted Revington's attentions kindly, and congratulated -herself that she had won another friend. - -But though she was patient and gentle the beau could not congratulate -himself on any rapid progress in her favor. She was strangely sad and -grave. The red lips had no smiles for him though they answered him -gently when he spoke. The blue eyes did not look at him, though he tried -all his arts to win them to meet his gaze. They wandered strainingly -across the sea, as if seeking something lost to sight. The lids, with -their heavy golden lashes, had a pathetic droop as if unshed tears -weighed them down. The lips quivered now and then as if with mute sobs. -A story was written on her face--a story of sorrow and pain that clouded -somewhat its spring time loveliness as clouds overshade an April sky. -Revington, who was poetical, thought of some applicable lines, and -bending over her softly repeated them: - - "It is raining, little flower; - Be glad of rain---- - Too much sun would wither thee---- - 'Twill shine again. - The clouds are very black, 'tis true, - But just behind them shines the blue. - - "Art thou weary, tender heart? - Be glad of pain---- - In sorrow sweetest things will grow, - As flowers in rain. - God watches and thou wilt have sun - When clouds their perfect work have done." - -The sweet words touched her. She had not known before that the sorrow at -her heart was reflected on her face. She looked at him then a little -wistfully. - -"Do I indeed look so sad?" she asked. - -"Far too sad for one so young," he answered. "I wish I could teach you -to smile." - -She did smile then, but the smile was sadder than tears. - -"Ah, you should have known me even a week ago," she said, impulsively. -"I had never known a real sorrow then. But now, unless I could forget, I -do not think I could ever again be glad." - -She thought of the old gray head that she had so loved lying low in the -dark grave; of Elaine, her mother, who had left her to perish in the -dark waves after she had followed her almost to the brink, and a -fountain of sorrow, of bitterness, and of shame welled up within her -heart. - -Revington looking keenly at her, wondered what the sorrow had been that -had shadowed her brow and heart. - -"I will find it out if I can," he said to himself, "and I will teach her -to forget if I can." - -He little dreamed how vain a task he had set himself. As the summer days -glided softly past, and the white-sailed yacht flew over the blue ocean -waves blithely as a bird, Irene began to understand the drift of his -attentions. - -"Revington is making love to you, my dear," Mrs. Leslie had said, -laughing, and thus her young eyes were opened. - -It amused her at first, and then she became disgusted. It angered her to -see the artful little traps he had set to surprise her secret from -her--the secret of her hidden past. From a desire for flirtation at -first he had glided into ardent love, and his longing to know the story -of her past grew greater daily in accordance with the strength of his -passion. - -But Irene, from mere friendliness at first had turned to ice. She -repelled his attentions now, instead of languidly enduring them. In her -heart she contrasted the weakly, handsome face and shrinking eyes with -one that was engraved on her memory as possessing of all manly beauty -the most. - -Mrs. Stuart looked on at the little by-play with coldly disapproving -eyes. She had begun with a jealous hatred of Irene, because her husband -had saved her life. Her aversion never grew less. Indeed, the beauty, -and grace, and romantic mystery that enfolded the girl, only added fuel -to the flame of her wrath and jealousy. She knew, although she was chary -of expressing it by word or sign, that Mr. Stuart took a great and -almost painful interest in the object of her antipathy. - -It vexed her when she saw Julius Revington losing his heart to the girl, -but she never expostulated with him but once, although they were -intimate friends. Then he spoke a few words that effectually silenced -her, and she learned for the first time how his dark eyes could flash -beneath their drooping lids. She let him alone after that, and contented -herself with spiteful looks and sneering words behind his back. - -In the balmy breezes and salty breath of the summer ocean, Lilia -Stuart's insidious disease took a new and flattering turn. She had fewer -ill-turns. Her thin cheeks rounded out with something like healthy -plumpness. Her large eyes did not look so large in her childish face. -She would have returned to her first enthusiastic admiration and -friendship for Irene, but her mother maliciously fostered ill-will and -contempt in her mind, and Irene was the recipient of many bitter -impertinences from the misguided child, which she received with cold and -disdainful scorn. Mrs. Leslie was the only friend she had who dared -speak openly and kindly for her. All the rest of the party, except -Julius Revington, were weakly dominated by Mrs. Stuart. - -They reached Italian shores at last, and Arno was secured for the -Stuarts and their guests. There was a short and sharp debate between Mr. -Stuart and his wife, who objected to receive Irene as her guest. But the -lady knew how far she could transgress against her husband's will, and -she found she had reached the limit, and was forced to yield -ungraciously to his desires. - -A cold and formal invitation was therefore accorded to Miss Berlin as -Mrs. Leslie's friend. Irene, burning with resentment and wounded pride, -would fain have declined and gone out into the cold, strange world to -seek her bread among strangers, but Mrs. Leslie's gentle solicitation -prevailed, and she accepted the grudging invitation as reluctantly as it -had been given. We will leave her there, in "the land of the orange, the -myrtle and vine," and return to Guy Kenmore. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -Mr. Kenmore, in his pursuit of knowledge, had no difficulty in tracing -the Stuarts in Richmond. - -At the elegant and fashionable West End of the city, a stylish residence -was pointed out to him as the home of Clarence Stuart and his family. - -He remained in the city a few days and stored his mind with all the -available facts regarding this, to him, interesting family. - -It was easy to do. The Stuarts, as wealthy, fashionable and aristocratic -people, were well known. The city papers had duly announced their -departure for Italy in their own yacht, the _Sea-Bird_. Their movements -were considered generally interesting to the public, to judge by the -paragraphs that appeared in the daily journals. - -Mr. Kenmore heard, incidentally, that Clarence Stuart's wife had been a -wealthy heiress when he married her, some fifteen years before. - -Casual inquiry elicited the fact that Clarence Stuart's father had been -dead three weeks. - -Guy Kenmore was startled by this information. It went far towards -confirming his theory of the fragment of letter found in old Ronald -Brooke's dead hand, and which he treasured carefully in his pocket-book. - -"It was the senior Stuart's death-bed confession," he said to himself. -"What could that dying man have to confess to old Ronald Brooke?" - -What but the story of a crime that lay so heavy on his dying hours, that -he was fain to seek the pardon of God and of man before he dared go out -into the terrible unknown? - -_Who_ had dared to wrest that important confession from Mr. Brooke's -hand, and strike him dead with the secret unrevealed? - -Shuddering, Guy Kenmore asked himself this question to which the answer -seemed only too clear. - -The only persons who could have been vitally interested in old Clarence -Stuart's death-bed confession were his son and his family. - -Was Clarence Stuart, junior, a guilty man or a wronged man? - -Did he or did he not know of his father's death-bed confession? - -By whose hand had that confession been sent to old Ronald Brooke? - -Who had followed behind the messenger and torn that document from the -old man's hand with a death-blow? - -These questions rung unceasingly through Guy Kenmore's head. They -sickened him with their terrible suggestions of hidden guilt and crime. -He believed more and more that Ronald Brooke had been murdered instead -of dying a natural death as his physicians had asserted. - -But how was he to find the murderer, and how bring his guilt home to -him? - -Mr. Kenmore, who was naturally indolent and ease-loving, and who had -been nurtured in these habits by his life of luxury and indulgence, -found himself staggered by these heavy responsibilities that appeared to -have been thrust upon him. The blood of Ronald Brooke seemed to cry -aloud to him from the earth for vengeance on his murderer. - -"Why has Heaven selected me for the instrument of righting Elaine -Brooke's wrongs?" he asked himself, in wonder. - -He did not relish the duty, but when he would fain have given it up, a -voice within him loudly urged him forward in the path of duty. - -"What good can it do?" he answered back, impatiently, to that inward -monitor. "Mr. Brooke is dead, Irene is dead, her mother has broken loose -from all her old ties and associations, and hidden her life away in the -great thronging world. Can vengeance bring the dead back, or give peace -to the broken heart of that poor wronged woman?" - -Yet in spite of his sophistries and protestations the voice within still -loudly echoed: "_Go on._" - -He wrote to Mrs. Brooke informing her of her erroneous supposition -concerning Elaine's whereabouts, then he turned his whole attention to -the Stuarts. - -"If I could see Clarence Stuart I could form my opinion of him much -better," he thought. "I have nothing else to do. Why not follow them to -Italy?" - -He went home to Baltimore and made his preparations for going abroad. -There was no one to oppose his will. His parents were dead, his two -sisters were married to wealthy men, and were too much absorbed in -fashion and pleasure to miss him greatly. Somewhat reluctantly he went, -not remembering that the path of duty is oftentimes the straight road to -happiness. - -No dream came to him as he walked the deck those beautiful moonlit -nights of summer and mused on the repulsive task to which he was going, -that fate was leading him straight to the presence of her who had become -a sweet and softened memory to his heart; whose childish willfulness and -flitting spites had so irked him once, but which now he remembered only -as - - "Delicious spites and darling angers, - And airy forms of flitting change." - -Death had idealized his blue-eyed girl-bride, and he loved her now when -it seemed too late. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - "Italia, oh, Italia, thou who hast - The fatal gift of beauty which became - A funeral dower of present woes and past." - - -The words fell softly from the lips of Irene as she walked beneath the -shade of the orange and olive and lemon trees in the villa garden. The -balmy air was sweet with the breath of countless flowers, the birds sang -sweetly in the boughs above her head, and the blue waves of the Arno -ebbed and flowed at her feet with a pleasant murmur. Overhead the clear -blue sky of Italy, which poets have painted in deathless verse and -artists on immortal canvas, sparkled and glanced in all its radiant -sapphire beauty. - -She was musing on the beauty and the sorrow of this lovely hapless land, -and the famous words of Byron came aptly to her lips. She repeated them -softly and sadly, and someone who had stolen upon her unaware answered -musingly: - -"Do you believe with Byron that the gift of beauty is always fatal, Miss -Berlin?" - -She started and flushed with annoyance. It was Julius Revington. He had -become her very shadow, seeming unable to exist out of her sight. - -The beautiful girl in her white dress with the roses and myrtles in her -small hand, turned her face away pettishly. - -"How you startled me, Mr. Revington," she said, in a tone of -displeasure. "I thought myself alone." - -"You are very cruel to hide yourself out here in the orange ground," -said the gentleman, sentimentally. "Do you know that I have been -searching for you everywhere?" - -"No, I did not know it. If I had, I should have hidden myself in a -securer place than this," she replied, with all the frank cruelty of a -young girl. - -"Miss Berlin, you are very cruel," complained the lover. "Sometimes I -really wonder whether you say such sharp things in earnest, or if you -are only coquetting." - -The blue eyes flashed. - -"I know nothing of coquetry," said Irene, sharply. "I mean everything -that I say." - -He came nearer and looked under the brim of the shady hat at the lovely, -irritated face and sparkling eyes. - -"Oh, Miss Berlin, why will you treat me so coldly when you know that I -love the very ground you walk upon?" he exclaimed, almost abjectly. - -"I do not want your love," she answered, stamping her little foot -impatiently on the turf, as if the love he confessed for her lay -veritably beneath her feet. - -His weakly, handsome face grew pale at her impetuous words. - -"Wait, Irene, before you so cruelly reject me," he exclaimed. "You are -young, but not too young to know that it is wrong to trifle with the -human heart." - -"I have not trifled with yours," she interrupted, flushing at the -imputation. - -"But all the same your beauty has wiled my heart from me," he said. "I -have loved you from the first hour I saw your charming face. I lay my -heart, my hand, my fortune at your feet, Irene. Will you not take pity -on me and be my wife?" - -The flowers fell from her hands down upon the sweet, green turf, and her -face grew pale with emotion. It was the first time a lover had ever -wooed her, yet she was a wife--a wife unwooed and unwon--yet bound, how -plainly she recalled the solemn, fateful words, by ties that no man -"should put asunder." - -She looked at the dark, handsome face that showed at its best with that -light of love lingering on it. Between her and it another face arose, -languid, careless, indifferent, yet fascinating for the soul that looked -out of the bright, yet soft brown eyes. She remembered that she had -thought him handsome--handsomer than any of Bertha's and Elaine's -beaux--a flush rose slowly to her face as she remembered that she had -told him so. - -"No wonder he despised me," she said to herself, and she turned back to -Mr. Revington trying to forget Guy Kenmore, for she was now ashamed of -the willfulness and spite she had displayed before him. - -"Will you be my wife, Irene?" repeated her adoring lover. - -"I cannot, Mr. Revington. I do not love you," she answered, in a gentler -tone than she had used to him before. - -He threw himself impetuously at her feet and grasped her hands. - -"Let me teach you to love me," he cried, abjectly. - -Her crimson lips curled in faint scorn. - -"I could not learn the lesson," she replied. "You are not the kind of -man whom I could love," and again the handsome face of Guy Kenmore rose -before her mind's eye. - -"Why do I think of _him_?" she asked herself. - -"What sort of a man _could_ you love, Miss Berlin?" he asked, almost -despairingly, and again the proud, handsome, indifferent face of Guy -Kenmore rose tormentingly before her. - -"Why do I think of _him_?" she asked herself again, in wonder, and -forgetting to answer the question of the kneeling man. She had drawn her -hand away from his frenzied clasp, and now he gently plucked at her -dress to draw her attention. - -"Irene, my love, my darling, my beautiful queen, take pity on me, and do -not reject me," he cried, pleadingly. "Tell me what manner of man you -could love, and I will make myself over by your model. I could do -anything, be anything, for your sweet sake!" - -Again the blue eyes looked at him in faint scorn, and the red lips -curled. - -"Do get up from the ground, Mr. Revington," she said. "It is quite -undignified; I dislike it very much." - -He was too much carried away by his passion to observe the slight -inflection of scorn in her tone. - -"No, I will not rise," he answered. "I will kneel at your feet, like the -veriest slave, until you retract your cruel refusal, and give me leave -to hope." - -"But I cannot do so," she answered, more gently. "Do be reasonable, and -drop the subject, Mr. Revington. It is quite impossible, this that you -ask. I do not love you, and I cannot be your wife." - -"You might learn to love me," he persisted, almost sullenly. - -"Never. You do not realize my ideal," the girl replied, with an -unconscious blush. - -"Tell me what your ideal is like, Irene," said her kneeling lover. - -"I have read some lines that fit him," she replied, half dreamily, half -to herself, and still with that soft blush on her beautiful face. "I -will repeat them to you." - -Yet she seemed to have forgotten him, as she fixed her eyes on the blue, -rolling waves of the Arno, and the words fell like music from her -beautiful lips: - - "He to whom I give affection - Must have princely mein and guise. - If devotion lay below me, - I would stoop not for the prize - Bend down to me very lowly, - But bend always from above; - I would scorn where I could pity, - I must honor where I love. - - "Did he come as other lovers - With his praises low and sweet, - Did he woo in the old phrases, - Kneeling humbly at my feet-- - How my heart would be unfettered, - And my thoughts soar free and high, - As a bird that beats at morning - 'Gainst the gateway of the sky. - - "He must hold his perfect manhood, - He must keep his place of pride; - Bring me fond words as a lover, - And true words as friend and guide. - So in him my fate would meet me, - Life's surrender all complete, - Fearlessly I'd take my future, - And I'd lay it at his feet!" - -Her ideal lover, so unlike himself, sent a blush of shame tingling to -his cheeks. He sprang hastily to his feet and looked down at her from -his tall hight sullenly. - -"You are unlike all the women I have ever met before," he said, with -repressed anger. "You would have a man play the master, not the slave." - -And in his heart he longed to be her master then and compel her love in -return for that which glowed in his heart. - -She looked up at him with a slight smile. - -"You misunderstand me," she replied. "I could not tolerate a master as -you mean it--a tyrant. Still less could I love a slave. My ideal must -have manly dignity and gracious pride. He must look like Jean Ingelow's -Laurance: - - "'A mouth for mastery and manful work, - A certain brooding sweetness in the eyes, - A brow the harbor of grave thought, and hair - Saxon of hue.'" - -"So I must change my looks as well as my nature before I can please my -lady," he said with sudden bitterness. - -"Yes," she answered, with a light and careless laugh, for, to do her -justice, she did not dream how deep his love lay in his heart. She -believed him weak and fickle, as his face indicated, and as he was. If -he had won her, lovely and charming as she was, he must have wearied of -her in time, as it was his nature to do; but being unattainable she at -once became the one thing precious in his sight, without which he could -never know happiness. - -He went away and left her to her solitude under the orange tree with its -glistening green leaves, its waxen-white flowers and golden globes of -fruit. She looked a little sadly at the flowers which had fallen from -her hands and which her kneeling lover had crushed into the turf. - -"The great booby," she said indignantly to herself. "He has -remorselessly crushed all my beautiful flowers." - -Was it an omen? - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -Julius Revington went away from the presence of the girl he adored, cast -down but not destroyed. - -He had set his mind doggedly on winning her and he was by no means -despondent of winning her yet. - -His grosser, weaker nature could not comprehend the higher, loftier -nature of Irene. Her gentle intimation of how he fell short of her ideal -had not greatly impressed him except to fill him with a certain amount -of sullen jealousy toward some unknown person or other whom it was -evident existed in her mind, and possibly in flesh and blood upon the -earth. - -"Perhaps she has already given her heart away," he thought to himself. -"But, no, she is too young. That cannot be." - -As he walked slowly along the path toward the villa something bright and -shining on the ground attracted his attention. He stooped and picked it -up. - -A cry of eager surprise broke from his lips. - -It was the pretty, blue-enamelled locket that Irene usually wore around -her white throat. - -It had become detached from the slender gold chain and fallen on the -ground without her knowledge. - -Julius Revington had endured many pangs of baffled curiosity over this -locket, of whose contents he had heard much from the ladies but which he -had never had the good fortune to behold. - -Pausing now in the quiet, secluded path, he deliberately touched the -spring of the pretty bauble. - -The lid flew open, and there before him under the soft light of the -Italian sky that sifted down through the glistening leaves of the orange -trees, were revealed the handsome faces of old Ronald Brooke and his -daughter. - -A hoarse cry broke from Julius Revington's lips, his face whitened, a -cold dew started out upon his brow. - -"My God," he said, and sank down upon a bed of flowers as if totally -overcome. - -With starting eyes he looked at the kind, genial, manly face of the old -man, and then at the fair, almost angelic face of Elaine. An -uncontrollable shudder shook his form. - -"Father and daughter!" he said, under his breath. - -Sitting there in the balmy air with the soft murmur of the waves in his -ears, he relapsed into thought. Minutes went silently by, bringing a -subtle change into the man's face. His cheeks glowed, his downcast eyes -sparkled. - -"A master rather than a slave," he muttered at last with an evil triumph -in his tone; "so be it." - -Slowly rising, he retraced his steps to Irene. - -He met her coming along the path toward him, her fair face anxious and -troubled. - -"Oh, Mr. Revington," she cried, "I have lost the locket off my chain! -Have you seen it anywhere?" - -He held it up to the light, and her sweet face glowed with joy. - -"Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Revington," she cried, "I am so glad! I -feared I had lost it forever!" - -"I am very glad to have the good fortune to restore it to you," he said; -"it lay directly in my path as I was returning to the villa." - -"I am so glad," she repeated, kissing it as if it had been some sentient -thing. "You see, Mr. Revington, it was a gift to me from one who is now -dead--one whom I loved--dearly," she concluded, with a falter in her -voice and a mist of tears in her eyes. - -"Miss Berlin, will you pardon me if I ask you what may seem an -impertinent question?" he asked. - -She brushed the soft dew from her eyes with her lace handkerchief, and -looked up at him with her soft, wondering glance. - -"Well?" she said. - -He did not look at her in return; his shifting eyes fell to the ground, -as was their wonted habit. - -"When I found the locket lying on the ground the lid was open. I saw the -two faces it held," he said, in a strange, hesitating voice. - -"Well?" she repeated, gravely, while a flush rose over her fair face. - -"They--were not strange to me," he replied; "I was startled when I saw -whose were the faces you wore always over your heart. Miss Berlin, will -you tell me what that man and woman are to you?" - -He saw her start and shiver--saw the warm crimson flash into her face, -then recede again, leaving it deathly pale and cold. She clasped her -hands over the locket, pressing it tightly to her beating heart, while -she answered hoarsely and with downcast eyes: - -"I cannot tell you, Mr. Revington; it is a secret, and that secret -belongs to another. I have no right to reveal it." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -Julius Revington stood looking in silence at the beautiful, agitated -girl as she repeated, sadly: - -"The secret belongs to another. I have no right to reveal it." - -"Is it a secret of shame?" Julius Revington asked, slowly. - -Irene started, and flashed a look of anger upon him through her tear-wet -lashes. - -"You are impertinent," she said, sharply; "you have no right to seek to -penetrate the secret of my past!" - -"I have the same right as the physician who probes the wound to heal -it," he replied, coolly. - -"You!--you can heal no wound of mine!" she flashed, almost disdainfully. - -"You think so, but you are wrong," said Julius Revington. "Sit down, -Miss Berlin, I have much to say to you. It is for your own good that you -should listen to it." - -The earnestness of his tone impressed Irene against her will. She sat -down slowly on the soft, green grass, still with a mutinous pout on her -lips, and her eyes turned coldly away from him. - -Mr. Revington seated himself also, and glanced carefully around, to make -sure that no one was in hearing distance of himself and his fair -companion. - -"I see that you have no faith in my power of making an interesting -communication to you," he said, addressing himself to Irene. - -"No, I cannot imagine your telling me anything I should like to hear," -she retorted, coldly. - -An angry light flared into the man's dark eyes a moment, but he bit his -lip to keep back a sharp rejoinder. Her willfulness, her pretty -petulances, had an actual fascination for him. - -"Such an answer from any one but you, Miss Berlin, would be actual -rudeness," he said, lightly. "But whether frowning or smiling you are -ever charming to me. You remind me of nothing so much as one of -Tennyson's heroines, 'a rosebud set with little willful thorns.'" - -She answered not a word. Her fair face was averted, and her blue eyes -gazed at the silvery Arno softly gliding past. - -"You have been a beautiful, enchanting mystery to me ever since I met -you," he continued, slowly. "I have wondered whence you came and to whom -you belonged, but with no hope of unsealing your beautiful lips or the -secret they held so close. But chance--or shall I call it fate?--has -solved the mystery for me." - -She turned her head and looked at him suddenly, her blue eyes dark with -fear and wonder. - -"What can you mean?" she exclaimed. - -"I mean that when I came upon your picture in your locket just now the -mystery of your identity was solved for me," he replied, coolly, glad -that he had roused her at last. - -"I do not understand you," she said through her lips that had suddenly -grown white and trembling. - -A slight smile curved Julius Revington's mustached lips, as he saw how -much he had startled her. - -"Master rather than slave," he repeated to himself, vindictively, for -that was the way he interpreted her eloquent description of her ideal. - -"I told you the faces were not strange to me," he said. "Shall I tell -you their names?" - -"You cannot," she returned, miserably. - -"Do not deceive yourself," he retorted. "The old man is Ronald Brooke, -the beautiful woman is his daughter, Elaine." - -A startled cry broke from her lips, she flashed her eyes upon him in a -swift, horrified gaze, a terrible suspicion darting through her heart. - -"You know her?" she cried out, hoarsely. - -His answer dispelled the horrible dread that had clutched at her heart -with icy fingers. - -"No, I have never met her in my life, but I have seen her picture -before," he said. - -She gave a gasp of relief. It had been horrible to fancy for a moment -that this man whom she despised in her heart could be her mother's -betrayer. - -"You have seen her picture before?" she repeated. "Where?" - -"It depends on yourself whether I ever answer that question or not," he -said. - -"On me?" she asked, with some wonder. - -"Yes," he replied; "for if I should answer that question it would -involve a long story. Before I tell it to you I shall expect to receive -a like confidence from you." - -She shut her lips tightly over her little clenched teeth, and he saw the -blue eyes flash mutinously. - -"You refuse?" he asked. - -"Yes," she replied, dauntlessly. "You have startled and surprised me and -I know not how much you know of me and my past. But at least you will -never learn more from me." - -He could not forbear a glance of annoyance. - -"Miss Berlin, you are certainly the most willful child I ever saw," he -exclaimed. "What good can it do you to refuse to tell me what -relationship you bear to Ronald Brooke and his daughter?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -Irene raised her large blue eyes to Mr. Revington's face. They were full -of anguish and despair. - -"I have told you already that the secret is not mine to reveal," she -said. - -"Then I must answer my own question," he replied, with a swift glance -around him to make sure that he was not overheard; "you are Elaine -Brooke's _illegitimate daughter_!" - -A low cry of bitterness and despair shrilled from her lips. It confirmed -his hazardous guess. - -"You cannot deny it!" he uttered, triumphantly. - -"My God, are you man or devil, Julius Revington?" she exclaimed. "How -came you by this knowledge?" - -"In a perfectly natural manner," he answered, coolly. "The story of your -mother's past is better known to me than to yourself, Irene." - -She could not speak for a moment. A hand of ice seemed to grip her -throat, her brain reeled, the sound of the river came to her faintly as -in a dream. The hot color rushed to her face and her lashes fell. She -could not look at this man who held the story of her mother's past--that -secret so full of shame and sorrow. - -"I know it far better than you do; better than she does," he repeated. -"Do not hang your head so heart-brokenly, Irene. You have nothing to -blush for." - -"Nothing," she echoed, bitterly. - -"No," he said, "I can tell you good news, little one. But first raise -your head and look at me. I want to see the joylight flash into your -eyes when you hear what I have to tell you." - -She obeyed him, lifting her sweet eyes in wonder, with half-parted -crimson lips that seemed to ask mutely what joy life could yet hold for -her. - -"You have nothing to blush for," he repeated. "Your mother was a -lawfully wedded wife. You are not the child of shame as you have been -taught to believe." - -"Can I believe you?" she exclaimed, and he was dazzled by the flash of -joy in her eyes. - -"You may, for it is true, and I can produce proofs of what I say," he -answered. "Your mother has been fearfully wronged, but it lies in my -power to restore her to her rights again." - -"God forever bless you, Mr. Revington, if you can lift the cloud of -sorrow from the hearts and lives of a wronged woman and her child," -exclaimed the lovely girl, fervently. - -"It rests with you, Irene, whether I do so or not," he replied, flashing -a look of admiration on her beautiful, agitated face. - -"With me!" she echoed, blankly. - -"You are the daughter of a wealthy, high-born, noble gentleman, who -would be delighted to claim you if he knew that you lived, and who would -rejoice to clasp your mother to his devoted heart," said Mr. Revington, -watching her closely as he uttered the words. Her eyes beamed, her face -glowed with joy; then suddenly a shadow fell on its brightness. - -"You are deceiving me?" she said. - -"No, I swear that I am not," he asseverated. "I can prove what I say, -and I am ready to do so--on one condition!" - -"And that?" she asked, innocently. - -His shifting gaze fell before that eager, hopeful, unconscious look, but -he answered, boldly: - -"That you be my wife, Irene." - -"I have told you that was impossible," she answered, growing suddenly -pale to the lips. - -"Why?" he inquired, chagrined at the prompt reply. - -"I do not love you," she replied, evasively. - -"Granted that you do not," he said, selfishly, "is your hand too great a -price to pay to secure to your mother ease, honor, end happiness?" - -She had no answer for him only an irrepressible moan of pain that broke -uncontrollably over her white lips. Her thoughts went back to poor, -patient, badgered Elaine, and her hard life at Bay View--harder now than -ever, she guessed, since her father was dead, and she was left to the -tender mercies of her mother and sister. - -"Dear mother, how gladly I would purchase this man's knowledge, even at -the bitter price he asks, for your dear sake, if only it were possible," -she thought to herself with a pang like death at her heart, as she -recalled her fatal marriage. - -Julius Revington, watching the mute anguish on her speaking face, saw -that it was no time to press the question. - -"Do not answer me now, Irene," he said, with ready gentleness. "Take -time to think it over. Revolve it in your mind to-night in soberness and -calmness. Ask yourself if you do not owe this duty to your poor, wronged -mother. How sweet it would be for her child to restore to her all she -has lost." - -"You are cruel and calculating," she said, indignantly. "Why should you -ask such a costly price for doing this kindness to my poor, martyred -mother?" - -"Because I love you, and in no other way can I win you," he answered, -boldly. - -Her beautiful eyes flashed scornfully upon him. - -"Would you take a reluctant and unloving bride?" she asked. - -"I would take you on any terms, Irene," he replied. - -She looked up at him and asked the strangest question that could -possibly fall from a daughter's lips: - -"Mr. Revington, will you tell me the name of my father?" - -The piteous sadness of the tone, and the pathos of the question must -have touched the heart of a better man. - -But Julius Revington was thoroughly hard and selfish. - -"You have never heard his name, then?" he said. - -"Never," she replied. "Will you tell it to me now?" - -"Not yet," he replied, cruelly. "I will reserve that pleasant bit of -information for our marriage day." - -She flashed a sudden, piercing glance upon him. - -"You are deceiving me," she said. "You are trying to win me by a -pretended knowledge of facts that do not exist." - -"On my honor, no," he replied. "I admit that I am selfish, and that I am -using the knowledge I possess to gain my own ends, but on the morning -that you give me your hand in marriage I swear that I will place in your -hands the documents that will prove your mother a lawfully-wedded wife, -and give you a legal right to your father's name and wealth. Moreover, I -assure you that no one will be more surprised or rejoiced than your -father himself on learning the truth." - -"And what if I refuse to marry you? she asked, fearfully. - -"If you refuse," he replied, cruelly, "the cloud of shame shall never be -lifted from your mother's life and yours. Nay, more, I will go to the -Stuarts and your good friend, Mrs. Leslie, and I will tell them why you -choose to make a mystery of your past. Consent to marry me, and on our -wedding-day I will prove you the legal inheritor of an honorable name -and a great fortune. I will give you until to-morrow to decide the -question." - -He rose with the words and walked abruptly away. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -Irene remained sitting like one stunned on the banks of the beautiful -river. - -Her white hands clasped each other convulsively in her lap, her head -drooped on her breast, she stared blankly and dreamily before her, -seeming lost to the beauty of the fair Italian scene, and deaf to the -soft sounds that filled the air with a pleasant murmur. - -Heart and brain were in a terrible tumult. - -Her head ached and throbbed almost to bursting, her heart beat fast and -hard in her breast. - -The joy and triumph she would have experienced in the knowledge of her -poor mother's innocence and honor were all damped by the thought of the -costly price she was required to pay before she could have the happiness -of bearing the glad tidings to the wronged, unhappy woman. - -With deepest self-reproach the girl recalled her own frenzied reproaches -to that beautiful, sorrow-stricken parent on the fatal night when she -had been so maddened by the revelation of the angry Bertha. She looked -back as though years had intervened upon the Irene of that summer night -as a rude, impertinent, willful child. - -"Is it any wonder my mother left me to the death I courted in my wild -despair?" she thought. "How could I, who should have soothed sorrow, -turned upon her so cruelly? Poor, unhappy Ellie, as I used to call her, -what sorrows may she not be enduring now? What insolence, what cruelty, -at the hands of her overbearing mother and sister? Even I, her child, -did not spare her my reproaches in her dark hour, and how should they -who love her less than I did?" - -In the flood-tide of remorseful affection that swept over her heart, she -longed to go home to her mother, to take her in her arms, and say, -lovingly: "Mother, darling, you and your husband were both cruelly -wronged. Here are the papers that will prove your wifely honor. Take -them and forgive me my wicked reproaches." - -Alas, between her and that beautiful hour which fancy painted so -glowingly, there yawned a dread, impassable gulf! - -"Even if I could consent to pay Julius Revington's terrible price for -those papers, I could not do so. I am already wedded," she said to -herself; and her heart thrilled strangely at the thought. - -The remembrance of his threat sent a shiver of dread thrilling through -her frame. To-morrow he would tell Mrs. Leslie and the Stuarts that she -was a child of shame; that her beautiful, pure-hearted mother was a -sinful, erring woman. How should she bear it? she asked herself, with a -moan. - -The evening sun sunk lower and lower; the twittering birds flew home to -their nests; the cool, soft dew began to fall on Irene's face and hands. -She rose with a shiver, as though of mortal cold, and dragged herself -back wearily to the villa. - -Then she felt that she could not endure to meet the cold, curious faces -of Mrs. Stuart and her friends just then. She stole quietly up to her -own room, closed and locked the door, and threw herself wretchedly down -upon the floor, with her face hidden on her arm. - -She did not know how long she had lain there, wretched, forlorn, -despairing, when she was roused by the tap of a servant outside, who -desired her presence at dinner. - -She replied, through the closed door, that she was ill, and did not wish -any, and returned to her crouching posture on the floor, as if she found -a grim pleasure in physical discomfort, as a set-off to her mental -trouble. - -She felt angry with herself for the fairness that had won Julius -Revington's love. - -"If I had been homely and ill-shapen, instead of fair and graceful, he -would never have loved me, and he might then have given me those papers -for pure pity's sake, with no such condition attached," she told -herself, sadly. - -Two hours later Mrs. Leslie came tapping softly at the door. - -"You must let me in, Irene, for I shall keep 'tapping, tapping,' like -the raven, until you do," she called out gaily. - -With a smothered sigh Irene admitted her friend. - -"What, all in darkness? I beg your pardon, I did not know you had -retired," exclaimed the lady. - -Irene struck a light and then Mrs. Leslie gazed in wonder at the pale, -haggard face. - -"My dear child, what is the matter with you?" she cried out in wonder. - -"It is nothing--only a headache, I--I have been lying down," she -faltered, miserably. - -The lady glanced at the white, unrumpled bed, and then at Irene, -curiously. - -"Where--upon the floor?" she inquired, with a mixture of sarcasm and -amazement. - -"I--believe so; I felt so bad I did not think," answered Irene, trying -to smile. - -"Poor dear," said the lady, full of womanly compassion; "if I had known -you were so ill I would have come up to you long ago. It was too bad -your lying here all by yourself in the dark! In your tight dress, too; I -am ashamed of myself! But now I am going to undress you and 'put you in -your little bed.'" - -Heedless of Irene's gentle expostulations, she proceeded to follow the -kind promptings of her womanly heart, and directly she had the girl -dressed in her snowy _robe de nuit_ and nestled among the pillows of the -snowy bed. - -"Now you may shut your eyes, and I will bathe your head with _eau de -cologne_ until you fall asleep," she said. - -"But indeed it does not ache now. Pray do not trouble yourself," Irene -expostulated, now thoroughly ashamed of her innocent little fib. - -The lady sat down and began passing her hand tenderly over the pillow. - -"I am glad it does not ache any longer," she said, unsuspiciously. "You -were sadly missed from among us this evening, my dear," she continued in -a light, bantering tone. "Mr. Revington was exceedingly distrait; Miss -Smith teased him for a song, but he gave her such a doleful one that he -received no encores whatever." - -Irene looked so plainly disgusted at the mention of her lover's name -that Mrs. Leslie forebore to tease her. She delicately changed the -subject. - -"Mr. Stuart came back from his trip to Florence this evening, and -brought us some sad news," she said. - -Irene tried hard to look interested in this communication, but failed -dismally. Her own troubles absorbed all her care. - -"There has been the most terrible ocean disaster," continued Mrs. -Leslie. "Two American steamers, one homeward bound, the other en route -for Italy, collided in mid-ocean at midnight, with a horrible loss of -human life. Is it not awful?" - -Irene tried to look properly shocked, but heart and brain were so numbed -by her own grief that she could scarcely comprehend the extent of the -calamity her friend was bewailing. - -"It is very dreadful," she murmured, feebly. - -"Is it not?" said Mrs. Leslie, in awe-struck tones; "and, only think, -Irene, I was personally acquainted with one of the passengers who -perished in the wreck. I met him once while visiting my sister in -Baltimore. He was very handsome and agreeable, besides being very -wealthy. His name was Guy Kenmore." - -She paused, and uttered a cry of alarm in the next breath. Irene had -gasped convulsively once or twice, then fainted dead away. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -Mrs. Leslie was filled with dismay and terror at the result of her -thoughtless communication to her _protege_. - -"What a silly tattler I am to tell such shocking things to that poor -sick child," she said to herself, with lively compunction. - -Then she flew to the dressing-table, and securing a bottle of _eau de -cologne_, proceeded to drench Irene's face vigorously. - -The result of her treatment was that Irene speedily gasped, shivered and -opened her eyes. - -"Oh, you are alive yet, are you, my dear?" exclaimed her friend. "I was -afraid I had killed you with my foolish tales." - -"Then it wasn't true--you were jesting with me?" exclaimed the girl, -unconsciously clasping her small hands around her friend's arm, and -lifting her dark, anxious eyes to her face. - -"Eh? what, my dear?" Mrs. Leslie asked, rather vaguely. - -"The wreck, you know--the people who were drowned," Irene answered, with -a shudder. "Is it true?" - -"Oh, yes, child, every word of it, I am sorry to say, but I oughtn't to -have told you about it while you were feeling so badly. It shocked you -very much, poor dear." - -"Yes, it shocked me very much," Irene replied, in a strange voice. "You -were saying--were you not?--that one of your friends was--was--drowned," -she concluded, with a faint quiver in the last word. - -"Yes--poor Guy Kenmore of Baltimore--one of the most splendid men I ever -met," sighed Mrs. Leslie. "But do not let us talk about it any more -to-night, dear. It makes you nervous, I think." - -"Yes, and I am very tired. I should like to go to sleep. Good-night, -dear Mrs. Leslie," said Irene, thus gently dismissing her friend. - -"Very well, since you want to go to sleep, good-night, dear," said the -lady, good-humoredly; "I hope you will let me know if you are worse in -the night, though." - -Irene promised, and received Mrs. Leslie's good-night kiss. Then the -lady went away and left her alone. - -Why did she weep so bitterly upon her lonely pillow that it was drenched -with her bitter tears? - -Now that her husband of an hour was dead, Irene knew that she loved him. - - "Loved him with a bitter yearning - That could never pass away, - Loved him with an anguished passion - That could never know decay." - -As she lay there weeping sorely on her pillow, she recalled that sweet -June night, but a few short months ago, when her own willful folly had -led her into that deplorable entanglement. She recalled the handsome -face of Bertha's lover, as she then deemed him--handsomer then and now -to her fancy than any other man she had met. He had given her no word -of blame or reproach for her folly that had led him into that mad -marriage. Nay, how kindly, how gently he had tried to make the best of -it--he had offered to keep faithfully those marriage vows he had taken, -even when he knew that she was a nameless child, and her mother a -disgraced woman. How kindly he had spoken to poor Elaine, even when her -own child madly reproached her. She seemed to feel again the warm, -gentle clasp of his arm around her waist while poor Elaine told her -sorrowful story. - -"I love him. It is not wrong, for he belonged to me, and he is dead," -she said to herself, plaintively and sadly, through her falling tears. - -She forgot Julius Revington for a while in the shock of this new grief. -One hour was given to her sorrow and her tears. - -"He is dead, yet I cannot realize it," the girl-widow said to herself, -trying to fancy those laughing brown eyes drowned in the salty waves of -old ocean--those languid, musical tones hushed in its everlasting roar. -It was in vain the effort. It was in life, rather than death that he -dwelt in her thoughts. - -"He is dead, but no more dead to me than he was in life," she repeated -over and over to herself, "for I should never have seen him again." - -And suddenly, like an Arctic wave coldly sweeping over her, came the -remembrance of Julius Revington. - -"I am free now," she repeated to herself, with a shiver of horror. -"Nothing lies between my mother and happiness but my own unconquerable -repugnance to the man who holds the secret of my mother's wrongs." - -Remorseful memory pictured that beautiful mother sad, lonely, bereaved, -wasting her heart in unavailing sighs and tears. - -"Oh, mother, I was hard, cold, cruel to you that night in my madness," -she cried. "I, who shadowed your life with an ever-present memory of -shame for sixteen years, now owe you reparation and atonement even to -the sacrifice of my poor life." - -And in the solemn, mystical midnight hours the great battle was fought -between self-pity and mother-love. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -It was late when Irene came down to breakfast the next morning. - -The breakfast bell had clanged noisily twice, and all the other inmates -of the villa were in their places at the table, when Miss Berlin glided -in, pale, mute, grave, and took her wonted seat by Mrs. Leslie's side. - -Every eye turned curiously on the fair young face. The change was too -marked to escape observation. The white cheeks, the dark shadows beneath -the eyes, the pathetic droop of the red lips, all had a story of their -own. The simple white morning-dress, with the black velvet ribbon at -throat and waist was sad and suggestive too. All missed the bright bunch -of flowers she was wont to wear on her breast, but none guessed that the -simple black and white were mute tokens of bereavement. - -"I was sorry to hear of your illness last night. I trust you are better -this morning," said Mr. Stuart from his place as host. - -His voice was grave and kind, but his eyes were kinder. They often -lingered on her as if fascinated, until, with a sharp sigh of pain he -would turn away. - -"Thank you, I am better," she replied, briefly, and dropped the long -lashes over her eyes because Julius Revington was trying to meet them -across the table. - -He was vexed with her for looking so pale, so wan, so unhappy. - -"Am I an ogre that she should look so pale, so ill, so wretched, at the -bare idea of having me for a husband?" he said to himself, in a -passionate ebullition of wounded vanity. - -When breakfast was over he managed to intercept her as she was going -out. - -"It is a beautiful morning, Miss Berlin. Will you walk out with me?" he -asked, pleadingly. - -She brought her broad-brimmed sun-hat from the rack in the hall and -silently accompanied him. - -It was a beautiful morning, as he had said. The sun shone brilliantly, -the blue sky mirrored itself in the blue river, birds sang, flowers -bloomed, and the air was sweet with the breath of roses. But for once -Irene was indifferent to the sweet influences of nature. She walked -along silently by his side, her blue eyes downcast, her face pale, her -steps slow and languid. - -They paused at last to rest on a pretty garden seat beside the murmuring -river. Irene flung herself down wearily. - -She, who seldom knew what weakness meant, could barely drag her weary -limbs along. - -"I am sorry to see you looking so ill to-day," murmured the lover. - -She glanced up quickly in his face for some sign of relenting. - -Alas, his passionate look of admiration dispelled the sudden, springing -hope. Her heart sank heavily again. - -"I _am_ ill," she cried. "God only knows what I suffered last night. Are -you still relentless in your cruel purpose?" - -"You use hard words," he said, flinching under her scorn. "Is it cruel -to love you, and wish you for my own?" - -"It is cruel to try to force me into compliance with your wishes," she -answered, with a passing flash of indignation. - -"You mistake. I have not tried to force you. I merely gave you a choice -of terms," he replied. - -"Scylla and Charybdis," murmured the girl, disdainfully. - -"As you will," he replied; but in his heart he said, cruelly: "You find -it hard, fair lady, to tolerate a master in practice, however fine it -may appear in theory." - -She sat still, looking dreamily into the rushing river, a look of -despair frozen on her white face. - -"You may have guessed why I brought you here," he said. - -She made him no answer. The cold despair deepened in the lovely, -downcast eyes. - -"I am impatient for my answer," he went on. "Are you going to be kind -to your mother, Irene; kind to yourself, and merciful to me?" - -She turned and looked at him, with the fire of scorn flashing all over -her beautiful face. - -"If you mean am I going to sacrifice myself for my mother's sake, I -answer yes," she said. "Here is my hand. Take it. But it is empty--there -is no heart in it. There never will be. I shall never love you, were I -twenty times your wife. I shall always hate you for driving me to the -wall, for making me untrue to myself." - -Unheeding her wild words he took the hand and kissed it, but she tore it -madly away. It rushed over her drearily how strange it was for Guy -Kenmore's widowed bride to be thus plighting her hand to another almost -in the first hour of her bereavement. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -Mr. Revington duly announced his betrothal to the inhabitants of the -villa. Congratulations followed of course, but he could not flatter -himself that there was any heart in them. - -Mr. Stuart was openly surprised and inwardly disgusted. - -"To think that a girl of such beauty and soul as Irene should stoop to -mate with that weak, guitar-playing dandy," he said to himself. - -Brown and Jones were envious of Revington's good luck. The ladies, with -the exception of Mrs. Leslie, thought it quite too good a match for the -mysterious Miss Berlin. - -"My dear," said Mrs. Leslie, the first time she could draw Irene aside, -"I do not know how to congratulate you. You have surprised me too much. -I never dreamed that you were in love with Julius Revington." - -They were alone on the wide balcony, and the opaline hues of sunset -sparkled on the blue horizon. Irene looked very pale and grave in the -brilliant light. She gazed sadly at her friend. - -"Does it follow that I am in love with him because I have promised to be -his wife?" she asked, almost bitterly. - -Mrs. Leslie started and gazed keenly at the fair young face. - -"It _should_ follow," she said. "No girl should marry a man with whom -she is not in love. It is positively sinful to do so. And, my dear -child, if you are marrying him for money you are sadly mis----" she -paused, for a flood of crimson had drifted into Irene's face. - -"Mrs. Leslie, I am quite aware that Mr. Revington's income is extremely -small," she said, with girlish dignity. - -"Oh, then, it is for love, after all," said the lady, relieved. "Well, -that is the best, if you are going to marry him. But I must say it is a -great surprise to me. You seemed to belong to me so utterly I never -thought of a lover carrying you off." - -Her sigh of genuine regret pierced Irene's tender heart. - -She longed to throw her arms around the sweet lady's neck and tell her -all her sad story--to disclaim all interest and love in the wretch who -exacted so costly a price for her mother's happiness; but a feeling of -pride held her back. - -"Not now, while the shadow of the old disgrace hangs over me," she said -to herself. "I could not bear for her to pity me. Only in the hour of my -triumph will I tell her my strange story and ask her to rejoice with -me." - -Lilia came out on the balcony and Mrs. Leslie said no more. The child -was exquisitely dressed, as usual, in a rich white robe, with a -rose-colored sash. She looked quite pretty with her dark, shining hair -falling over her shoulders, her large black eyes beaming with the fires -of disease, and a deceptive glow of color on her cheeks. - -She came and stood by Irene's side, and with one of her rare impulses of -kindness laid her light, fragile hand on her shoulder. - -"They tell me you are going to marry my cousin Julius," she said, -abruptly. - -"Yes," Irene answered, with a smothered sigh. - -Mrs. Leslie looked at the two young girls, admiring their different -types of beauty. Irene's blonde loveliness was matchless; the darker -type of Lilia challenged admiration. Each set off the other, like night -and morning. - -But as Mrs. Leslie gazed she suddenly smothered a cry upon her lips--a -cry of amazement! - -Something had flashed over her suddenly and without warning as she -watched the two beautiful faces side by side. - -It was a subtle, startling, vivid resemblance between the two--the -blue-eyed blonde, the dark-eyed brunette. - -As she gazed, the wonderful, startling resemblance grew and grew upon -her consciousness. Though one was fair and the other dark there was a -subtle, haunting likeness in their features strong enough to have -existed between sisters. - -"What does it mean?" the lady asked herself, wonderingly. "Is it a mere -chance likeness?" - -While she gazed as if fascinated, Mr. Stuart stepped out upon the -balcony. His dark face lighted with pleasure as he noted Lilia's -affectionate attitude toward Irene. He stepped softly to his daughter's -side and gazed at the two fair girls with a gratified smile upon his -lips. - -And again Mrs. Leslie suppressed a little cry of wonder. - -The subtle likeness between Irene and Lilia was not stronger than that -which existed between Irene and Mr. Stuart. They might have passed for -father and daughter. - -He looked up and arrested her gaze fixed upon his face in wonder and -perplexity. He smiled. - -"On what weighty subject are you musing so deeply, Mrs. Leslie?" he -inquired. - -"If you will come and walk with me, I will tell you," she replied, -lightly. - -"Nothing would give me more pleasure," he answered gallantly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -They went down the wide balcony steps together, leaving the two girls -alone. Mrs. Leslie chose a favorite walk along the river bank, and by -chance they sat down on the same pretty garden seat where Irene had -rested that morning while she gave her promise to be Julius Revington's -wife. - -Mr. Stuart looked at his friend with a smile on his dark, handsome face. - -"Now will you give me the benefit of your thoughts?" he said. - -"If you will promise not to laugh--not to call me fanciful," she -answered. - -"On my honor," he replied, placing his hand on his heart, and bowing -with mock gravity. - -She was silent a moment, feeling a momentary embarrassment over her -promise. He would think her fanciful certainly, perhaps be displeased. - -"I am growing very curious," he observed. - -"You need not be---- it is nothing of any consequence," she said. "It is -only that before you came out on the balcony I was startled by observing -the vivid likeness that exists between Lilia and Irene. They are like -enough to be sisters. And when you came upon the scene my wonder only -grew. Irene is enough like you to be your daughter." - -She need not have been afraid that he would laugh at her--that he would -think her fanciful. He started and gazed at her with wide, dark eyes and -ashen, parted lips. - -"Like Lilia! like me!" he repeated, strangely. - -"Yes," she answered. "Enough like Lilia to be her sister, enough like -you to be your child." - -"Before God, I believe that she is!" he answered, startlingly. - -She gazed at him in wonder. - -"I do not understand you," she said, wondering if her old friend had -gone mad. - -But he reiterated in tones of suppressed passion: - -"I believe that she is my own child. I have loved her since the first -hour I looked on her beautiful face, so like that of the fair, cold -woman who broke my heart! I have yearned to hold her in my arms, to kiss -her fair face, and claim her for my own daughter, the pledge of a love -that for a little while was as pure, as true, as beautiful as Heaven! It -was the voice of nature speaking in my heart, claiming its own in tones -that would not be stilled. Oh, Elaine, Elaine, fairest, dearest, -cruelest of women!" - -He bowed his head on his hands, and his strong form shook with great, -smothered sobs. - -Mrs. Leslie gazed at him in wonder and sympathy. What hidden mystery, -what aching sorrow had her chance words evoked from the buried past? It -was terrible to witness the shuddering emotion of this brave, strong -man. - -Looking up suddenly, with dark, anguished eyes, he caught her wondering, -troubled look. - -"Mrs. Leslie, you think me mad," he said, mournfully. - -"No, no," she answered, reassuringly. "I must beg your pardon for my -ill-advised words," she continued, regretfully. "I fear that I have -touched the spring of some secret sorrow." - -"You have," he answered, sadly. "But do not reproach yourself. You -could not have known. You probed an aching wound by chance." - -"I am so sorry. I did not dream," she said, incoherently, full of sorrow -for her unconscious fault. - -"And she looks like me, you think?" he said, thoughtfully. - -"Marvellously," she exclaimed. - -"Have you ever seen the woman's face in the locket she wears about her -throat?" he asked. - -"I am ashamed to confess that my womanly curiosity has made me guilty of -peeping into it on one or two occasions," she replied. "It is the -loveliest face I ever beheld." - -"Fairest and falsest," he replied. "Mrs. Leslie, what will you think -when I tell you that that woman was once bound to me by the dearest tie -upon earth? She was my wife." - -"I do not know what to think," she replied, and in truth she was half -dazed by his words. She could not understand him. - -"You look incredulous," he said, sadly. "But, Mrs. Leslie, you have -known me for long years. Let your mind go back to the years before I -married Miss Lessington. Did no faint rumor ever reach you of a boyish -entanglement, hushed up by my father for fear it should reach the ears -of the heiress selected for me?" - -"Yes," she answered, with a start, "I recall it now--the merest whisper -of a boyish fancy that your father would not tolerate. It was true, -then?" - -"It was true," he answered, sadly. "Mrs. Leslie, may I tell you my -story? They say that a woman's wit is very keen. Perhaps you can help me -to solve the problem of Irene's identity." - -"You may tell me, and I will gladly help you if I can," she replied, -with gentle, womanly sympathy. - -In her heart she had always been sorry for Clarence Stuart. She believed -him to be one of nature's noblemen, and she knew that he was mated with -a cold, hard, jealous woman who was proud of her wealth, her birth, her -station, and whose hard heart held neither pity nor sympathy for those -whom she proudly held as inferiors. She intuitively felt that he had -never loved the haughty heiress his proud father had selected for him. - -"I must go back more than seventeen years to the romance of my life," he -said. "I was barely twenty-one, then, an eager, impetuous, romantic boy, -chafing at the rein my father tried to hold over me, and disgusted with -the idea of the _mariage de convenance_ he had arranged for me." - -He sighed, and resumed: - -"Nellie Ford, my cousin, who was away at a fashionable boarding-school, -sent me an invitation to a musical _soiree_. I went, carelessly enough, -and at that entertainment I met my fate--a blue-eyed girl looking much -as Irene does now. - -"She was not only beautiful, she was gifted with the sweetest voice I -ever heard," he continued. "She sang, and I was enraptured. I sought and -obtained an introduction to my divinity. Before we parted that evening -my heart was irrevocably lost to sweet Elaine Brooke." - -Heavy sighs rippled over his lips as he paused and seemed to -contemplate in fancy the fair, flower-face, so long ago lost out of his -life. - -"That was not the last time we met," he continued. "Both loved, although -it seemed indeed a mad, hopeless passion. I was destined to Lilia -Lessington, and Elaine's ambitious mother intended to make a pedant of -her daughter. She was destined to several years at Vassar College. Young -blood flows hastily, you know, Mrs. Leslie," with a sad smile. "The -hopelessness of my love maddened me. I persuaded my darling to elope -with me to a distant city, where we were married." - -"All for love, and the world well-lost," Mrs. Leslie quoted. - -"Well-lost, indeed, if only _she_ had been true," Clarence Stuart -answered, with one of those long, labored sighs, that seem to cleave a -strong man's heart in twain. - -He was silent a few moments then, watching with gloomy eyes the softly -lapsing river, on which the haze of twilight began to fall-- - -"So life runs away," he said, sadly. "Wave by wave, in sunshine or -shadow. Ah! my old friend, the stream of my life has flowed for more -than sixteen years in the shadow of a great sorrow. Only a few months of -happiness were granted me with my beautiful bride." - -"She was false, you said?" murmured Mrs. Leslie, sympathetically. - -"False," he echoed. - - "'Falser than all fancy fathoms, - Falser than all songs have sung, - Puppet to a father's threat, - And servile to a shrewish tongue.' - -"I have said that a few months only of happiness were granted me," he -continued, after a moment's pause. "In a distant city, our whereabouts -and our fate a mystery to all our relatives, we spent a few months of -blind, delirious happiness, forgetting all save each other. Never was -bride more wildly worshiped than I worshiped my beautiful Elaine; never -was husband more adored than she seemed to adore me. We lived but for -each other. - -"To this sweet idyl, this beautiful romance, came a most prosaic ending. - -"The considerable sum of money with which I had left home was quite -exhausted by our idle, happy, luxurious life. I was forced to leave my -wife for a short time, and go home, like the prodigal, to my father's -house, confess my marriage, and entreat his forgiveness and assistance. - -"There were hard words and a stormy scene at first. I had expected as -much; for I was well aware of his ambitious plans for me. But at last, -as I was about leaving his roof in anger, he relented. He gave me his -paternal forgiveness, and promised to receive my wife as a daughter. It -was arranged that I should leave early the next morning to bring Elaine -home. Perhaps you can fancy my happiness, Mrs. Leslie." - -"Yes," she replied, sympathetically, her kind blue eyes shining through -a suspicious mist. - -"I sat up quite late that night, talking to my father, expatiating with -boyish enthusiasm on the beauty and sweetness of my young bride. My -father heard me indulgently, and suffered me to run on unchecked. At -length we drank some wine together, and I retired to rest in buoyant -spirits, to dream of my darling, who was so soon to be welcomed as a -beloved daughter to my father's splendid home. - -"Instead of awaking early the next morning to start on my return to -Elaine, as I had proposed doing, I slumbered on deeply and dreamlessly -until noon. I awoke, burning with fever, parched with thirst, and -seriously ill almost to the verge of delirium. Physicians were summoned, -who declared that a severe and probably long attack of illness lay -before me. I entreated my father to write to my wife to come to me, and -was assured that he had already done so. He received no reply. Elaine -neither wrote nor came to my sick bed. At my wild and urgent -solicitations he wrote again and again, receiving not a line in reply. -To allay my terrible anxiety, as soon as my illness took a turn for the -better, my father went himself to bring my wife to me." - -He paused, and fixed his dark, sad eyes on Mrs. Leslie's face. Their -intense, anguished gaze seemed to burn through her. - -After a moment, he said, hollowly: - -"My friend, he returned alone." - -"She was not worthy your love," Mrs. Leslie began, indignantly. - -"Listen, and you shall judge," he replied. "After I left Elaine, her -parents by some means obtained a clew to her whereabouts. They went to -her, and, by dint of threats and persuasions, induced her to renounce me -forever--me, her husband, who lay languishing upon his sick bed, almost -dying for a sight of her worshiped face." - -His voice broke slightly here. After the lapse of sixteen years memory -was still potent to shake the iron self-possession he had tried to build -up against his sorrow. He collected himself with an effort and resumed: - -"Cold, hard man as my father was, the tears of pity for his outraged son -stood thickly in his eyes when he told me this story. Elaine had gone -home with her father and mother, but she sent me a cold, hard letter, -upbraiding me with having beguiled her from her duty to her parents, and -declaring that she would never live with me again, and never even wished -to see again the man who had persuaded her into an entanglement which -now she bitterly regretted and deplored." - -"She was young and her parents unduly influenced her," said Mrs. Leslie, -instinctively excusing the beautiful child-wife. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - -"Do you think so?" asked Mr. Stuart sadly. "Yes, she was very young, but -that was a poor love that could thus lightly be turned away from its -object." - -And again he murmured hollowly from his favorite poet: - - "Well--'tis well that I should bluster! - Hadst thou less unworthy proved: - Would to God--for I had loved thee - More than ever wife was loved. - - "Am I mad that I should cherish - That which bears but bitter fruit? - I will pluck it from my bosom - Though my heart be at the root." - -"You have had a sad experience," the lady said, gently. - -"Have I not?" he said bitterly. "Ah, Mrs. Leslie, I cannot tell you what -I suffered in learning my wife had cast me off. It seemed to me that I -had gone mad in my grief and despair. I had a relapse of my illness and -for long weeks struggled between life and death. I would sooner have -died, but it was fated not to be. Slowly, wearily, I came back to life, -and when I asked my father for tidings of her he told me that her -parents had taken her abroad. Do I weary you, my friend, with the long -recital of my sorrows?" he asked, pausing abruptly and gazing into her -face with his beautiful, sad, black eyes. - -"No, I am deeply interested," she replied. "I wish to hear all that -there is to tell." - -"There is little more to tell," he answered, sadly. "I was very proud, I -loved my wife still, but I had no mind to force her obedience. I did not -follow her to beg for her favor. I lent myself to my father's efforts to -amuse and interest me, and tried to drown my sorrow in the mad whirl of -dissipation and excess. In a few, a very few months, a formal letter -came to my father from the Brookes abroad. Elaine, my willful -child-wife, had died in giving birth to a little daughter. They wrote my -father later on that the babe was dead, too." - -He stifled the hollow groan that rose to his lips, and bowed his face on -his arm. Mrs. Leslie regarded him in silent pity, but she could offer no -acceptable words of sympathy to the sharp pathos of a grief like this. - -"It grows late, I must hasten with my story," he exclaimed, glancing up -at the sky from which all the sunset brightness was fading into -"sober-suited grey." "You understand, Mrs. Leslie, that life was over -and done for me then. I cared little what became of me, and my father -urged me so persistently that a year later I married Lilia Lessington, -the heiress he had chosen for me. I did not pretend to love her. I think -she suspected something of my story, for she has always been bitterly -jealous of me, and we have never been happy together." - -"You should have told her your story. She could not have been jealous of -the dead," Mrs. Leslie said, gently. - -"The dead," he repeated in a strange voice. "Ah, my friend, is she dead? -For sixteen years I never doubted it, but since that morning months ago, -when I saved Irene's life, I have been haunted by terrible doubts and -tears. The girl is the living, breathing image of my lost child-wife. -She looks at me with Elaine's eyes, she speaks to me with Elaine's -voice, she smiles at me with Elaine's face. And the face she wears -around her neck is Elaine's face, only older, graver, sadder, with the -brightness and archness faded from it, and the look of a martyred angel -in its place." - -"What do you suspect?" she asked, in a low and startled tone. - -"I suspect that Elaine lives--that your mysterious _protege_, is her -child and mine--I suspect that I have been deeply, darkly, terribly -wronged--but, oh, my God, by whom?" he added, fiercely, striking his -clenched hand against his high brow all beaded with drops of dew. - -Mrs. Leslie stared, aghast and speechless. Had Clarence Stuart, indeed, -been thus foully wronged? If so, whose soul was black with the stain of -this sin? - -"I have told you my story," he said. "I know you will keep it inviolate, -but, Mrs. Leslie, if there is aught in the boasted keenness and wit of -woman, I pray you find out this girl's secret for me. Let me know if my -heart has spoken truly, when day and night it claims her for its very -own, its first-born child, dearer than aught on earth beside, because -she bears her mother's face." - -"If woman's wit can avail, I will find out the truth for you," Mrs. -Leslie answered, from the depths of her warm, womanly heart. - -Then they rose and walked back to the villa in the hush of the beautiful -twilight, outwardly silent, but with full hearts. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - -As the footsteps of Mr. Stuart and his companion died away, there was a -sudden rustling in the thick shrubbery that shaded the garden-seat. The -branches parted and the face of Mrs. Stuart appeared. It was white with -commingled fear and anger, the eyes flashed luridly, her white, jeweled -hands were tightly clenched, the breath came gaspingly between her -parted lips. - -She sat down on the garden-seat, and gazed gloomily before her into the -deepening dusk. - -"He suspects all," she uttered, huskily. "My God, what if he should -learn the truth? That girl--I have always instinctively hated her. Can -she be his child, indeed? If so, she must be removed as soon as -possible. Does Julius Revington suspect whom she is, and is he laying a -plan for my dethronement? I must see him privately and learn the truth. -I cannot, I will not, be ousted from my place. I have dared and risked -too much to lose all now!" - -She made her way rapidly back to the house by a roundabout path, and -going to her room, arranged her disordered hair and dress. Then she -descended to the drawing-room in search of Mr. Revington. - -The lamps were lighted and most of her guests were in the room amusing -themselves in various fashions. She missed Mr. Revington, but the tinkle -of his inevitable guitar came to her from the balcony. She went out and -found him pouring out a plaintive love-song into the unappreciative ears -of Irene. At the appearance of her hostess the girl effected a -precipitate escape into the house, leaving her lover to finish his -ditty to the desert air. - -Mrs. Stuart went up to his side and laid her hand on his arm. - -"Julius, I wish to speak to you," she said, in a low, strange voice. - -The strings twanged discordantly under his hand. He looked up with -something like a guilty start. - -"Now?" he asked. - -"Of course not," impatiently, "but as soon as possible. Can we manage a -private meeting?" - -"_I_ can, of course," he answered, with an emphasis on the pronoun. "The -risk is yours, not mine. What can you have to say to me?" - -The impatient, almost insolent tone in which he addressed her, sent the -hot blood to her face. - -"You take a high tone," she breathed in suppressed anger. - -"Pardon me," he replied, with a fine latent sarcasm in his tone that -angered her yet more. - -But she kept down her seething resentment with a powerful effort of -will. - -"Can you come out into the grounds to-night? I have something very -important to speak about. I can slip out unnoticed about eleven -o'clock," she whispered. - -"I will come," he replied, laconically. - -She named a place for meeting, then returned to her guests in the -drawing-room. Her glance, full of envenomed hate and deadly malice, fell -on Irene. - -The girl was standing at an open window half-hidden by the falling -drapery of the lace curtains, her beautiful, sad young face turned -toward the sky. She was looking wondrously lovely in her simple, white -mull dress with a great cluster of purple golden-hearted pansies nestled -in the filmy lace at her throat, and the veil of her golden hair half -hiding the slim, graceful form. Mrs. Stuart wondered at the air of deep -sadness that marked the girlish face and caused that pathetic droop of -the rosy lips. - -How little she dreamed that the girl she hated so jealously was thinking -of one dead in the cruel sea as she stood there watching the starry -constellations of Heaven sparkling through the misty veil of night. She -did not dream what mournful thoughts filled the young heart nor how -sadly Irene murmured over to herself some plaintive words that seemed to -fit her melancholy vein: - - "Ships are tossing at sea, - And ships sail in to the windy cliffs of the shore; - But the ship that is dearest to me - Will never come in with the tide-- - Will ripple the bay no more, - Riding in with the tide." - -All unheeded and unnoted by its object, Mrs. Stuart's angry glance dwelt -on Irene. The girl was so absorbed in her own sad thoughts that the -ripple of talk and laughter in the room seemed to flow past her like a -dream so faint and far-away it sounded. A feeling of utter loneliness -and pain, of vague longing and sharp regret possessed her. Only half -conscious of outward things she leaned against the window mournfully -musing. - -Suddenly to her dulled senses penetrated the noise of a somewhat unusual -bustle in the room, the rustle of a silken robe as its wearer hastily -rose, and a sharp cry of wonder and surprise in the voice of Mrs. -Leslie: - -"Mr. ----!" Irene lost the name in her apathy. "_Can_ this be you, or am -I dreaming?" - -"I heard at Florence that you were here, Mrs. Leslie, and I could not -resist the temptation of calling," said a deep, sweet, musical voice. - -That voice! Every drop of blood in Irene's heart seemed to answer it! It -shocked her out of her apathetic sorrow. She would have cried out in the -suddenness of her surprise, but her lips were parched and dry, her -tongue failed her. - -Instinctively she shrank further into the shadow and turned her head -toward the sound. - -Her heart had not deceived her. The world had never held but one voice -that could stir the secret depths of her heart. - -And this was _he_! She had thought him dead-- - - "Down by the reefs and the shells - Far down by the channels that furrow the dolorous deep, - Where the torn sails rise with the swells, - And swing in the pulse of the sea. - Silently sleeping his sleep - Down in the sorrowful sea." - -But there he stood--tall, large, handsome, with that easy, gracious, -indolent air she recalled so well--a smile on his lips as he replied to -Mrs. Leslie's eager questions and exclamations. - -Then Irene, watching with startled eyes, saw and heard the hum of -greetings and introductions. Even Mrs. Stuart unbent from her -supercilious hauteur to do honor to the stranger. She had heard of him, -and knew that he was well-born and wealthy. - -"What shall I do? Will he know me?" Irene asked herself, with a great -suffocating heart-beat. - -She saw Mrs. Leslie coming to the window with her friend, and nerved -herself for the ordeal. Her thoughts flew confusedly back over the past. -How strangely they had parted, how strangely they were meeting. - -Mrs. Leslie pushed back the rich lace curtain with her white, ringed -hand, and showed the beautiful, silent, statue-like girl. - -"Miss Berlin, allow me to present my friend, Mr. Kenmore, the -dead-alive," she said, smilingly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -There was one instant of breathless silence as Mrs. Leslie's kind -introductory words thus fell on the ears of the husband and wife, who -until that moment had believed the other dead. Then, with a great effort -of will Irene raised her pale face and dark blue eyes to meet Guy -Kenmore's gaze. - -He was staring at her with parted lips, with dilated eyes, and a -death-white face as if he had seen a ghost, and suddenly, without words -or bow, or slightest greeting, he turned away and walked to another -window, leaning from it as if stifled for want of air. - -Mrs. Leslie gazed after him, stupefied. She had never beheld such -unparalleled rudeness. - -"Irene might have been a ghost," she said to herself. "What does it -mean?" - -In the next instant Mr. Kenmore walked quickly back to them. He bowed -his head humbly before Irene. - -"Miss Berlin, I crave your pardon," he said. "Pray do not think me rude. -Your face startled me as if I had seen a ghost. You are the image of -one--who is dead." - -He looked at her strangely as if expecting her to refute his words, but -she only bowed her graceful head and drooped her deep blue eyes before -his earnest gaze. Her heart was throbbing wildly with the wonder if he -would claim her before all these curious, gazing eyes. It would not have -surprised her if he had said: - -"You are Irene Brooke, whom I married and whom I thought dead. I know -not how you came back from your watery grave, but I cannot be deceived -in your identity." - -She stood speechless before him, expecting every moment to hear him -utter those words. She wondered what she would say to him in reply. -Should she own the truth--she, who had promised to give herself to -Julius Revington to purchase honor and happiness for her wronged mother? - -She could not answer her own question; a mist swam before her eyes, her -heart beat in her ears, it seemed to her that her strength failed her, -and in another moment she must fall upon the floor at his feet. - -Through it all she heard his voice breaking clearly, musically upon her -tumultuous thoughts. - -"I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Berlin," he said, in -the courteous, kindly voice of a stranger, and extended his hand to her. - -He had been startled out of himself, but only for a moment. Now he was -the cool, polished man of the world again. He spoke to her and looked at -her as a stranger. - -Her heart gave a sudden throb of relief, then sank like ice in her -breast. She gave him her hand, her small head crested with sudden pride, -though a subtle thrill ran through her veins as his warm fingers clasped -hers in a momentary pressure. - -There is a subtle language in a hand-clasp. Guy Kenmore's pressure of -Irene's hand said, as plain as words: - -"I love you!" - -Every drop of blood in Irene's heart acknowledged the confession, but -her colder reason disdainfully rejected it. - -"He will not acknowledge me. He is sorry to find that I am living," she -said to herself, with a sudden, hot thrill of shame and anger. "Well, I -shall not force myself upon him. I can be as cold and indifferent as he -is." - -Her strong will and her latent pride came to her aid. She knew that he -regarded her as a spoiled child. A longing came over her to show him -that she was a woman--a fascinating woman, too. - -When Julius Revington came to her side again he was astonished at the -bright, charming wiles she put forth for his benefit. - -He knew that her moods were changeful as an April day. He had found a -certain charm in the fact, although more clouds than sunshine had been -meted out to him. But suddenly he found everything inexplicably changed. - -From a lovely, willful, capricious child, Irene was transformed into a -beautiful, dignified, brilliant woman. She talked with charming ease and -grace. Her laugh rang out like a chime of silver bells. No one had ever -seen her so gay and sparkling before, nor one-half so beautiful. - -Her eyes sparkled beneath their drooping lashes with interest and -animation. Her cheeks were flushed like the heart of a rose, the -delicious dimples played hide and seek around her lovely lips. Her -words, her looks, her gestures, were all full of grace and beauty. - -Julius Revington was enthralled by the newly developed charms of his -betrothed. He believed that she had softened to him at last, and that -her graciousness indicated a dawning love for himself. - -He was thrilled with joy at the thought, and gave free rein to the -emotions of his heart. His eager adoration showed in his every glance. - -Meanwhile Guy Kenmore, seated across the room by the side of Mrs. -Leslie, could not keep his eyes and his thoughts from the lovely girl -who had so startled him out of his self-possession. Not a movement or -word escaped his notice, although he was outwardly courteous and -attentive to the lady he had called to see. - -But the pretty, graceful widow was gifted with keen perceptions. She did -not fail to note her caller's wandering glance. She was not envious of -her beautiful _protege_, but she could not repress a slight feeling of -pique as she saw with what an effort he maintained his apparent interest -in herself. - -At length she tapped him lightly on his shoulder and brought his -wandering glances back to meet her own. - -"Forewarned is forearmed," she whispered, gaily. "Do not lose your heart -to my beautiful _protege_, Mr. Kenmore. She is already betrothed." - -He started, and a dark-red flush mounted to his temples. - -"Your _protege_!" he exclaimed, catching eagerly at the word. - -"Yes," she replied. "She belongs to me, and her story is a most romantic -one. Some time I will tell it you, and you shall tell me about that dead -friend of yours whom Irene resembles." - -"Is her name Irene?" he inquired, and she did not fail to notice the -uncontrollable start he gave. - -"Yes, it is Irene--Irene Berlin. Do you not think it a pretty name?" she -asked. - -"Yes," he answered, "I like it very much, and it gives me a new interest -in the owner. The name of my lost friend was Irene." - -"And if I am not mistaken my _protege_ is the friend whom you believed -lost. I have stumbled on a romance and a mystery," thought the lady, -shrewdly, to herself; but aloud she only said, with apparent -unsuspiciousness: "That is quite a coincidence." - -Then she said no more, for to her utter surprise she saw Julius -Revington leading Irene to the piano. - -Irene had always declined to play and sing before to-night, so her -friend was quite excusable for the almost open-mouthed surprise with -which she regarded her movements. - -The white figure settled itself on the piano stool, the white hands -fluttered over the keys, a melancholy chord was softly struck, then---- - -Mrs. Leslie held her breath. - -Irene was singing in a voice no one had suspected her of -possessing--pure, clear, rarely tender and sweet--those sad, pathetic -verses, "Remember and Forget." - -A sudden silence fell on every one in the room. No one was less -surprised than Mrs. Leslie. No one had dreamed how obstinately Irene had -concealed her gift of a sweet, bird-like voice until now. As the clear, -well-trained tones rose and fell, every one was dumb with astonishment -and delight. - - "When I am dead, my dearest, - Sing no sad songs for me; - Plant thou no roses at my head, - Nor shady cypress tree. - Be the green grass above me - With flowers and dewdrops wet: - And, if thou wilt, remember, - And, if thou wilt, forget. - - "I shall not see the shadows, - I shall not feel the rain, - I shall not hear the nightingale - Sing on as if in pain. - And, dreaming through the twilight, - That doth not rise and set, - Haply I may remember, - And haply may forget." - -Mrs. Leslie felt a light touch on her shoulder. She looked up into the -pale, agitated face of Mr. Stuart. He bent down and whispered: - -"I can doubt no longer. She is too fatally like Elaine. She is, she must -be, my own child. She has my lost wife's face and voice, and it is the -same song she sang the night when her fatal beauty and sweetness wiled -my heart from me. What must I do?" - -She saw that he was deeply agitated, and fearing some impulsive action, -whispered back, warningly: - -"Do nothing--yet. Stranger coincidences have happened. Wait until you -learn more." - -With a sigh he acquiesced in her advice, and returned to his seat. But -his agitation had not been unobserved by Mrs. Stuart. Her soul was on -fire with anger and hatred toward the beautiful singer. She would have -given anything she possessed to have heard what her husband had confided -to Mrs. Leslie. - -Guy Kenmore sat silent, lost in a maze of troubled thought. He had not -meant to listen to Mr. Stuart's words, but in his proximity to Mrs. -Leslie, the sharp, agonized whisper had penetrated to his hearing. An -uncontrollable eagerness came over him to hear Mrs. Leslie's promised -story of her beautiful _protege_. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - -Irene was playing a waltz now--something as gay and joyous as her song -had been sweet and pensive. Guy Kenmore touched Mrs. Leslie's arm. - -"Let us go on the balcony. The moonlight is so beautiful," he said. - -They went, and though Irene did not turn her head she knew that they had -left the room, and her heart sank unaccountably. But she went on playing -with tireless fingers, and the gay, sweet music floated deliciously out -on the balcony where the young man was saying in a low voice to his -companion: - -"I must confess to an almost feminine curiosity regarding your promised -story of your beautiful _protege_." - -"You wish to hear it now?" said the lady, smilingly. - -"Yes," he admitted, frankly. - -"After all there is little to tell," she replied. "I know actually -nothing of her except that she is a beautiful, fascinating mystery." - -"A mystery--how?" he asked. - -"I will tell you," she said, "for I do not suppose it is any betrayal of -confidence. If I do not tell it you will hear it from others who love -her less than I do." - -"No one could appreciate your confidence more than I will do," he said, -eagerly. - -Mrs. Leslie's heart beat quickly. She believed that Mr. Kenmore held the -key to the mystery she had promised to unravel for Clarence Stuart. She -determined to tell him Irene's story, in the hope of eliciting a like -confidence. - -"It is nearly four months now since we left Richmond for Italy," she -began. "We sailed in Mr. Stuart's own yacht." - -"Yes. I saw that fact duly announced in the Richmond papers," he -observed. - -"But, pardon me for having interrupted your story. Please go on." - -"It was the tenth of June when we left Richmond--I like to be particular -as to dates," said Mrs. Leslie. "Well, it was lovely weather, and we all -planned to get up early the next morning and see the sun rise over the -sea. We did so, and as you may be aware, it was a glorious sight; but we -only got one glimpse of it, for its first beams showed us a more tragic -and interesting sight." - -Mr. Kenmore caught his breath, and gazed eagerly at the speaker. - -"It was a loud scream for help that first attracted our attention," said -Mrs. Leslie. "The sound was not very far away, and we all turned -instinctively toward it. To our horror we saw on the level, sun-lighted -waves a floating plank, with a human figure clinging to its frail -support. Literally, there remained but one plank between her and -eternity." - -"Ah!" exclaimed Guy Kenmore, with a shudder. - -"Mr. Stuart is one of the bravest men in the world, I think. He -immediately sprang over the side of the yacht into the sea, and swam -toward the floating figure. Before he reached her she lost her hold of -the plank, and sank under the water. Mr. Stuart instantly dived, and -brought her up in his arms." - -"_He_ saved her life. How strange," exclaimed Mr. Kenmore, as if -speaking to himself. - -"Do you think so?" she asked, looking at him keenly. "Why strange, Mr. -Kenmore?" - -"I beg your pardon. I did not express myself properly," he said, biting -his lips nervously. "Well, Mrs. Leslie, do you mean to tell me that the -heroine of that romantic episode was the beautiful Miss Berlin?" - -"Yes, it was she," replied Mrs. Leslie. - -There was a minute's dead pause. Irene was singing again. In the -stillness her full, sweet voice floated out to them softly: - - "Go! be sure of my love--by that treason forgiven, - Of my prayers, by the blessings they win thee from Heaven; - Of my griefs (guess the length of the sword by the sheath's) - By the silence of life more pathetic than death's! - Go, be clear of that day!" - -Mrs. Leslie looked at the man's handsome face. It was grave and troubled -in the moonlight. - -"Is it not strange?" she said. "She would never sing for us until -to-night. We did not suspect that she had such a soulful voice. But she -was betrothed to Mr. Revington to-day. Perhaps the happiness of her soul -finds natural vent in song." - -She saw him wince as if she had touched a secret wound. He looked away -from her at the lovely Italian landscape bathed in the pearly radiance -of the moonlight. When he spoke again he did not look at her. - -"Mrs. Leslie. I am curious to hear how your _protege_ came to be in the -water?" - -"She threw herself in, Mr. Kenmore." - -"No," he cried, with a shudder. - -"It is true," she replied. "She says she had lost her only friend and -did not wish to live." - -"Who was that friend?" he asked. - -"She declined to say. She declined to speak of her past. She had broken -loose from all its ties, and never wished to unite them again. She -shrouded herself in mystery, claiming nothing from the life she had left -except the sweet, simple name of Irene." - -"Yet you called her Berlin," he said. - -"Yes, but it was my own maiden name which I gave her because she -declared herself nameless," said Mrs. Leslie. - -"You were very kind." - -"Do you think so? I fell in love with the child, and adopted her as my -_protege_. I am sure she has had a great sorrow in her life, but I am -equally sure that she is pure and innocent as a little child." - -He looked at her, gratefully. - -"And the Stuarts?" he inquired, in a tone of veiled significance. - -"Mr. Stuart was as much fascinated by Irene as I was. He wished to adopt -her as Lilia's sister, but his jealous wife would not permit him to do -so." - -"And Revington is her lover?" - -"Yes, she accepted him to-day." - -"Is it a good match for her?" inquired Mr. Kenmore, dropping into a -light, conventional, society tone. - -"Not in a worldly way," she replied. "Mr. Revington's fortune is very -small, barely sufficient for his own luxurious needs. He is of good -family, however, being cousin to Clarence Stuart. I cannot say I have -any admiration for the man, and I am disappointed at Irene's choice." - -He made no comment on her words, but remained gazing thoughtfully at the -beautiful starry arch of night. Mrs. Leslie thought that it was now her -turn to receive confidence. - -"Now, I have told you all I know of my interesting _protege_, you must -tell me about your friend whom she resembled so much that she frightened -you to-night," she said, blandly. - -He started and looked at her, but before he could speak they were -interrupted. - -Mr. Revington and Irene came out upon the balcony and took seats near -them. The girl looked at Mr. Kenmore with a bright, careless smile. - -"We have been talking about you, Mr. Kenmore," she said. "We are -exceedingly anxious to know how you escaped from the wreck in which you -were reported as lost." - -She spoke and looked as if he were an utter stranger. He answered with -indifference equal to her own: - -"I am gratified by your solicitude, Miss Berlin. I can very easily -gratify your curiosity. I was rescued by one of the small boats that was -lowered from the steamer that sunk us." - -"Thank you for your concise explanation," she replied, gaily. "I see you -are not disposed to weave any romance around it." - -"It was too terribly real to be associated with the thought of romance," -he replied, repressing a slight shudder. - -"And yet our daily life is often more romantic than fiction," observed -Mr. Revington, sentimentally. - -No one dissented from the proposition. Mr. Kenmore rose and prepared to -take leave. - -But when he had bowed formally to Irene and her lover, and returned to -the drawing-room, the hospitable host and hostess quite took him by -storm. - -"Return to Florence that night? They would not hear of such a thing! -They could not think of losing such a pleasant addition to their party. -Mr. Kenmore must promise to be their guest a week at least." The end of -it all was that Mr. Kenmore gracefully accepted their cordial -invitation, and promised to send to Florence for his luggage on the -morrow. - -Very soon afterwards the party separated for the night. Mr. Kenmore went -to his room, but he was in no mood for retiring. He threw himself down -into a chair at the window and lighted a cigar. - -"Decidedly I have made a fine beginning," he said to himself. "I have -found out more than I expected to do when I came to Mr. Stuart's villa. -Perhaps I had been wise to have remained in America. I am come too -late." - -He was restless and ill at ease. The four walls of his room, spacious -and elegant as it was, seemed to confine and stifle him. A fancy seized -him to go out into the night air. It would cool his throbbing brow -perhaps and he could think more clearly. - -A narrow balcony ran across the front of his window, and a flight of -steps led from it to the garden below. He stepped safely through his -open window and went down the stairs just as all the clocks in the house -simultaneously chimed eleven. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - - -"You have kept me waiting, Julius." - -Mrs. Stuart spoke impatiently. She had been waiting some time at the end -of the myrtle avenue among its deepest shadows and her temper was not -sweetened by the delay. - -"I beg your pardon," Mr. Revington replied, "I was smoking a cigar with -your husband and could not come any sooner." - -He paused a moment, and then added in a rather complaining tone: - -"I could not imagine what you wanted of me, anyhow." - -"Could you not?" she inquired, with a smothered sneer. "Well, sit down -here on this quiet seat and I will tell you." - -They seated themselves and began talking softly, unconscious that in the -long grass just beyond the thick belt of shrubbery that inclosed the -myrtle avenue, a man had flung himself down full length, so absorbed in -his own painful thoughts as to be for the moment unaware of their -presence. - -Suddenly he became aware of the murmuring sound of voices. His first -impulse was to rise and leave the spot, but in the next he decided that -it would startle the speakers and draw down their ill-will perhaps upon -himself. - -"Some of the servants out sparking," he laughed to himself. "I will not -disturb them. They will be none the worse for my presence." - -So he laid his head down again upon his arm, and relapsed into his -painful musing. - -"I will tell you what I have to say to you, Julius," repeated Mrs. -Stuart. "I wish to ask you who is this girl, Irene?" - -Julius Revington gave a violent start in the darkness. - -"My dear madame, how should I know?" he exclaimed. - -"She has promised to be your wife, and it is very likely that she has -confided the story of her past to you," replied Mrs. Stuart. - -"You are mistaken in the supposition. She has steadily declined any such -confidence. I have taken her upon her own merits, mystery and all," he -replied. - -There was a moment's pause. Their faces were in shadow, and Mrs. Stuart -devoutly wished that she could pierce the veil of the darkness, and read -upon his weak face whether or not he was deliberately trying to deceive -her. - -"Perhaps you have formed some opinion of your own," she said. - -"I have had no clew upon which to base an opinion," he replied. - -"Have you ever seen the pictures in her locket?" she inquired. - -Taken by surprise, he stammered faintly: "Ye-es, once, by the merest -accident." - -"You recognized them?" she asked, coldly. - -"How should I?" he asked, startled. - -"Why should you not?" she mimicked. "Julius, do not try to beat about -the bush with me. I am in desperate earnest. I will not be put off by -lies and evasions! You have seen Elaine Brooke's portrait; therefore you -must have recognized the face in Irene's locket as hers." - -"And if I did?" he asked, sullenly. - -"You must have guessed at the girl's name. You could not have helped it. -It is written on her face. You know whom she is, but you are trying to -deceive me. You know that you are," she said, passionately. - -He saw that he had to deal with a passionate, jealous woman, and that -his game was all up, so far as concealment of his plans was concerned. - -"I shall be forced to admit what I cannot deny," he told himself, -grimly. - -Aloud, he asked, in a tone of forced suavity: "Whom do you say that the -girl is, Mrs. Stuart?" - -She bent toward him and answered in a hissing whisper of anger and hate: - -"She is the daughter of Clarence Stuart and his first wife, Elaine -Brooke." - -A cry of dismay and surprise came from his lips. - -"You dare not deny it," she hissed. - -"I do not intend to. It is quite true," he replied, doggedly. - -"I knew it! How I hate her!" exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, vindictively. "Would -to God she had perished in the sea that day! From the very first I hated -her even before I dreamed of her identity!" - -And for a few moments the air was filled with the sharp ravings of her -anger and bitter hatred. - -"How have you learned so much?" inquired Julius Revington, curiously, -for he had fancied that the mystery surrounding Irene was impenetrable -to all but himself. - -"No matter. I am not blind to anything around me. I carry too terrible a -secret in my breast to run the risk of its detection. I must guard it at -every point," she replied. "Can you guess what question I am about to -ask you, Julius Revington? You cannot? It is this, then, and mind that -you answer me truly. Do you intend to turn traitor?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - -"Traitor? What do you mean?" stammered Julius Revington. - -"You know well enough what I mean," flashed Mrs. Stuart angrily. "You -are going to marry that girl, and of course her welfare will be yours. -It will be to your interest to betray me. Do you intend to reveal the -secret and drive me and Lilia out into the world nameless and -disgraced---- through no fault of mine, remember, but through the sin of -that old dotard who should have carried his miserable secret to the -grave with him?" - -A pause. It seemed to Guy Kenmore that they must hear his heart beating -so near them in the stillness. He was thoroughly aroused now, but he -could not believe that it was wrong to listen. On the contrary he -blessed the fancy that had led him out into the cool night air. - -Julius Revington made no reply to Mrs. Stuart's half-piteous appeal. - -"Cannot you speak?" she cried out, sharply. "Are you too cowardly to own -your vile intentions?" - -"You use strong terms, Mrs. Stuart," he said, sullenly. "Is it a vile -act to carry out the sacred commands of a dying man? To restore to -Clarence Stuart the last love of his youth? To give honor and happiness -to a wronged woman? To restore her unhappy child to her father's name -and love?" - -"Then you do intend to do so! Wretch!" cried the lady, bitterly; then -she broke down, sobbing in an abandonment of despair: "Oh, Lilia, Lilia, -my poor, fragile darling! This will kill you!" - -Julius Revington sat sullenly silent, ashamed of being found out in his -designs, yet by no means ready to forego them. - -"And you promised to keep the secret for me. You took my bribes, and -swore you would never tell the truth to Clarence! You are a perjured -villain!" upbraided the lady, violently. - -"And you are a----". He bent and whispered the last word in her ear in a -tone of threatening. "Beware how you call names, my lady! I am not to be -abused and bullied, remember that!" - -A wail of pain broke from her lips. - -"It was for Lilia's sake," she moaned. "My proud, beautiful child, how -could she bear shame and disgrace? Oh, Julius Revington, I would go down -on my knees to you, I would bless you forever, I would deem you the -noblest man on earth, if you would spare me and my Lilia this shame and -ignominy!" - -"Irene has lived under the shadow of shame and ignominy all her life. It -is her turn now," he retorted, sullenly. - -"Does she suspect the truth?" she asked, anxiously. - -"No," he replied, ashamed of the bribe he had held out as the means of -winning his lovely betrothed. - -"She need not ever know. Oh, Julius, why cannot you marry her, and take -her away, far away, and leave us in peace?" she cried, miserably. - -"You forget that she is the legal heir to her father's fortune," he -retorted, with coarse significance. - -"Ah! that is the object," she cried. "You are poor, and you cannot -forego your grip on the Stuart fortune. Oh, Julius, I bought your -silence once; let me do so again." - -"It would be at a costly price," he said, in a hard, snappish voice. - -"At any price!" she cried, desperately. "Listen, Julius. My own private -fortune is as large as Mr. Stuart's. I have complete control of it. I -will portion you off handsomely, if you will keep the secret and take -Irene away from here--far away--where she can never trouble my peace -again. Oh, for pity's sake, Julius, grant my prayer!" She threw herself -desperately on the ground and clasped his knees despairingly. "It can -matter little to you. You will have the woman you love; and I swear that -you shall receive from me as much money as Mr. Stuart would leave her. -Will you do this, Julius, for Lilia's sake? If you refuse, it will be -the death-warrant of my child!" - -"Since you put it like that, I suppose I must yield the point. I do not -want to kill the child," he muttered. "But it is hard on Irene, and if a -large slice of your fortune isn't handed out, you needn't count on my -silence!" - -"As much as you wish," she cried, eagerly; "and, oh, Julius, you will -marry her as quick as possible--to-morrow--next week--the earliest -moment she will consent! And let your wedding tour be to the other end -of the world!" she added, feverishly. - -"I do not care how far it be so that I have beautiful Irene for my -companion, and a large bank account to draw on," Julius Revington -answered, with a coarse laugh. - -"And this contemptible creature is the man Irene loves, the man she -would wed," Guy Kenmore said to himself in bitter disgust. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - - -"What am I to do?" Irene asked herself that night when she was alone in -the quiet and seclusion of her chamber. - -She had laughed and sung and jested while Guy Kenmore's eyes were upon -her, and feigned an indifference she was very far from feeling. But now -she had to tear off the mask so proudly worn, and face her fate. - -"What am I to do?" she asked herself, miserably, as she walked up and -down the floor in her pretty blue dressing-gown, with her white hands -twisted together in a childish fashion she had. "I do not believe the -heroine of the most impossible novel was ever placed in a more harrowing -situation. Here am I betrothed to the villain of the story, when my -husband, whom I believed to be dead, unexpectedly pops upon the scene. -And instead of his appearance simplifying matters, it tangles them into -a Gordian knot, and I can only ask myself what I shall do!" - -She laughed--a mocking, mirthless little laugh that startled a dozen -eerie little echoes in the corners of the room. - -"Heigh-ho! I know what I would do if _he_ loved me," she said to -herself, wistfully, "I would fly to my husband's arms, and defy Julius -Revington to do his worst. I would say to him proudly, I have here an -honest name, and a true love of which your machinations cannot deprive -me!" - -The quick tears started out beneath her golden-brown lashes. - -"Alas, alas! he does not love me," she sighed. "Why should he do so? He -never saw me but once before last night. It was my own willful folly -that led him into that dreadful marriage. I doubt not he was glad when -he thought that my reckless suicide had broken the fetters that had -bound him. Last night he pretended not to know me, yet he could hardly -have been ignorant of my identity. He could not have forgotten my face -so soon. It is a fair one, they say--yet not fair enough to have won his -heart." - -That momentous question, "What am I to do?" echoed drearily in her -heart. She could find no answer to it; she could think of no refuge from -her sorrow. For the first time since that awful night in the cold, dark -waves, she wished that the friendly plank had not drifted to her -reach--that she had perished miserably then rather than have lived to -find herself in this terrible strait. - -"I cannot marry Mr. Revington now," she thought. "I must take back my -promise of yesterday, with no reason save that of a woman's fickleness. -He will be very angry; he will tell my miserable story to Mr. Stuart and -Mrs. Leslie, to all of these people that sneer at the mystery that -enshrouds my past. What shall I do?" - -A passionate shame surged over her at the thought of the cold looks and -sneering words that would be thrown at her when her discarded suitor -should tell these strangers that her mother was a dishonored woman, and -that she, her child, had no right to her father's name. She fancied that -Mrs. Leslie and Mr. Stuart, the only two friends she had, would be -turned against her, too. She would be utterly alone and -wretched--friendless and forsaken. - -"And yet I cannot be sorry that Guy Kenmore lives," she murmured. -"Though he hate me and deny me; though he bring down shame and sorrow on -my head, I must still be glad that he did not perish in the cold and -dark waves. How strange it seems that only twenty-four hours ago I wept -him dead, and now I weep him living. Alas! living or dead, he is lost to -me the same. I must ever remain an unloved, unacknowledged bride." - -Worn out by the weary vigils of the past two nights she threw herself -down on the bed, dressed as she was, and fell into an exhausted slumber. -She slept late and dreamlessly, and when she opened her bewildered blue -eyes the next morning upon the beautiful sunny day no answer had come to -the question that vexed her brain last night. - -But in the golden light of the new day her woful strait did not look so -grievous as it did last night. A feverish hope sprang up in her heart -that God would befriend her in her sorrow and helplessness and show her -some way out of her trouble. - -When she had made her simple, pretty toilet, and gone down-stairs, she -found that everyone had breakfasted except Mr. Revington, who had -sentimentally waited for her. She swallowed her breakfast with what -appetite she could, and then he asked her to take a walk with him. - -"All the ladies of the family are out in the garden," he said. "Mrs. -Leslie and her admirer, Mr. Kenmore, have been out almost an hour. That -will be a match, I think." - -"I think you are mistaken," Irene answered, almost angrily. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - -Irene brought her shady sun-hat and went out into the beautiful garden -with her lover. Mr. Revington carried his guitar, thinking that he would -beguile the hours with music. - -They went to Irene's favorite seat under the orange trees, where she -could watch the river gliding past. She was very languid and quiescent -this morning, the natural result of last night's emotion. She said to -herself that she would make no struggle against her fate to-day; she -would just drift quietly with the tide and see where it would bear her. - -She little dreamed what subject was agitating Mr. Revington's mind. - -He was full of the new idea Mrs. Stuart had suggested, and had brought -his betrothed out expressly to ask her to name an early day for their -marriage. - -Some little remorse for the treachery he meditated toward her disturbed -his mind, but it was not deep enough to cause him to repent of the -promise Mrs. Stuart had exacted from him. Once he was safely married to -beautiful Irene he intended to invent some plausible story of losing the -documents he had promised her as proving her mother's honorable -marriage. Oh, he would manage cleverly enough. Once bound to him Irene -could not help herself, doggedly reasoned the dastard. - -But somehow he did not find it easy to broach the subject uppermost in -his thoughts. Irene was grave and _distrait_ this morning, with a chilly -reserve about her that did not court lover-like advances. All her bright -spirits and coquettish wiles of last night had vanished. He was dismayed -at her relapse into her old, _ennuyed_ self. She would not encourage his -advances. She was absolutely frigid. - -So he was obliged to plunge into the subject with an inward shiver like -one about taking a bath in ice-cold water. - -"My darling, can you guess what I am going to ask you this morning?" he -ventured. - -She looked at him with a crimsoning face and flashing eyes. - -"I wish you would not call me names, Mr. Revington," she said, with -petulant dignity. - -"Names!" he echoed, blankly. - -"Yes," she replied, loftily. "Darling, and all such names as belong to -the jargon of love, I heartily despise, and I must beg you to spare me -their infliction." - -"But you have promised to marry me, Irene," he expostulated. - -"I have not promised to love you, though," she retorted with spirit. -"Please remember that, Mr. Revington, and spare me your love-sick -phrases!" - -He stared at her, angered and abashed. Her purple-blue eyes sparkled -with scorn, her sweet, red lips were curled disdainfully. He kept down -his bitter anger with an effort, remembering the boon he wished to -crave. - -"Do not forget that our compact was a mere matter of the bargain and -sale of the secret you held," Irene continued, bitterly. "You drove me -into it by your threats of disgracing me in the eyes of the world. Let -us keep to the letter of our bargain. You will never have any terms of -endearment from me, and I expect and desire none from you. On such terms -they are simply revolting." - -"As you will," he retorted, in sullen wrath. "But I cannot see what you -expect to gain by your stand-off and let-alone policy. I shall be your -husband all the same, and instead of having me for your devoted slave, -you will make me a tyrannical master." - -A queer little smile curled her lips. Her heart beat with a sudden -exultant thought. - -Fate had placed it out of her power to sacrifice herself for her -mother's sake. She could not but be glad, although her heart bled for -that mother's griefs and wrongs. - -"Shall I tell him?" she asked herself, almost tempted to defy him then -and there. - -Her weak heart failed her at the thought of the story the wretch would -pour into Mrs. Leslie's ears. How would she meet pity and contempt in -those dear eyes that had looked at her so kindly. - -"I will wait. I cannot tell him yet," she concluded, weakly. - -But his next words fell like a thunder-clap on her startled hearing. -"Irene, I wish you would name an early day for our marriage," he said. - -"Early," she stammered, taken aback. - -He smiled grimly. - -"Yes, it's a mere bargain, you know, and, like all business compacts, -should be ratified early." - -She quivered all over with resentment at his tone, but she held her -peace. - -"Not yet," she answered to her beating heart that longed to defy him. - -"It seems to me that in your peculiar situation, being a mere dependent -on Mrs. Leslie's charity, that the sooner you have a home and a husband -the better for you," he continued, coarsely. "I am most anxious to take -you back to your mother with the good tidings we have to carry her. Do -you remember, Irene, that the longer you delay our marriage the more you -prolong your mother's pain?" - -"I remember," she said, in a stifled voice. - -"Then will you not consent to name this day week for our wedding-day? - -"So soon? No, I will not," she flashed back, in indignant surprise. - -"For your mother's sake," he pleaded artfully. - -"Not for an angel's sake!" declared Irene angrily. - -Her lover was dumfounded at this indignant denial. - -"How soon, then, can I count upon your fulfilment of your promise?" he -demanded, in a crestfallen tone. - -The girl's red lips trembled with the defiant answer, "Never," but she -bit them hard to keep back the passionate word. She knew his power, and -though she felt that the threatening sword that hung over her head must -fall at last, she dreaded to utter the word that must precipitate its -downfall. - -"I have not thought about that matter yet," she said, determined to -temporize with the wretch, and gain a few days' respite. "I supposed it -lay far away in the future. I hoped so at least." - -"I hope you will give it your earliest attention, then," he replied, -sullenly. "I have no mind to wait long, I can assure you." - -"How long will be the limit of your patience?" she inquired -sarcastically. - -"I shall wait two weeks on your pleasure. If you are not ready then to -keep your promise I shall throw prudence to the winds and reveal all," -he answered, stung by her scorn and goaded to retaliation. - -Her beautiful blue eyes flashed scorn and contempt upon him. - -"Wretch," she cried, "how I hate you! Leave my presence instantly, and -do not intrude upon me again to-day. I am free yet, and I will not -tolerate you until I am compelled to do so. Go this instant!" - -The flash of her eye assured him that prudence was the better part of -valor. He rose angrily. - -"Very well, since you choose to play the shrew!" he said, "enjoy your -liberty while you may! I assure you it will not last long once you are -legally mine!" - -And with a muttered curse on his lips he stalked angrily away, his heart -full of blended love and hate for his beautiful, disdainful betrothed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - - -"Mrs. Leslie, I want to ask you one question," said Guy Kenmore. - -They two were walking in the wide, beautiful villa-garden among the -roses and lilies and beautiful crimson flowers drooping from grand white -marble vases. The sun shone on the beautiful terraced walks, on the -sparkling fountains, and the glistening green leaves and golden fruit of -the orange and lemon trees, the air perfumed with the fragrance of -countless flowers. - -Mrs. Leslie was walking by her friend's side looking thoughtfully down -at the drifts of pink myrtle blossoms that blew across the path beneath -her dainty feet. She looked up with a smile, and answered: - -"As many as you please, Mr. Kenmore." - -"Thank you," he replied, but for a moment he was silent over the -momentous question that hovered on his lips. Looking at him curiously -she saw that he was very pale and grave, with a fathomless sadness in -the dark brown eyes usually so bright and laughing. - -"It must be a very important question, you look so grave over it," she -said. - -"It _is_ important," he replied, and then he went on, meditatively. "You -told me, I believe, Mrs. Leslie, that Mr. Stuart's yacht left Richmond -on the tenth of June?" - -"Yes," she replied. - -"The question I have to ask you is this: Did the yacht go steadily on -that day and night, or did she stop at any landing on the Bay?" - -Mrs. Leslie pursed up her pretty lips, and reflected. - -"Let me see," she said. "Ah, yes, I remember. We _did_ stop that night, -about nine o'clock, at a landing in the Bay. It was at a place called -Brooke's Wharf, and was noted for the fine fruit to be obtained there. I -think it was at Mr. Revington's instance we stopped, and Mr. Stuart -obtained a supply of the most luscious fruit." - -Outwardly calm and composed, Guy Kenmore inwardly trembled with -excitement. Was he about to find a clew to Ronald Brooke's slayer? - -"Did anyone leave the yacht and go on shore?" he inquired. - -"Oh, yes, we all did," said Mrs. Leslie, readily enough. "I mean all -except the captain and crew. It was the most beautiful night I ever saw, -I think. These Italian nights are not lovelier. We went on shore, and -rambled about in the moonlight. I remember the night perfectly." - -Ah! did he not, too, he groaned, silently, to himself. How vividly it -all rushed over him. His careless visit to Bertha Brooke, from which so -much had arisen. Memory recalled the lovely, willful girl, who had -carried him off to the hall perforce that night, and he thought, with a -softened tenderness, of the childish spite and self-will that had so -vexed him then. Poor little Irene! she had suffered enough from Bertha's -rage to atone for her willfulness. A feeling of pity and remorse mingled -with the love he bore his hapless child-wife. - -"Poor child! I was vexed and annoyed when I first found out the truth -that we were legally married that night. It came upon me so suddenly, -and I showed my feelings too plainly, and she--she was equally averse to -having me for a husband. But, better, far better for her, if she had -taken me at my word when I offered to make the best of my sad mistake -than to have given her heart to that dandy jackanapes," he concluded, -bitterly, for he had gauged the depth of Julius Revington at first -sight, and the conspiracy he had overheard last night had filled him -with horror and contempt for the traitor. - -"To think that, she--my own beautiful and beloved wife--should turn -coldly from me to lavish her precious love on a thing like that," he -thought, jealously. - -Mr. Kenmore, in his indolent way, though unconsciously to himself, had -possessed some little complacent conceit of himself. His mirror had told -him he was noble-looking and handsome, and women's eyes had repeated it. -His progress through society had been a complete ovation to his pride -and his vanity. Men had honored him for his manliness as much as for his -great wealth, and women had angled for him as a most unexceptionable -_parti_. But the complacent conceit that the world had fostered in him -for years, had received a terrible blow from Irene's indifference and -her palpable preference for the weakly-handsome, guitar-playing and -tenor-singing Julius Revington. - -"A compound of the dandy and the villain--a man who can plan behind her -back to rob her of the knowledge of her honorable name, who cares -nothing for the grief and shame of her wronged mother! To think that she -should love _him_! And most probably she hates me for having re-appeared -when she believed me dead. I have a most disagreeable task before me, -for I must prove to her the unworthiness of the villain on whom she has -set her heart," he mused, gravely. - -"Are you through with your questioning?" inquired Mrs. Leslie, noting -his pre-occupied silence. - -"Yes," he replied, adding, with a slight smile: "Perhaps you would like -to ask me some questions now." - -"Yes, I would," she smiled, with engaging frankness. - -"I am ready to reply to you," he answered, cordially. - -"Perhaps I shall startle you," she said; "I am going to ask you a -leading question, as a lawyer would say. You must remember that I give -you _carte blanche_ not to answer it unless you wish." - -"Thank you for the permission," he said. "Let me hear it." - -She looked at him with an odd gleam in her bright, kindly eyes. - -"It is this," she said. "I believe that you and Irene Berlin, my -_protege_, have met before last night. Am I right?" - -He looked at her with a curious, intent gaze. - -"Mrs. Leslie," he said, "I can better answer that question if you will -tell me whether I may count on your silence and friendship in the -strange dilemma in which I find myself placed." - -She put out her hand to him impulsively. - -"No one can say that Laura Leslie ever failed them in the hour of -trouble," she said, gravely. "You may count on my silence and my truest -friendship if it can avail you." - -He pressed her hand, gratefully. "It will be an incalculable benefit to -me," he said. "Perhaps you can help me and advise me." - -"I will do both if I can," replied the charming widow. - -"Then I shall tell you my secret," he replied. "Mrs. Leslie, it was not -mere chance as I pretended that brought me here last night. I have -followed Clarence Stuart across the ocean on a self-appointed mission to -right the wrongs of the innocent and bring the guilty to justice." - -Looking at his grave, agitated face, she started and uttered a cry of -comprehension. - -"You come from Elaine Brooke---- she lives!" she cried. - -He started in his turn. - -"What do you know?" he cried. - -"No matter---- I must hear your story first," she said. "And you have -not answered my leading question yet." - -"I will tell you my story, and then you may be able to answer it for -yourself," he said. - -They sought a beautiful, secluded spot where they were not likely to be -interrupted or overheard, and Guy Kenmore confided to her sympathizing -ears the story of that fatal tenth of June, when old Ronald Brooke had -met his death and Irene Brooke had become his wife. - -The lady listened with eager, breathless interest, with parted lips and -shining eyes, and color that varied from white to red and red to white. - -When he had finished he looked at her with something like a smile in his -dark-brown eyes. - -"Mrs. Leslie, I have given you my confidence now. Perhaps you can answer -your own question." - -She laughed, merrily. - -"I can put two and two together as cleverly as any woman, I think," she -replied. "And you have made this case quite clear. My pretty Irene is -your wife." - -"Yes," he replied. "And she is the daughter of Clarence Stuart." - -"That is quite true," she answered. "I have suspected it before, now I -am assured of the fact. No one will rejoice more over it than will -Clarence Stuart, himself." - -"I do not understand you," he replied, in a puzzled tone. - -Mrs. Leslie found that she had a confidence to make too. She told him -Mr. Stuart's sorrowful story, and he in turn related the conversation he -had heard the night before. Many things were made clear to both by the -confidence thus reposed in each other. - -"It is as I supposed," Guy Kenmore said. "Clarence Stuart and his wife -were foully deceived and separated by the machinations of old Mr. -Stuart." - -"And the whole secret of it lies in the possession of Julius Revington, -and the proud usurper of Elaine Brooke's name and rights," added Mrs. -Leslie. - -"More than that," said he, with a shudder, "the death of old Ronald -Brooke lies between those two." - -She was silent a few moments, gravely reviewing the case. It was a -baffling one, she confessed to herself, with a sigh. - -"What shall we do?" she asked him, at last. "Shall we take Mr. Stuart -and Irene into our confidence?" - -"Not yet," he replied, thoughtfully. "Let us deal with Julius Revington -first. We must study out a plan to bring that villain to confession." - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - - -Irene sat still where her angry lover had left her, lost in a -trance-like maze of troubled thought. With her small, white hands folded -in her lap, and her dreamy blue eyes fixed on vacancy, she remained -there, statue-like and unheeding, and time, albeit its wings were -clogged with sorrow, flew past unnoted, until the noon-day sun rode high -in the heavens. - -A step, a voice, startled her from her dreamy revery. - -"Ah, Miss Berlin, you see I have discovered your charming retreat," said -Guy Kenmore. "Will you permit me to share it?" - -The swift color flew to her brow, as she looked up into the handsome -face, with the slightly wistful smile about the firm lips. - -"This spot is free to all Mr. Stuart's guests," she replied, coldly. "I -have no right to forbid you to come here." - -"Would you, if you had?" he asked, throwing himself down in the grass at -her feet, and lifting to her face his slightly quizzical brown eyes. - -"Why should I?" she retorted, gazing down into his face with an air of -the most serene indifference. - -"Why, indeed?" he asked himself, with sudden bitterness. "Serene, in her -fancied incognito, she cares not whether I go or stay. I am no more to -her than the earth beneath her feet," and aloud, he answered calmly as -he could speak, and in a slight tone of banter: - -"I fancied you might prefer to share this lovely solitude with some more -favored friend--for instance, Mr. Revington." - -The hot flush deepened on the beautiful face, and she answered with an -impulse of passionate willfulness: - -"That would be natural, would it not? I suppose you have heard that I am -to marry, Mr. Kenmore?" - -His brown eyes flashed beneath their shady lashes. - -"She dares to twit me with her preference for that puppy," he said, -angrily to himself. "Does she indeed believe that I am blinded by her -borrowed name, and that I am unaware of her real identity? Will she -attempt to carry the farce through to the end?" - -An impulse came over him to claim her then and there as his own; to take -the slight young figure in his arms and press it to his beating heart; -to kiss the beautiful, proud face and the defiant eyes, and to say, -jealously: "You are my own wife, Irene, and whether you love me or not, -no one shall take you from me." - -Ah, if only he had obeyed the prompting of his heart, how much sooner -happiness would have come home to them to crown their lives with bliss; -but their mutual pride stood like a wall between. He shook off the -tempting impulse to claim his own, and believed that he was but obeying -the command of chivalry and honor in keeping stern silence. - -"What, claim an unwilling, reluctant bride?" he thought to himself, -sadly. "No, no! never! I must wait until of her own free will she owns -her fealty to me. I must woo and win her before I claim her." - -Perhaps the struggle in his heart betrayed itself on his face, for the -resentment died out of her blue eyes and they were filled with a mute, -pathetic longing. - -"Ah, if he would only love me, if he would only claim me," she thought. -"I would tell him how I hate and despise Julius Revington! He might help -me to right my mother's wrongs!" - -At that moment his downcast gaze fell on Julius Revington's guitar which -that worthy had forgotten in his hurried and angry exit from Irene's -presence. A jealous gleam lightened in his brown eyes. - -"Ah, I see that Mr. Revington has already been with you this morning," -he said frigidly. - -"Yes," she replied, with coldness equal to his own. - -"Are you fond of music?" he inquired, taking up the instrument, and -striking a few chords, softly. - -"Passionately," she replied. - -Obeying a sudden impulse he played a soft, sweet symphony and began to -sing in a mellow baritone. He had chosen the beautiful song, "My Queen," -and the girl's heart vibrated painfully to the sweetness of the strain. - -"Who will be his queen?" she asked herself, with a jealous pang at her -heart. "He is so grand and handsome, he will only love some one gifted -beyond her sex with beauty and genius. Ah, why did I come between him -and his future?" - -She looked at him wistfully when he had finished. - -"I did not know you could sing like that," she said. - -"Is it equal to Revington's performances?" he inquired, smiling at her -implied compliment. - -To his dismay she sprang up crimson with anger and resentment. - -"Revington, Revington! It is always Revington with you," she cried, and -flung away disdainfully from him. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - - -Irene preserved a dignified reserve toward Mr. Kenmore after that day -when he had so angered her by his allusions to Julius Revington. She -never spoke to him when she could avoid it, she never looked at him, she -never seemed to know that he was in the room. She froze him by her -coldness and indifference. He did not even dare speak to her unless -courtesy strictly required it. Yet all the while her heart was aching -with its doubt and pain, while as for him, his love for his beautiful, -willful girl-bride grew stronger every hour, though in his pride and -resentment at her coldness and scorn he would have died rather than avow -it. - -A few days after his arrival at the villa some of the gentlemen rode -into Florence, and when they returned they brought tickets for a grand -concert to be given that night. They reported that the music-loving -Italians were in ecstasies over it. - -It appeared that one of their countrymen, a musician, had gone to -America twenty years before, where he had remained until two months ago, -when he had returned to Florence, bringing with him a beautiful young -lady whose voice he designed to cultivate for the operatic stage. The -curiosity of the volatile Italians had run high over this pupil of the -great musician, and unable to resist the importunities of his -countrymen, Professor Bozzaotra had promised a public concert in which -the American singer would make her _debut_. Her name was down on the -programme as Miss Brooke. Strange to say, not one of the villa -inhabitants to whom that name was so sadly familiar, were struck by its -similarity to Clarence Stuart's first wife's. It failed to suggest any -probabilities to their minds. One and all were eager to attend the -promised feast of music. - -But at the very last moment Irene declined to accompany the merry, -expectant party to the concert. - -A headache was the alleged feminine excuse for her refusal. - -In vain Mr. Revington pleaded and Mrs. Leslie added her protests. They -could not persuade Irene that the ride in the fresh air would benefit -her head, or that the music would cause her to forget indisposition. - -"I do not wish to go," she reiterated, firmly, and Mrs. Leslie wondered -a little at the tears in the girl's blue eyes, as she kissed her -good-night, and the more than usual fervency of her embrace. - -When they were all gone, and the villa was left to the occupancy of -herself and the servants, Irene retired to her room. She sat down and -wrote a hasty letter to Mrs. Leslie, which, after sealing and -addressing, she placed in a conspicuous place on the toilet table. - -"She will think me unkind and ungrateful," she sighed to herself; "but -what can I do?" - -She removed her pretty blue dinner dress, and substituted a plain, black -cashmere. Then, with trembling fingers and nervous haste, she packed a -change of clothing into a small hand-bag. Lastly she took out her little -shell purse, and counted its contents. There was something more than a -hundred dollars, the gift of her munificent friend, Mrs. Leslie. - -"She little thought for what purpose I would use it," sighed poor Irene. -"But I have no other refuge left me!" - -She put the purse into her pocket, drew on a dark gray travelling -ulster, and a little cap with a thick veil. Then taking the hand-bag in -her little trembling hands, she stole silently as a ghost from the great -house, and did not draw a free breath until she stood alone in the -moonlighted garden. - -Then she paused and lifted her white face and tear-wet eyes to the -starry sky. - -"If only _he_ had loved me I need not have gone," she sighed. "Ah, my -husband, my darling, farewell!" - -Without another word she was gone, flitting away, a small, dark shadow, -to mingle with the shadows of the night. - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile the party from the villa were seated in the great concert -hall awaiting the appearance of the lovely American _debutante_. - -They occupied two boxes, and conspicuous in the foremost one was Mrs. -Stuart, with her daughter and her husband. - -Mrs. Stuart was elegantly dressed in rose-colored satin and point lace, -with magnificent diamonds. With the aid of pearl powder and rouge she -had been made up by her maid into quite a beauty for this occasion. - -Lilia wore soft white mull and pearls. As she sat by the side of her -handsome, dark-eyed father her likeness to him was marked and -conspicuous. No one could have failed to see that they were father and -child. - -Impatience was at its hight. The orchestra had rendered its overture, -and been vociferously applauded by the enthusiastic Italians. Professor -Bozzaotra himself had executed a magnificent violin solo, and responded -twice to encores that could not be suppressed. The curtain had fallen, -to rise the next time on the lovely _debutante_ whom Rumor credited with -the beauty of an angel and the voice of a siren. - -It rose at last, and the hundreds of curious eyes fell on her, standing -there with modestly drooping head, yet quiet, calm, and self-possessed, -and so lovely, withal, that before she opened her lips for a single note -a thunder of applause shook the building. Silently and by the mere force -of her peerless beauty she had carried all their hearts by storm. - -For Clarence Stuart, sitting pale and silent by the side of his dying -daughter and his faded wife, it seemed as if a ghost had sprung up -before his eyes. - -He knew her instantly--that fair, false wife who had forsworn him so -long ago, and whom all these long, long years he had believed to be -lying dead under foreign skies, with her baby on her breast. It was -Elaine, the woman, lovelier in her splendid prime than she had been in -her spring. As she stood there, "gowned in pure white that fitted to the -shape," her only ornaments the clusters of pure white roses on her -breast and in her golden hair, she looked queen-like, bride-like, and -the man's heart swelled with a great despair as he gazed upon her, -remembering how he had lost her forever. But he spoke not, he scarcely -breathed, only sat and gazed with an eternity of despair shining out of -his wide dark eyes. - -There was one other, too, who gazed as if petrified upon that beautiful -vision. - -It was Guy Kenmore, who instantly recognized Elaine Brooke, but whose -great wonder and surprise held him still and speechless, while her rich, -clear voice rose and fell in waves of mellow sweetness on the tranced -air. She sang a difficult, classic song, which the professor had chosen -to display the great beauty and volume of her voice, and every note rung -clear and true as liquid gold. When the first verse was ended, and she -stood waiting for the tumultuous applause to die away, she suddenly -lifted her eyes to the box above, as if drawn by some strange, magnetic -power, and her glance met full those dark, burning, anguished eyes with -which her husband gazed upon her. - -A start, a shiver! Those who gazed closely at the beautiful singer saw -her reel slightly; saw her white-gloved hand pressed convulsively upon -her heart as if in pain. She stood thus, statue-like and immovable, for -an instant, her eye held as if fascinated by that conspicuous group in -the box; then suddenly, as the professor struck the opening notes of the -next verse, she seemed to recall her wandering senses by a supreme -effort of will. For weary years she had nerved herself for this chance -meeting, which had come about so strangely at last. She would not let -herself be conquered by it. - -The beautiful voice rose clear, strong, delicious. There was just one -falter in the first notes, just one tremor like a sob of agony. Then the -woman's will conquered the woman's heart. She sang on to the end -sweetly, bravely gathered up one or two of the fragrant floral tributes -that rained at her feet, and with just the proper bow and smile retired. - -Tumultuous applause, passionate encores followed her retreating -footsteps. She did not respond to them. They thought her chary of her -exquisite voice; they did not know that she had fallen down like one -dead on the floor of the little dressing room, and that the lips that -had sang to them so sweetly were now flecked with drops of blood forced -out by the heart's great emotion. The flowers had fallen from her hands, -and they were clenched so tightly that the white gloves were torn and -spoiled. - -"Oh, Clarence, Clarence, my traitor-love, we have met at last," she -moaned. "Oh, God, how hard it is that I love him still! That perjured -wretch who blighted my life and that of our innocent child! He has not -forgotten me! It was remorse that looked out from his eyes at me -to-night. Yet that was his wife and child who sat beside him! Oh, -heavens, what humiliation for me who stood there beneath their cold, -critic eyes to remember that I was once his wife, that I rested in his -bosom, that my arms cradled his child! Oh, Irene, my lost one, my -darling, I must crush down this weak love that blazed afresh in my heart -when I met the eyes of the man I once held as the truest and noblest of -men! I must remember that the knowledge of his sin drove you to death, -my darling, and I must hate him for your wrongs and mine!" - -So she raved on in her impotent despair, while the thunders of the -orchestra filled the house, and people chanted her praises, prophesying -for her a career equal to Patti or Nilsson. She, whose voice was sweeter -than nightingale's notes or the sound of falling waters, lay there like -a broken flower, crushed by her terrible despair. - -When she had retreated from the stage, Mrs. Leslie touched Guy Kenmore's -arm. Turning to look at her face, he saw that her eyes were wide and -startled. - -"Well!" he said. - -She answered in a voice that was hoarse with emotion: - -"It was the face that Irene wears in her locket. What does it mean?" - -He whispered back softly, "It was Irene's mother! It was Elaine -Brooke." - -"Merciful heavens," exclaimed the lady, and turned to look at Mr. -Stuart. - -Then she saw Mrs. Stuart and Lilia hanging over him in an agony of -despair, and gentlemen crowding into their box. Mr. Stuart was a brave -and a strong man, but when that ghost from the past had risen to -confront him, then faded quietly again, heart and strength had failed -him, and sitting in his chair, he had silently swooned away. - -They said that the heat had overcome him, and bore him out into the -fresh air, where he revived a little. Some advised him not to return to -the concert hall, but he waved them quietly aside, ashamed of his -womanly weakness, and returned to Lilia, who was sobbing with grief and -fear. - -"It is nothing, my dear. I am quite well again," he said, gravely. "But -shall I take you home now?" - -"No, no, papa, I wish to hear the beautiful lady sing again," she -replied, turning eagerly back to the stage. - -Mrs. Stuart said nothing to her husband. She was whispering with Julius -Revington, who had come into her box a little while before. The gleam of -hate in the lady's eyes flashed almost brighter than her diamonds, her -cheek glowed through its rouge with a deep natural red, and her jeweled -hands clenched each other nervously in her lap. - -Miss Brooke came again after a little interval, which was filled up by -other performers. She had fought down her terrible emotion, but her -lovely face was very pale and sad, and she never lifted her dark blue -eyes while she sang. This time it was an Italian _chanson_, and the -words flowed easily from her lips in that liquid southern tongue that is -so sweet and soft. The Florentines were charmed, as the professor had -intended they should be, at hearing one of their native songs warbled by -the sweet lips of the stranger. She retired again under a storm of -bouquets and applause, but, as before, she did not respond to their -encores. It was too keen an agony to go back and sing to them again -before those burning dark eyes, whose gaze she intuitively felt upon -her, though she would not lift her own to meet their flashing light. It -was all that she could bear to go on when her turn came. - -But when she had sung her last song and the liquid Italian recall -followed her again, Professor Bozzaotra went to her. He was radiant with -joy. - -"Let me beg you to humor them, my child," he said, radiantly. "You have -carried their warm hearts by storm. Be kind to them. Sing them -something, anything to satisfy their craving." - -She went back and stood before them, with bowed head and an almost -divine sadness on her face. She sang some words that were "as sad as -earth, as sweet as Heaven." - - "I stand by the river where both of us stood, - And there is but one shadow to darken the flood; - And the path leading to it where both used to pass, - Has the step of but one to take dew from the grass; - One forlorn since that day! - - "The flowers of the margins are many to see, - But none stoops at my bidding to pluck them for me; - The bird in the alder sings loudly and long, - For my low sound of weeping disturbs not his song, - As thy vow did that day. - - "I stand by the river--I think of the vow-- - calm as the place is, vow-breaker, be _thou_! - I leave the flower growing--the bird, unreproved-- - Would I trouble _thee_ rather than _them_, my beloved, - And my lover that day? - - "Go! be sure of my love--by that treason forgiven; - Of my prayers--by the blessings they win thee from Heaven; - Of my grief--(guess the length of the sword by the sheath's) - By the silence of life more pathetic than death's! - Go! be clear of that day!" - -Then the concert was over! - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - - -The concert was over, and hastily excusing himself to his companion, Guy -Kenmore made his way around to the private entrance; with some -difficulty he elbowed his way through the eager throng that waited to -see the lovely singer pass to her carriage, and was fortunate enough to -meet her coming down the steps on the professor's arm. He touched her -eagerly. - -"Miss Brooke," he said, and she turned with a start and a cry. Her eyes -dilated with wonder as she saw by whom she was addressed. - -"Mr. Kenmore--you here!" she exclaimed, and put out her delicate hand -graciously. - -He pressed it warmly in both his own. - -"I am delighted to meet you," he said, "I have news for you--good news. -May I call on you at the earliest admissible hour to-morrow morning?" - -She glanced at the carriage. - -"You may come with us in the carriage now if you will," she replied. -"The hour is not too late for good news from an old friend." - -Then she introduced her friend to the professor. The gentlemen shook -hands cordially, and Bozzaotra repeated Elaine's invitation to come with -them in the carriage. - -"Gratefully, if you can wait for one moment while I make my excuses to a -friend," he said. - -They promised to wait, and Mr. Kenmore hurried back to inform Mrs. -Leslie that he would not return to the villa that night. He heard Julius -Revington saying that he should remain at the hotel that night and walk -out to the villa in the morning; but he paid small heed to the words, in -the preoccupation of his mind. He was longing to tell Elaine that her -daughter lived; and as soon as he had handed Mrs. Leslie to her -carriage, he hurried back to her. - -She received him with a pensive smile of pleasure, and made room for -him by her side, the professor being seated opposite. The carriage door -was closed, and they were whirled away. - -"It is a great surprise to see you here, Mr. Kenmore," Elaine began, in -her musical voice. "Is your news from mamma and Bertha? I have so longed -to hear from them; but, though I have written them several times, I have -had no news of them since I left Bay View." - -"Bang! Whirr!" - -His answer is not on record. - -A pistol had been fired close to the horses' heads, and they plunged and -reared, almost upsetting the carriage. The shriek of the driver was -heard as he tumbled from his seat upon the stony pavement; then the -maddened steeds, without check or hindrance, dashed blindly forward in a -mad, terrified pace, dragging after them the rocking carriage, with its -precious, living freight. - -Meantime, the man who had fired that reckless, murderous shot had been -overtaken by Nemesis. - -In his eager excitement he had gone too near the horses' heads, and, -making his retreat, he had stumbled and fallen. In an instant they had -trampled his fallen body with their plunging hoofs. Compassionate hands -lifted him up from the stony street, a crushed and bleeding mass, in -which the spark of life yet feebly lingered. - -The carriage driver was picked up senseless in the street, where the -maddened horses had hurled him in their swift rush to destruction. -Luckily, he had escaped the contact of their iron hoofs, and his -injuries, though serious, were not mortal. - -But that poor sinner who, in the commission of a dastardly crime, had -been overtaken by a swift and just Nemesis, how fared he? - -They placed him on a litter and bore him into the nearest house. Men -looked at that crushed and bleeding semblance of poor humanity, and, -turning away, shuddered with horror. The physician came, and shook his -head. - -"My poor fellow, you can live but a few hours more," he said. "Tell us -who your friends are that we may summon them." - -"Are you sure, quite sure, that I must die?" moaned the sufferer, while -the dews of terror beaded the weakly, handsome face which had escaped -the vicious hoofs that had beaten the life from his body. - -"You cannot possibly live but a few hours longer," repeated the -physician as kindly as he could speak, and with a deep pity on his face -that would not have been there could he have guessed that the wretch had -wrought his own destruction. - -Moans of terror and despair welled over the man's blanched lips when he -realized that death was so near him. He begged that a priest might be -sent for to pray the pardon of Heaven on his sinful soul. - -"And your friends," they asked him, "shall we not bring them, too?" - -With a moan of pain he answered: - -"Send some one with a swift horse to overtake Clarence Stuart, who is -returning to his villa in the suburbs. Tell him Julius Revington is -dying, and--the lady--who was in the carriage--with the runaway -horses--if she is living, bring her to me with all haste." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - - -The willing hearts were not wanting to do the bidding of the dying man. -Messengers went in three different directions, while the physician -remained to assuage by all means that lay in his power the agonies that -racked that tortured form. Anon the priest came, and with prayers and -holy words strove to comfort the poor departing soul. - -The swiftest horse in Florence went clattering over the road in pursuit -of the carriage that held Clarence Stuart and his wife and daughter. It -was soon overtaken, and the ominous message flashed like a thunder-clap -upon their startled senses. - -Mrs. Stuart and Lilia uttered shrieks of the wildest dismay. - -But Clarence Stuart, after the first shock of surprise, regained his -self-possession. - -"I must go to him at once," he said. "Mrs. Stuart, I must transfer you -and Lilia to one of the other carriages while I return to poor Julius." - -To his surprise the lady answered, in sharp, hysterical tones: - -"Lilia may go in the carriage with Mrs. Leslie, but I shall return with -you to the death-bed of poor Julius." - -"I object to your doing so. It may be an unpleasant ordeal for a lady of -your delicate nerves," Mr. Stuart said, almost sternly. - -"I insist upon going. All the arguments against my doing so will be -quite wasted," she exclaimed, doggedly. - -"Oh, mamma, do not leave me," cried her daughter, in almost hysterical -distress. - -But Mrs. Stuart shook off the clinging hands of the weeping girl almost -rudely. - -Mr. Stuart regarded his wife in silent amaze and displeasure. Nothing -angered him more than for anyone to speak unkindly to his child, but he -well knew how useless it would be to remonstrate with his wife, so -without more ado Lilia was transferred to Mrs. Leslie's care, and the -husband and wife returned to the city. - -No more unpleasant sight could have greeted Julius Revington's eyes than -the face of Mrs. Stuart as she entered the room where he lay attended by -the priest and the physician, the only helpers left to him on earth. The -eyes already dim with the film of death gazed at her with weak -repugnance and horror. - -Unheeding his gaping wounds and his blood-stained garments, she knelt -down by his side and whispered frantically in his ear. - -With all the strength that was left in his mangled arms he pushed her -from him. - -"Do not tempt me to die with all this load of sin on my soul!" he cried. -"I must confess, confess! The priest is waiting to shrive me of my sins! -Clarence, Clarence," he cried out wildly, "take her away, take her -away! She has been my evil genius. I was weak, but never guilty until -she whispered her evil suggestions in my ear and bribed me with her -gold!" - -"It is false, false! Let no one listen to him. These are but the ravings -of delirium!" cried the woman angrily. - -Her looks and actions were those of a desperate, maddened woman. The -physician came up firmly to her side and attempted to draw her away. - -"Let me entreat you, madam, not to shorten the brief span of my -patient's life by your unjust charges," he cried. "I assure you he is -not delirious, but in the full possession of his senses. Come away from -him." - -They were about to drag her forcibly away when the door opened suddenly -and Guy Kenmore entered the room with Miss Brooke clinging to his arm. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - - -It was a strange sight on which the flickering gaslight fell in that -little room. The dying man, lying on the litter on which he had been -borne into the room, and from which the physician declared it impossible -to remove him, was a ghastly sight that sickened human sensibilities. - -Mrs. Stuart, crouching on the floor beside him in her rose-tinted satin, -her priceless lace and flashing diamonds, looked like a maniac. Her eyes -flashed with hatred and desperation, her face was death-white, her -breath fluttered over her lips in short gasps, and she defiantly -resisted the efforts of Mr. Stuart and the physician to draw her away -from the side of the dying man whose looks all too plainly expressed his -abhorrence at her presence. At a little distance the old priest was -devoutly crossing himself while he muttered an inaudible prayer. No -wonder that Elaine Brooke reeled with horror as her gaze fell on that -strange and dreadful scene. - -"Be brave. Do not lose heart," Guy Kenmore whispered to her as he felt -her weight grow heavier on his arm. "That dying man may have an -important confession to make to you." - -"I _will_ be brave," she whispered back, but when she saw Clarence -Stuart and the woman who had rivalled her in his heart--the woman who -was his wife--it seemed to her that she could not breathe, that she must -rush from the room, or surely she would fall down dead there at her -traitor husband's feet. - -They turned and saw them, the tall, gracious-looking man with his -gentle, protecting air as he looked down upon Elaine--Elaine all in -white, with her golden hair fallen down upon her shoulders in shining -disorder, the snowy roses dying on her breast, and the pathos of a -terrible despair written all over her lovely, pallid face--they saw her, -and from Mrs. Stuart's lips shrilled a cry of rage and despair, from -those of the dying man an exclamation of joy. - -"You live!" he cried, "thank God, you live! Your death is not upon these -dying hands!" - -"Then it was you who fired that terrible shot!" cried Elaine, in horror. - -"God forgive me, yes," he wailed. "Come nearer, Elaine Brooke. I have a -story to tell you before I go hence. I have a legacy to leave you. Oh, -horrors, will not some one take this mad woman away from me?" - -Mrs. Stuart had sprung upon him in such insane fury that it seemed as -though she meant to hurry his remorseful soul into the eternity to which -it was hastening. Mr. Stuart hastened to draw her away, dreading the -struggle that must ensue, when suddenly, with a choking gasp, she fell -senseless into his arms. The tension on her nerves had given way, and -she had instantly fainted. - -"That is much better than having to remove the lady by violence," said -the physician, relieved. "We will remove her to another room now where -she cannot distress my patient." - -"Clarence, you must return in a moment," moaned Julius Revington. "I -have a confession to make to this lady--one that you must hear." - -Mr. Stuart looked back a moment, and his glance met Elaine's large blue -eyes, true as those of an angel, yet full of dumb agony. His glance fell -and he turned away, with a strange thrill at his heart. - -"She repents of her cruelty to me," he said in his heart. Meanwhile Guy -Kenmore had spread a dark covering over Revington's mangled form, and -Elaine knelt down beside him on a low cushion which Mr. Kenmore had -arranged for her. She looked with compassionate gentleness at the -sufferer who was passing away so fast from the reach of all earthly -resentment. - -"You are a stranger to me," she said, wonderingly. "Why did you try to -harm me, and what can you have to confess to me?" - -"You shall know presently," he answered. "Wait until Clarence Stuart -comes back. You must hear my story together--you two who have been so -foully wronged and parted." - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - - -A startled look came over Elaine's face at those strange words from the -lips of the dying man. - -"Wronged and parted," she repeated, vaguely. - -"Yes," he replied, and at that moment the door unclosed and Mr. Stuart -came again into the room. - -"Let all go out now except Mr. Stuart and this lady," said Julius -Revington, feebly. - -But Elaine interposed: - -"I should like for my friend, Mr. Kenmore, to stay," she said. "He knows -all the story of my life, and if I have been deceived beyond what I know -I should like for him to hear it." - -Julius Revington looked curiously at the man whom Elaine claimed as her -friend. - -The doctor and the priest had retired, and the four were alone in the -room. - -"What is he to you?" he asked, in his weak, painful tones. - -Elaine looked up at Guy. - -"Shall I tell him?" she asked. - -He bowed his head in acquiescence, and she replied: - -"He is my daughter's husband." - -"Irene's husband!" exclaimed the dying man, feebly, and Clarence Stuart -echoed the startled cry, "Irene's husband!" - -"Yes, she is my wife, but she believed me dead when she promised to -marry you," replied Guy Kenmore, looking at the dying man. - -"My God," exclaimed Julius Revington, and for a few moments he lay -silent contemplating this strange piece of news, then he looked -curiously at the handsome, noble-looking man. - -"You did not claim her when you came," he said. - -"It was her secret. I was waiting until she gave me leave to divulge -it," was the quiet reply. - -Elaine had been listening with startled eyes. She sprang up and caught -Mr. Kenmore's arm. - -"I--do not--understand you," she panted. "You speak as if--as if my -child were yet alive!" - -He took her trembling hands and held them gently in his own. - -"I meant to break it to you gently," he said. "But do not be shocked. -That is the news I had for you. Irene is alive, and but a few miles away -from you. You shall see her soon." - -An ominous gasp from Julius Revington recalled them to his side. - -"That news will wait," he said. "But I--I have but a little while to -live. Listen to me first." - -With a beating heart and a face radiant with sudden joy Elaine knelt -down beside him. She could have touched Clarence Stuart as he sat by the -litter, but she shrunk sensitively back, without looking at him. Guy -Kenmore stood apart at a little distance, with his arms folded over his -broad breast, his clear brown eyes fixed gravely on the little group. - -"Clarence," said the dying man, turning his dim eyes on the face of his -cousin, "you believed that this lady deserted you sixteen years ago of -her own free will and desire. It was not true." - -"Not true!" gasped Clarence Stuart. - -"No, it was not true. She loved you and she was true to you. The wicked -machinations of your father parted you from each other." - -"My father! Oh, God, no!" exclaimed Mr. Stuart, in an agony of grief. - -"It is horrible, but it is true," said Julius Revington. "He was -bitterly enraged against you because of your marriage with Miss Brooke -instead of the heiress he had selected for you. He laid his plans -cleverly to circumvent you. Your severe illness that prevented you from -returning to your wife was caused from drugs administered by him in the -wine you drank that night." - -"What authority have you for making these statements? Remember that you -are dying, Julius, and do not try to falsify anything," exclaimed Mr. -Stuart, almost sternly. - -"I do not forget that I am dying," moaned the sufferer. "I speak the -truth as God hears me--the truth as I received it from the lips of your -father upon his death-bed." - -"He revealed the truth to you instead of to me--strange!" cried the -tortured man, almost incredulously. - -"Yes; can you guess why?" - -"I cannot." - -"He repented of his sin, but he was afraid to confess it to you. He -dreaded your terrible anger and dreadful despair. He feared that you -would curse him upon his dying bed." - -"I am afraid I should have done so, indeed," muttered Clarence Stuart. - -"So he selected me as the instrument to right the wrong," went on -Revington. "He wrote out a full confession of his sin, detailing the -means he had used to separate you, and he deputed me to carry it to Bay -View, where your first wife had been living all the time while you -believed her dead in a foreign land." - -"And you failed in your promise to the dead," exclaimed Mr. Stuart, -fixing a glance of deep reproach upon his cousin. - -"No, I kept my promise. You remember the night we stopped at Brooke -Wharf on our way to Italy, Clarence?" - -"Yes, I remember." - -"Well, that night while you lay in your stores of fruit, and the rest of -our party rambled about, I fulfilled my mission. I went to Bay View -Hall, and I persuaded old Mr. Brooke to come out on the shore with me. I -told him of your father's death-bed repentance, and I confided to his -care the written confession. He promised to deliver it to his daughter -Elaine, and I came away and left him." - -Elaine hid her face in her hands and low moans of pain came from her -lips. - -Julius Revington lay still a moment, breathing hard and painfully, then -he resumed slowly: - -"There was one who, by some means, had become cognizant of the secret -confided me by the dying man. I will call no names. Your own heart may -suggest who that person was, Clarence Stuart. She sought me and -endeavored to buy my silence by costly bribes. I refused her -importunities. I was bound by a solemn pledge to the dead, and I kept my -vow. God knows how she learned my mission that night, but she followed -me at a distance. She concealed herself, and when I had gone she felled -the old man with a sharp blow on the temple from a thick stone she -carried, and then she wrested the precious confession from his clenched -hand and fled back to the yacht." - -A piercing cry broke from Elaine's lips. - -"Oh, God, papa, my own papa, you were most foully murdered," and -throwing up her arms, she fell like one dead upon the floor. - -Guy Kenmore placed a cushion beneath her head with gentle care, but he -made no effort to restore her to consciousness. - -"It is better thus," he said. "I have long known or believed, that -Ronald Brooke met his death by violence, but I would have been glad to -spare this poor soul that harrowing knowledge if I could." - -"You knew it!" both Clarence Stuart and the dying man reiterated in -surprise. - -"I suspected it," said Mr. Kenmore, "but the physician said that he died -of heart disease, and I had no right to go beyond his verdict. I alone -observed the purplish mark of a blow upon his temple. I alone knew that -some important paper had been wrested from his hand in that last -dreadful struggle. I kept silence, but I have been on the track of his -slayer ever since. But go on with your story, Mr. Revington. Do not wait -for this broken-hearted woman to recover. She has heard enough." - -"There is little more to tell," he answered, weakly. "When I went back -to the yacht, I missed the lady who was so interested in old Mr. -Stuart's dying confession. Suspecting and dreading I scarcely knew what, -I hurried back along the path I had come, and met her flying like a mad -thing toward me, with the precious confession clasped tightly in her -hand. Wrenching it rudely enough from her, I ran forward to restore it -to Mr. Brooke, and found the old man's dead body lying on the sands, -with its convulsed face upturned to the moonlight." - -"A murderess--the mother of my loved Lilia a murderess!" groaned -Clarence Stuart, hoarsely. - -"I went back and charged her with her sin," continued Julius Revington. -"She was horrified. She declared that she had not meant to kill him, -only to stun him that she might obtain the coveted paper. It was then -that she bribed me to keep the secret. But it was not alone her gold -that bought me, I was sorry for her. She had been my friend for years, -and I was not acquainted with Miss Brooke, although I had seen her -portrait, and knew that she was the loveliest of women. But I thought it -best to leave matters as they were. I reflected that if the secret were -revealed, it would only shift the disgrace from one innocent wife and -child to another, for Mrs. Stuart believed her husband free when she -married him. So I kept silence, and now I realize my sin. I have here -your father's death-bed confession, but I fear it will prove valueless -to you, for the signature is gone." - -He drew it from his breast, all dabbled with his life-blood, and -Clarence shuddered as he took it in his hand. Guy Kenmore came slowly -forward with a narrow slip of paper. - -"Here is the signature and the remainder of the confession which I found -clinched in Mr. Brooke's hand after death," he said; "I restore it to -you, Mr. Stuart, and I also have a brief confession to make." - -"You?"--and Mr. Stuart looked up in wonder. - -"Yes, and it is this: I believed that you were old Ronald Brooke's -murderer. I followed you to Italy to ferret out your secret, if I could, -for the sake of poor Elaine Brooke, for I believed that Irene, my little -bride, was dead then. I will tell you my own strange story by-and-by. -Now, I wish to ask your pardon for the wrong I did you in my thoughts. -Instead of the guilty sinner I believed you, I find that you are a -wronged and miserable man." - -He held out his hand, and Mr. Stuart pressed it firmly in his own, -while his dark eyes wandered to the still white face of the woman whom -he had never ceased to love, even while he thought her dead. Heavy sighs -breathed over his lips. - -"And Irene is your wife?" said Julius Revington's gasping voice. - -"Irene is my wife," replied Guy Kenmore. - -"And you love her?" said the dying man, wistfully. - -"As my life," was the low, fervent reply. - -"I loved her, too, but it was a selfish love," sighed the sufferer. "She -despised me, but I bought her promise to be mine by a selfish barter. I -had told her that her mother was legally married, and that I would give -her her grandfather's confession on the day she became my wife. I was -hard and cruel to her. Ask her to forgive me if she can, Mr. Kenmore." - -"I will," answered Guy Kenmore, whose grave face had suddenly grown -radiant. - -A moment later Mr. Stuart asked, gravely: - -"And did you really fire a pistol at Elaine's horses to-night, Julius?" - -"Yes, and found my death in doing so," he groaned. "The same hand -incited me to that desperate deed that did old Ronald Brooke to death. -She was furious with rage and fear when she saw her rival on the stage, -and she conceived that terrible plan for putting her out of the way. But -I am thankful that my nefarious deed failed, although I can scarcely -conceive how my victims escaped." - -"I can tell you in a moment," answered Guy Kenmore. "In turning an -abrupt corner of a street, the carriage parted from the horses, and left -us safe, though sadly bruised and frightened in the battered vehicle." - -"Thank God!" echoed Julius Revington, in his weak tones, and then he -added, plaintively: "Call the priest in now, I wish to take my solemn -oath to the confession I have made." - -At that moment Elaine gasped and opened her eyes. They fell upon -Clarence Stuart, who bent over her wistfully regarding her. - -"Elaine, my poor, wronged darling, what can we say to each other?" he -whispered, mournfully. - -She regarded him with grave, reproachful eyes. - -"Nothing," she answered, firmly. "You forged other ties when you thought -me dead. Be true to them." - -She could not repress that little outburst of jealous reproach, pure and -angelic as she was, and with the words she took Guy Kenmore's arm and -passed from the room. - -With a heavy sigh, Clarence Stuart bent over the dying man. Death had -blotted out all resentment. - -"My poor fellow, what can I do for you?" he inquired. - -"Nothing, only leave me with the priest," he answered, heavily. "I want -him to pray for me. I have done with the things of this world." - -And when he had sworn solemnly to the truth of his confession, he bade -his cousin a long and last farewell, and sent him from the room. - -On the threshold he met the physician coming in with a solemn face. -Taking him by the arm, he said, gravely: - -"My dear sir, prepare yourself for a great shock. The lady's swoon was -more serious than we thought. She never revived from it. Her terrible -excitement killed her." - -Well, it was best so. How could he have ever looked in her face again, -knowing that the death of old Ronald Brooke lay on her white, woman -hands? - -Just before daybreak they brought him word that Julius Revington was -dead. He went and looked a moment at the still, white face, and the old -priest told him that his cousin had died peacefully, trusting to the -full in the mercy and pardon of Heaven. - -Clarence Stuart shuddered and thought of that other one who had gone -swiftly and unrepentantly before the bar of that God whose commands she -had outraged. - -All the morning he remained in Florence making arrangements for the -double burial. Elaine had returned to her hotel, and Mr. Stuart sent her -by Guy Kenmore the blood-stained confession to read at her leisure. Then -he gave up his time to the burial of his dead. He sent a messenger out -to the villa to break the tidings of death to all but Lilia, who was to -be kept in ignorance of her mother's fate until he could tell her -himself. - -The messenger returned with tidings as sad as he had carried away. Lilia -lay unconscious and dying, having suffered a relapse of her insidious -disease that morning which had brought on fatal hemorrhage. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - - -It was more than Elaine could bear to read the dying confession of the -wicked old man who had blighted her life and branded her daughter's -young life with shame. - -It almost killed her to look at it and to feel that through it her kind, -noble old father had lost his life. - -"Better, far better, if old Clarence Stuart had died with the secret of -his villainy untold!" she cried. "Better that I should have borne the -brand of shame forever than you to have died by the assassin's hand, my -father, oh, my father!" - -Yet she knew, even while she bewailed him, that her father would have -given his life twice over to purchase honor and happiness for her, his -best-loved child. - -"Irene must never know," she said to Mr. Kenmore. "She loved my father -so dearly, and she is so passionate and impetuous that it would break -her heart. We must spare mamma and Bertha, too. That wicked woman is -dead now, and earthly vengeance cannot reach her, so for her husband's -sake we will shield her memory." - -He agreed with her that it was best so, and she gave him the confession -to read for her, telling him frankly that she could not bear to hold it -in her hand. Yet her heart burned and her cheek glowed as she heard the -story of the deep-laid scheme by which she and her adoring young husband -had been separated. - -"Irene must read that--and mamma and Bertha," she said, wistfully, and -Guy Kenmore understood then how bitterly the woman's pure heart had -shrunk under the lash of scorn they had laid upon her shoulders. - -"It is almost impossible to imagine anyone so heartless as that old -man," he said. "With what devilish art he laid his plans. To you he told -the story of the fraudulent marriage ceremony, and your husband's second -marriage. To his son he presented your fraudulent letter of -renunciation, and later on the false notice of your death abroad. No -wonder the wings of his soul were clogged in dying by the weight of his -terrible sins." - -He told her the story of Irene's rescue from death, and how he had -subsequently met her at Mr. Stuart's villa on the Arno. - -"Does it not seem like some strange recompense of Providence that she -should have been saved from death by her father?" he said, thoughtfully. - -She agreed with him, and then he saw a wistful look stealing into her -gentle eyes. - -"You are longing for your child?" he asked. - -"My heart aches to clasp her again," she answered. - -"Be patient. In a few hours I will bring her to you," he answered. - -"And you?" she asked, slowly. "Are you glad or sorry that the waves gave -her back to us?" - -"I love her," he answered, simply, and with that she was content. - -He went away on his mission to restore the child to her mother's arms, -and Elaine waited with eager impatience for his return. - -"He has a brave, true heart," she said. "Irene will have a noble -husband. After all, the mistake of that dreadful night may prove a -providence to them both." - -For it seemed to her that they could not help from loving each other. It -seemed like a match made in Heaven. He was so handsome, so noble, so -kind. Irene was so lovely, so tender, and her mother knew that beneath -her pretty, wilful ways, that were but as the foam on the sea, she had a -heart of gold. - -So Elaine was well content with her son-in-law for her daughter's sake, -though when she looked into her mirror it seemed almost ridiculous to -reflect that she was a mother-in-law. Time had touched her very lightly -in its flight, and she was as beautiful as her daughter. Indeed, -Clarence Stuart pronounced her lovelier. Sorrow had brought such soul -and expression into her face, even as "night brings out the stars." - -When several hours had passed and she heard footsteps in the hall -outside her door, the glad tears rose to her eyes and the rapturous -beats of her heart were almost painful. - -"Irene, my love, my darling," she murmured, longingly. - -The door unclosed and Guy Kenmore entered--alone! - -Elaine looked past him--her face paled, her eyes filled. - -"Oh, do not tell me she would not come," she cried. - -Then she saw the shadow of heavy trouble brooding over his face. - -"Not dead!" she wailed. - -He took her hands in his firm, strong clasp. - -"Be brave," he said. "She is not dead. It is not so bad as that. But -last night while we were away at the concert, Irene fled from the villa, -and her absence was not discovered until late this morning. She left -this note for Mrs. Leslie, and she has sent it to you." - -He drew the dainty white envelope from his breast and laid it in her -hand. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - - -Elaine took the letter in her trembling hands, and, through a mist of -bitter tears, saw the pretty girlish writing of the daughter she had -mourned as dead. She wiped the dew from her eyes and read the sorrowful -words that had flowed from the girl's burdened heart. - - "Dear Mrs. Leslie, my true friend," Irene had written, "forgive me - for going away in seeming ingratitude for all your kindness to me. - Troubles encompass me, from which I have no refuge but in flight. I - do not love Mr. Revington, and I am not free to marry him. But he - has it in his power to work me ill, and I must fly far, far away, - beyond the reach of his power. I have a sorrowful secret, but I - cannot tell it to you; my heart is broken, but I cannot tell you by - whose coldness and cruelty. Enough that I leave you reckless and - despairing, not knowing if we may ever meet again. God forever - bless you for your friendship and kindness to the mysterious - stranger. - - "IRENE." - -"You have read this?" said Elaine, lifting her tearful eyes to Mr. -Kenmore's grave, sad face. - -"Yes; by Mrs. Leslie's kind permission," he replied. - -"Is it your coldness and cruelty to which she so sadly refers?" asked -Elaine. - -"Mine? by no means," he answered, startled. "I cannot at all understand -what she means by those phrases." - -"You are willfully blind," she answered. "I am quite sure she referred -to you. Ah, Mr. Kenmore, my poor child had learned to love you. You -should have claimed her before them all as your wife, if you really -loved her." - -He looked very grave and perplexed. A deep flush colored his face. - -"God knows I would have done so, gladly enough, but I feared to offend -her. I believed she would be angry if I attempted to claim her for my -own. And you must remember that she bore an assumed name. I was waiting, -with what patience I could, hoping she would relent toward me and -acknowledge her identity." - -"Waiting for the child to throw herself into your arms," said Elaine, -with one of her sweet, pensive smiles. "Ah, Mr. Kenmore, you are very -noble and chivalrous, but you know little of the subtle workings of a -woman's heart. My little Irene is very proud, and the circumstances of -her marriage were not such as to make her feel confident of a welcome -from you. I believe she would have died before she would have come to -you and said: 'I am your wife, whom you believed to be dead!'" - -"She was cold, proud, indifferent to the verge of rudeness," he -answered, gravely. "She seemed bent on showing me that she loved Julius -Revington." - -"Yet you see now that she did not care for him. Ah, Mr. Kenmore, I can -see plainly how pride and sensitiveness stood between you. While you -waited for her to declare herself, she waited for you to claim her, and, -despairing of your love at last, went away." - -She extended her white arms to him, imploringly. - -"Oh, Mr. Kenmore, you will find her for me, my little girl, my darling," -she pleaded, piteously. - -"Yes, I will find her for you, and for myself--I swear it," he said, -passionately. "I will never give up the search until I find my proud and -willful little wife." - -He paused a moment, then went on, anxiously: - -"But before I go I have somewhat to ask of you. Perhaps it may be too -great a favor." - -"Name it," she answered, gently, and he replied: - -"Lilia Stuart--your husband's child, and who should have been yours, -too--lies ill unto death at her father's villa with that fatal malady, -consumption. Last night you carried the child's heart by storm. To-day, -in her illness and pain, she sings over fragments of your songs--they -think if--you would come--that it might make happier her dying hours." - -"Let her father comfort her," she said, bitterly, jealous in her heart -of that other woman's child. - -He took her hand and gazed deep into her soft, pure eyes, tinctured with -a certain womanly pride. - -"Mrs. Stuart," he said, letting his voice linger firmly on the name, -"this is not worthy of you. Your heart harbors resentment against your -husband when he has never wronged you. He has not sinned, he has been -sinned against. Just now he cannot come to the child. He must first bury -his dead." - -"How can I sing to her when my heart is so empty and full of pain?" she -asked, drearily. - -"Because God will bless your efforts to cheer the last hours of that -motherless child," he said. "Clarence Stuart loves the child, and it -might have been yours as well as his. You must love it for his sake. -Think if it were your own loved Irene, dying in the spring of her life." - -"I will go," she answered, tremulously. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - - -When Elaine went to the villa her strange, romantic history was known to -all the inhabitants except Lilia. Mrs. Leslie, in her woman's wisdom, -had judged it best to tell all the rest, but no one breathed it to the -dying child. She alone never knew that the beautiful singer who had -taken her young heart captive was her father's real wife. When he came -and found her singing like an angel by Lilia's dying bed, he made no -sign save by the silent gratitude in his dark eyes, and Elaine was best -pleased thus. - -There were several days of fluctuating hope and fear before the fair bud -faded on its drooping stem. Sometimes she would have every appearance of -rallying, but it was only the deceptive flattery of her insidious -disease, and she would immediately fall back into the most alarming -symptoms. - -The day came when Mr. Stuart could bear it no longer to hear the weak -voice asking for her mother, and wondering why she came not. - -He told his child the truth with such infinite pity and gentleness that -it softened the blow to her young heart---- told her that her mother had -gone before her to the unknown Land. - -Lilia bore it more bravely than he had expected. - -"She has only gone before me a little," she said, sadly. - -And later on she asked Mrs. Leslie for Irene. - -"I loved her at first until mamma bade me not to," she said, -plaintively. "Then I was cruel and unkind. Is she angry still, that she -does not come to me when I am so sick?" - -They told her gently that Irene did not know of her illness, that she -had gone away. - -"Then I shall never see her again," said Lilia, sadly. "Tell her I was -sorry for my cruelty, Mrs. Leslie, and ask her to forgive me. Tell her -she should have been my sister only mamma was not willing. She was good -and pretty and I loved her even when I tried to hate her." - -Mrs. Leslie promised to deliver the message when she found Irene. - -"I know she will forgive you, Lilia, for she loved you even when you -were unkind to her," she said, marveling to herself how the tie of blood -had asserted itself in the spontaneous love of the two girls whom the -dead woman had so maliciously sundered. - -"Poor little misguided Lilia. She will know in Heaven that they were -really sisters, and it will be a comfort to her," she said to herself. - -That evening in the glow of the golden Italian sunset Lilia closed her -heavy-lidded eyes softly as flowers shut their petals at twilight, and -forgot to open them again in the world in which she had tarried a little -while. Elaine had held her hand and sung her to sleep in soft, sweet -numbers that breathed of a Better Land. - - "A land whose light is never dimmed by shade, - Whose fields are ever vernal; - Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, - But blooms for aye eternal." * * * - -It was over the child's grave where they lingered together one twilight -eve, strewing lovely, pure, white flowers, that Clarence Stuart made his -first appeal to the wife he had so fondly worshiped, and from whom he -had been so cruelly sundered. - -"Elaine, my house is left unto me desolate," he said. "Will you ever -consent to return to me?" - -The fair flower-face drooped, crimson with the warm tide of her heart's -emotion, but for a moment she could not speak, and he continued, sadly: - -"I have never ceased to love you, Elaine, even when I believed you -false, even when they told me you were dead, even after another bore my -name, and shared my home. I never loved her. She was my father's choice, -not mine, and she could not make me happy. Elaine, my early choice, my -own worshiped wife, will you not come home to my heart?" - -He held out his arms to her eagerly, but she drew back, though not -unkindly. - -"Not yet," she answered, gently. "It is too soon. Let us give a few -months to the dead who filled your life so long, then---- come for me." - -"And this contemplated public career---- I am very selfish, love," he -said. "Will you sacrifice your ambition for my sake? Will you give up -that sweet voice to me to be heard only in the walls of my home? It is -sacred to me since it sang my child into her last, long sleep." - -"It shall be as you wish, Clarence," she answered, gently; and though -Professor Bozzaotra was disappointed at the loss of that grand voice to -the world, he acquiesced in her decision. He was glad that Elaine's -romance had ended so happily. - -"Although it is a sad disappointment to me," he sighed. "When she was -but a girl at school I told her that her voice belonged to the world, -and when she came to me at last to teach her again I was charmed that -the public should have its due. Ah, well, I must not spoil her happiness -with my vain regrets!" - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX. - - -The moonlight lay on Bay View House--not the tender moonlight of June as -when we saw it first--but the cold, wintry whiteness of November. The -ground was covered with a thin, light carpeting of snow, and a wind from -the bay swept coldly across the land, almost freezing those who were so -unfortunate as to be exposed to its piercing rigor. In the sky the stars -were glittering coldly bright. - -But no hint of the outdoor cold and discomfort penetrated to the -luxurious parlor where we first met our pretty, willful Irene. A bright -coal fire burned in the wide, steel bars of the grate, and diffused a -lazy, luxurious warmth through the large apartment. Basking in its -comfortable rays sat Mrs. Brooke and Bertha, the lamplight falling -softly on their black silk dresses and the delicate lisse at throat and -wrists. A white rose fastened in Bertha's silky, dark hair diffused the -pleasant fragrance of summer amid their wintry surroundings. - -A dark frown disfigured the handsome face of the brunette, evoked by her -mother's words, uttered a moment ago. - -"To-morrow, Bertha, we must go up to New York and sell my diamonds," -Mrs. Brooke had said. "There is no help for it. They will have to be -sacrificed." - -"A pretty appearance we shall make in society when we lay off our -mourning--no jewels to wear!" snapped Bertha, discontentedly. - -"You will have your pearls and rubies; I have not asked you to part with -them," said Mrs. Brooke, soothingly. - -"You needn't to, for I shall not do it--no, not if it came to starvation -with us!" declared the brunette, passionately. - -"You talk foolishly, Bertha," declared her mother. "Do you not suppose -that it grieves me also to part with my jewels, the gift of your poor -dead father? Yet I make no foolish lament over it. I consider the -necessities of the case; but I also remember that if you had not forced -me to make the tour of the summer resorts this season I should have been -able to live through the winter without selling my beautiful diamonds!" - -"Oh, yes, everything is my fault!" cried Bertha, angrily. "Could I help -it if Guy Kenmore went gadding off to Europe instead of going to the -summer resorts where I expected to find him? I am sure I should not have -asked you to spend the money if I had not felt perfectly sure of finding -him somewhere. And if I had found him I should have won him, I know, for -I am very sure he was in love with me last year." - -"I am afraid you were mistaken, my dear. I think it was Elaine he was -smitten with. You had as well turn your attention to some one else with -money, if you can find one, for it is very important that you should -marry soon, and it is very evident that Guy Kenmore cares nothing for -you," Mrs. Brooke said, tartly. - -"Elaine--always Elaine!" cried Bertha, in a passion. "Do you suppose he -could care about her after I betrayed her shameful story to him?" - -Before Mrs. Brooke could reply there came a sharp peal at the door-bell -that echoed weirdly through the great, silent house. Both ladies started -violently. - -"Who can this be?--at this hour?" exclaimed Bertha, glancing at the -clock, whose hands pointed to nine. - -"Some one who has come by the boat or the train," exclaimed Mrs. Brooke, -nervously. "Perhaps Elaine!" - -"You are always harping on Elaine--you forget that Professor Bozzaotra -has taken her to Europe to make her a _prima donna_," Bertha exclaimed, -sharply. - -They heard old Faith, who was the only servant they retained now, -waddling down the hall to the door, and waited a moment silently to -learn whom their guest might be. - -The heavy hall-door opened, light steps sounded on the threshold, then -suddenly a shriek of terror resounded through the house, and staid old -Faith rushed back to the parlor door, tore it wildly open, and fled to -the side of her mistress as if for protection. - -"Why, Faith, you old simpleton, what ails you? Have you seen a ghost?" -exclaimed haughty Bertha. - -"Yes, Miss Bertha, that's just what I saw! I opened the door and there -stood the ghost of Miss Irene, just risen from the sea," panted old -Faith, overcome with terror and exhaustion, for she was very fat, and -her flight had been sudden and rapid. - -"Ridiculous," sneered Bertha, and just then light feet came pattering -along the hall, a slight figure flashed over the threshold--Irene, with -the dark hood of her cloak fallen back on her shoulders, and all her -wavy golden hair flying like an aureole around her beautiful, pale face! - -She ran up to the old housekeeper and shook her laughingly by the -shoulders. - -"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, old Faith?" she said. "_I'm_ not a -ghost--I am Irene, living and breathing! Pinch me if you don't think I'm -telling the truth. I've come to see my mother," her eager glance roving -around the room. "Oh, where is she, where is she?" - - - - -CHAPTER L. - - -For a moment Mrs. Brooke and Bertha were almost as much unnerved and -startled as the old housekeeper had been. They stared in speechless -amaze at the fair, young face, like, yet unlike, Irene Brooke's--like it -in the bright, captivating beauty that had been the girl's glorious -dower, yet changed because a woman's soul with all its love and sorrow -had subtly transformed it, adding the one only grace it needed to make -it simply peerless. - -At last-- - -"You are not Irene," gasped Bertha, "she is dead!" - -"I was not drowned," the girl answered, simply. "God did not let me -perish in my wickedness that night. I was saved by a passing yacht after -floating several hours on a plank in the water. Look at me, Bertha. Do -you not see that I am Irene, alive and in the flesh?" - -Bertha regarded her a moment with steady, contemptuous eyes and curling -lips. - -"No, you are not Irene! You are a miserable impostor!" she flashed out, -in scathing anger and bitterness. - -Irene stood regarding her, disconcerted and amazed for an instant. It -had never occurred to her that they would deny her. - -Her lips quivered and the tears sparkled into her sweet, blue eyes. - -"How dare you utter such a falsehood, Bertha?" she cried, with something -of her old, imperious anger. "You know who I am perfectly well. You are -wicked and cruel to call me an impostor." - -Then she turned from the scornfully silent girl and crossed the room to -Mrs. Brooke, who still sat in her easy chair with old Faith crouching in -dumb terror at her feet. - -"Grandmamma, you will not deny me," she pleaded, "I am Elaine's -child--she whose shame and sorrow you shielded so long beneath the -honest name of Brooke. Will you not speak to me, little Irene that -grandpapa used to love so dearly?" - -The handsome old lady returned her gaze with a hard, cruel stare. She -was not ready to acknowledge her granddaughter yet. It flashed dimly -over her bewildered mind that Irene had come back to claim her -protection and support. - -In her straightened circumstances she was not ready to accord her -either, and the faint pity that was struggling in her heart was -smothered by the warning flash of Bertha's black eyes. - -Irene saw herself disowned and rejected again. She looked at them in -hapless bewilderment. Nothing equal to this cavalier scorn had ever -occurred to her. She had been girlishly amused at the housekeeper's -terror, but this was worse. Her young bosom heaved with stormy -indignation. - -"Where is my mother?" she asked, bitterly. "Will she deny me, too? Will -she be sorry that the sea has given up its dead?" - -No one answered her except old Faith, who gave a low, whimpering moan -that might mean everything or nothing. - -Irene went up to her and shook her by the arm with gentle violence. - -"Come, old Faith, you are not quite daft, I think," she said, bitterly. -"Tell me where to find your Miss Elaine!" - -The fat old housekeeper seemed to be somewhat reassured by the very -realistic touch of the warm, white hand. She shook herself like a big, -shaggy dog, and rose to a standing posture. Some of the abject terror -died out of her face. - -"Is my mother up-stairs in her room?" inquired Irene, impatiently. - -"Miss Irene, where have you been all these long months?" inquired Faith, -irrelevantly. - -"I have been in Italy, Faith. I was rescued that night when I tried to -drown myself, by a yacht bound for Italy. The people were very kind to -me, and I went there with them. But I have come back to find mamma. -Where is she, Faith? Go and bring her to me," exclaimed the young girl, -impatiently. - -"Oh, miss, she isn't here. She went away after you did, She's gone away -off to that place where you said you were," stammered Faith. - -"To--to Italy?" exclaimed Irene, blankly. - -"Yes, Miss Irene--she went away with her old music teacher to learn to -be a great singer. Oh, Mrs. Brooke," sighed the old woman, turning -anxiously to her mistress, "you can tell her better than I can about the -letter that Miss Elaine wrote you before she went away." - -"How dare you tell our private matters to this impostor, Faith?" -demanded Bertha, fire flashing from her brilliant eyes. "Have you no -sense, no judgment?" - -"Oh, ma'am, 'tis certainly _our_ Irene. I was an old fool at first and -took her for a ghost, but now I could swear 'tis Miss Elaine's own -little daughter," pleaded Faith, with a loving glance at the shrinking -young girl who stood anxiously awaiting her reply. - -"Hush, not another word!" raged Bertha. "How dare you set yourself up -against me? I tell you this girl is nothing to us and she shall leave -this house! Go to your room, Faith, and remain there. You have no -business in the parlor." - -"Go," echoed Mrs. Brooke, bestowing a glance of stern displeasure upon -the old housekeeper. - -Faith slowly left the room, after bestowing a glance of love and pity -upon the forlorn young creature who looked after her as if her last -friend on earth were departing. - -A rush of cold air met the old woman in the hall, and she went to close -the heavy door which was banging loudly back and forth. - -To her dismay she met a gentleman just crossing the threshold. Ashamed -of her recent idiotic display of fear, the old woman held her ground -bravely, and stopped to hold a parley with the intruder. - -Irene remained standing in the center of the room looking blankly from -one to the other of the two cruel women who so coldly denied her. A look -of pain and grief shadowed her fair face. - -"Is it true that your daughter has gone to Italy, madam?" she asked, -timidly, looking at her grandmother whom she dreaded less than the -wrathful Bertha. - -"Yes, it is true," Mrs. Brooke replied, without raising her eyes from -the contemplation of the shining rings on her plump fingers. - -"When is she coming back?" inquired the girl. - -"What is that to you?" demanded Bertha, pitilessly. - -The beautiful girl flashed a look of deep reproach upon the cruel woman. - -"It is everything to me," she said, mournfully. "She is my mother. I -love her, and she is all I have to love me. I have crossed the sea to -throw myself into her arms, and now that I am here she is gone--she is -gone, oh, God, have pity on me," she wailed, despairingly, while the hot -tears of disappointment and sorrow streamed down her cheeks. - -"This is all very fine acting, but it does not impose upon mamma and -me," sneered Bertha. "You are nothing to us, and you are nothing to my -sister. You are a vile adventuress and impostor. You are trying to trade -upon my sister's unfortunate secret which you have somehow discovered, -but you will get nothing from us--nothing! Begone now, before I call the -servants to put you out," she concluded, loftily. - -Irene turned her pale, distressful face upon the merciless woman. - -"Do you know that I have nowhere to go?" she asked, in a low, fearful -voice. "I have spent the last penny in my purse coming here to find my -mother. If you turn me out to-night I must perish in the cold." - -"That is no concern of mine," Bertha answered, angrily. "Go, I tell -you!" - -"Do you sanction Bertha in her cruelty, madam?" said Irene, appealing to -her grandmother. "Must I indeed go forth to my death?" - -"Go where you please, so that you leave my room instantly," replied the -hard-hearted woman, resolutely sustaining Bertha in her cruelty. - -"You hear my mother's decision. Now go!" cried Bertha flinging wide the -door, and pointing to it with her white, ringed hand. - -But even as she was about to thrust Irene out of the room, her hand -fell, and she uttered a shrill scream of dismay. - -Her malevolent black eyes had encountered the gaze of a pair of flashing -brown ones, whose scathing contempt and bitter anger seemed to wither -her where she stood. - -"May God forgive you both!" said the poor forsaken girl, as she turned -to obey their wicked mandates; "for I am surely going out to meet my -death!" - -Blinded by her bitter tears, she crossed the threshold, seeing nothing, -and so ran into the manly arms that were outstretched to clasp her. - -"You are going no further than your husband's arms, my darling," said -the low music of the voice she had learned to love beneath the blue -Italian skies. "To your husband's arms, never to leave him again!" - -And holding his little wife tightly clasped to his beating heart, Guy -Kenmore turned to Bertha. - -"God may forgive you for this wanton cruelty," he said, "but I never -will. None but fiends in human form could have showed themselves so -pitiless to this helpless child. I hope I may never see either of your -faces again." - -And with no more words, he led his little bride from those inhospitable -doors out into the cold, bleak night again. But they were no longer -conscious of the cold, sharp wind and the driving snow. There was a -warmth and summer in their hearts that made the night more fair to them -than that June-tide with all its moonlight and roses when they had first -met. - -"I followed you from Italy here, my darling," he said, "and I shall -never lose sight of you again. I love you, Irene. I have loved you ever -since the night that made you my unwilling bride. Will you promise to -stay with me always now, my little wife?" - -And in her tender, timid "yes," and the pressure of the small hand on -his arm he read the sweet, wifely love he was too generous and too -chivalrous to ask his shy little bride to avow. - - - - -CHAPTER LI. - - -There was a very good hotel in the vicinity of Bay View House, and Guy -Kenmore and his little bride went there to await the coming of the -midnight train by which they proposed returning to Baltimore. - -He secured a comfortable private parlor, and sitting by the cheerful -fire never hours of waiting passed more rapidly than these. - -With her lover-husband's arm drawn close and fondly round her graceful -form, Irene listened to the story of that momentous night when she had -so unwisely fled. She learned that the man she had both feared and -despised was dead, that Mr. Stuart was her father, and that Lilia and -her mother were both dead. - -"And it was my own precious mamma whom I refused to go and hear that -night," she said. "Oh, if I had only known! But I was driven wild by my -fears. In my trouble it seemed to me that there was no refuge on earth -for me but in my mother's arms, and so I came back to America as fast as -wind and tide could bring me!" - -"If you had known then that I loved you, Irene, would you have gone?" he -asked her softly, while he gazed deep in the lovely sapphire blue eyes. - -The warm color surged into her cheeks at his earnest gaze, and she -hesitated. - -"Tell me," he pleaded, and then she answered frankly: - -"No, I should not have gone. If you had claimed me then I should have -come straight to your arms and told you all my doubts and fears. I could -not have left you." - -"My proud little darling," he murmured, "we were both mistaken in -holding aloof from each other; but, please God, we will make up the loss -of those months of separation by long years of happiness spent together. -Do you remember those sweet lines of Jean Ingelow, my darling? - - "It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, - All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay. - Like a laverock in the lift, sing, oh, bonny bride! - All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side. - - "What's the world, my love! what can it do? - I am thine, and thou art mine, life is sweet and new; - If the world have missed the mark let it stand by, - For we two have gotten leave and once more we'll try." - -In his deep, sweet tones and the fond glances of his eyes, Irene read -that she was beloved even as she had longed to be in those days in -Italy, when she had believed him cold, careless, indifferent, and -determined not to acknowledge the tie between them. Tears of happiness -sparkled in her eyes, and with a low sob she hid her face on his breast. - -He held her close, and kissed her tears away, silently, thanking Heaven -for the priceless gift of her innocent young heart. - -He told her the gay yachting party had returned to Richmond, sobered and -saddened by the loss of Mrs. Stuart and Lilia. - -"The child--your half-sister, Irene--have you thought of that?--sent you -some kind messages by Mrs. Leslie before she died," he said. - -Irene was sorry to know that the spoiled, pretty Lilia was dead; but it -pleased her to know that her mother had been kind to her--that she had -soothed her dying hours with her soft, sweet songs. - -"Dear, dear mamma--when shall I see her, Mr. Kenmore?" she asked, -wistfully. - -"I meant to surprise you," he said; "but I cannot keep you in suspense. -You have already borne too much. You will see her to-morrow. She is the -guest of my sister in Baltimore. When I found out in Florence that you -had started to come back to America, I crossed in the next steamer, and -your mother came with me. We landed in a few hours after you did, and I -had no difficulty in tracing you. I learned that you had started for -Bay View by the water route, and followed you on a fast train, by which -means I was enabled to reach your old home in time to learn the -wickedness and heartlessness of Bertha." - -"In time to save me from perishing in the cold, for I had exhausted my -last cent in the purchase of that ticket to Bay View," she said, with a -shudder. - -"I am most happy that I came, but in any case, you would not have -suffered," he replied; "for old Faith assured me that, had they turned -you out of the house, she would have gone with you and taken care of -you." - -"Dear old Faith, she was always kind to me," said Irene. "But Bertha -always hated me, and I am sure that she will never forgive me for taking -you away from her." - -"Do not say that," he answered, "for I never belonged to Bertha. I -admired her stately beauty, but the thought of taking a wife had never -occurred to me until that night when," laughing, "you married me, -willy-nilly." - -Irene blushed very much, but ended by laughing, too. In a minute she -grew very serious again, and, slipping her soft little hand into his, -said, gently: - -"Do you know, dear Guy, that since--since we love each other--that -marriage in play seems very light and flippant to me? Shall we -not--shall we not"---- pausing, bashfully. - -"Plight our marriage vows over again," he finished for her. "Yes, love, -we will do so again, and this time our hearts shall go with our hands." - -And the very next day they were married over again in the quiet little -church in Baltimore, with their nearest relatives for witnesses, and -although Irene wore the plainest pearl-gray silk, and the demurest -little bonnet, Mr. Kenmore's handsome, fashionable sisters declared that -she was the loveliest bride they had ever beheld. - -They went away on a little southern tour to see Mrs. Leslie, who -received her favorite with the gladdest of embraces and some incoherent -reproaches, calling her a "naughty little runaway." - -"I can never quite forgive you for not confiding your secret to me," she -said. "I could have helped you so much, dear, if only you had let me." - -Mr. Stuart came to see her and they sent her in alone to meet him. All -felt that their meeting as father and child would be too sacred a scene -for other eyes to gaze upon. She came from his presence weeping, but -they were the placid tears of joy that her father was proven good and -noble, and that his heart was full of love for her and her -long-suffering mother. - -"He is waiting in sorrowful patience for mamma to relent," she confided -to her husband, when they were alone. "I hope she will go back to him -soon. Only think! They have been cruelly separated for almost seventeen -years!" - -And looking into the beautiful, loving young face, Guy Kenmore realized -something of Mr. Stuart's pain in the sudden pang with which he wondered -how he could bear to be separated from his beautiful Irene for such an -eternity of years. - -He kissed the sorrowful young face into brightened smiles again. - -"When we go home we will talk to mamma," he said. "We will tell her that -life is too short to spend away from those we love and who love us. We -will persuade her to shorten the span of his probation." - -"He deserves it I know, for he tells me that he has suffered deeply," -said Clarence Stuart's daughter. "Oh, Guy, I love him dearly already. He -saved my life, you know, and I believe I have loved him ever since, -although I could not understand the subtle nearness of the bond that -drew me to him." - - - - -CHAPTER LII. - - -Mrs. Brooke and Bertha did not go to New York the next day as they had -intended doing. - -Both of them were overcome by the scene of last night. Bertha's -malevolence and angry bitterness made her almost ill. Mrs. Brooke was -chagrined and regretful. She had permitted Bertha to rule her affairs -with a high hand, believing in the wisdom of her ruling, and now she -found that she had over-reached herself. - -If she had dreamed that Guy Kenmore would claim Irene for his own, she -would never have allowed her granddaughter to be driven from her doors. -She had too keen a sense of the advantage to be gained from such a -wealthy connection. - -But it was too late now to recall the heartless deed by which she had -closed Guy Kenmore's doors against her. His stern face remained in her -memory, and his parting words rung like the clash of steel in her -hearing: - -"I hope I may never see either of your faces again." - -It was just. She acknowledged it to herself, but it galled her none the -less bitterly. She upbraided Bertha for her share in the transaction, -and Bertha replied insolently. They spent their time in bitter -recriminations, these two women who had so cleverly over-reached -themselves. - -In a few days a letter came from Elaine. The gentle reproach of its -preface touched a painful chord in the mother's heart, for she had sadly -missed her eldest daughter, though she would not have dared to say so -before the overbearing Bertha. - -"I have written to you many times since I left home, mamma," wrote -gentle Elaine, "but as you never answered any of my letters, I conclude -that they were unwelcome, and that I am forgotten and uncared for in my -old home. I am writing you once again, probably for the last time." - -Then in a few closely written pages Elaine told them the whole story of -her new-found happiness. - -"My plan for becoming an opera-singer is abandoned by the desire of my -husband," she wrote, simply. "He is very wealthy, and there is no longer -any need for me to work. I shall live in Baltimore. Irene's home will be -here, and I cannot consent to live apart from my child. Mr. Kenmore has -a superb residence here, and my husband has promised to secure a similar -one for me on the same street, so that I may see my little Irene every -day. Dear mamma, it seems to me that if you had loved your poor Elaine -as warmly as I love my little girl, you could never have treated me so -unkindly!" - -It was the last drop of bitter in Bertha's cup of humiliation. Elaine, -whom she had trampled upon for years, despising her for her sorrow, -envying her for her beauty--Elaine to be loved, honored, crowned with -wealth and happiness! It stung Bertha to the depths of her little soul. -She would have sold her soul to the powers of evil for the power to drag -Elaine and her daughter down from their high estate. - -But there was no convenient demon about to gratify Bertha's malevolent -desires, and her mother began to assert her own will, which she had long -permitted Bertha to dominate. She forced her to accompany her to -Baltimore to see Elaine, though she rebelled bitterly against this -eating of "humble pie." - -They found the long despised daughter and sister the guest of Mrs. -Livingstone, one of the leaders of fashion in the monumental city. She -was a sister of Guy Kenmore, and it almost maddened Bertha to sit -quietly and listen to the enthusiastic praises she bestowed on her -brother's beautiful bride. "I have never seen anyone so artlessly lovely -and charming," she said. "She will be the rage in society. While they -are taking their little tour, the Kenmore diamonds and pearls are being -reset for her, and her bridal reception dress is ordered from Paris. It -will be a marvel of beauty." - -"All might have been mine but for that fatal night's work," Bertha told -herself, full of maddening envy, and no words could have told her hatred -for innocent, willful Irene. - -Elaine had become like a young girl again in the sunshine of her great, -new happiness. Her blue eyes beamed with love and hope, her cheeks were -tinted softly like the lining of the murmurous sea-shell, she had the -sweetest smile in the world. There was only one shadow on her joy: - -"If only my father could have lived to see my honor vindicated and my -happiness restored," she would sigh, and when she remembered the cruel -blow that had struck him down to death, she would steal away to her room -to weep unavailing tears for his untimely fate. But she bore her pain -alone, and none of those who had been bound to old Ronald Brooke by the -tie of kinship ever knew the sorrowful secret hidden in Elaine's breast. -Bertha did not let her mother stay long, though Elaine was very kind and -gentle, and did not reproach them for their heartless denial of her -daughter. The cruel, unkind sister could not bear the sight of Elaine's -happiness, and so dragged her mother away, but not before the old lady -had secretly whispered in the ear of her elder daughter that "everything -had all been Bertha's fault." - -Elaine did not doubt it, for she well knew her sister's malice and -ill-nature, but seeing how their unkindness had recoiled upon their own -heads, she tried to forgive and forget. - -When beautiful, happy Irene came home, she pleaded her father's cause so -well that Elaine, whose own heart was pleading for him, too, relented, -and suffered her daughter to write for him. He came gladly, but the -reunion of the long-parted husband and wife is too sacred a subject for -us to dwell upon. It was the realization of the poet's dream: - - "Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wife, - Round my true heart thine arms entwine; - My other dearer life in life, - Look thro' my very soul with thine." - - * * * * * - -One bit of gossip, reader. Mrs. Brooke never sold her diamonds. Ten -thousand dollars settled on her very quietly by her wronged and despised -elder daughter, enables her and Bertha to keep their heads above water -and to hold their place in society. They flash in and out from one gay -resort to another, for Bertha is very restless and never contented long -in one place. Mrs. Brooke is very fond of talking about "my daughter, -Mrs. Stuart, and my granddaughter, Mrs. Kenmore," but it is noticeable -that she is not very intimate with either. Indeed, she and Bertha have -never yet crossed the threshold of the palace where Irene reigns a -queen. - -Bertha is an old maid now, faded, sour, and given to saying sharp things -to everyone, so that no one enjoys her company, and no one dreams of -seeking her for a wife. Proud, envious, spiteful, she seems to hate all -the world, but no one with such concealed malice and galling bitterness -as Guy Kenmore's wife. - -[THE END.] - -[Illustration] - - - - - The Rose and the Lily - - OR - - LOVE WINS LOVE - - - BY - - MRS. ALEX. MCVEIGH MILLER - - AUTHOR OF - "BONNIE DORA," "COUNTESS VERA," ETC. - -[Illustration] - - NEW YORK - STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS - 238 WILLIAM STREET - - - - - Copyright, 1883, - By NORMAN L. MUNRO - - Copyright, 1901, - By STREET & SMITH - - - - -THE ROSE AND THE LILY; OR, _LOVE WINS LOVE_. - -By MRS. ALEX. MCVEIGH MILLER. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -A dusky, _piquante_ face, arch, sparkling, bright, as only brunette -faces _can_ be, dark, waving hair, and pansy-dark eyes with golden -lights in their soft depth, delicious lips, tinted with the velvety -crimson of the rose, a slight girlish figure, unformed as yet, but with -a willowy grace all its own--Reine Langton. - -She comes singing along the graveled path between the trim borders of -bright verbenas, velvety pansies and fragrant pinks, swinging her large -straw hat by its scarlet ribbons. The golden light of the summer day -falls on the uncovered head, and on the fair, low forehead with its -silky rings of clustering hair, and its slender, straight, black brows. -She sings shrilly, but sweetly - - "'Love not--love not, ye hapless sons of clay; - Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers; - Things that were made to fade and fall away - When they have blossomed but a few short hours; - Love not--love not.'" - -The handsome, blonde face of a young man lifts itself from the reclining -depths of a hammock-chair, swung under a wide-spreading tree; as she -draws nearer, he breaks out with careless raillery: - -"Pray forbear, Miss Langton! your shrill soprano has frightened me from -a charming dream. I do not believe your match could be found for -keeping one's nerves continually on edge." - -"Men have no business with nerves," she retorts, coolly. "For shame, Mr. -Vane Charteris. Get out of that hammock and stir yourself. I can't abide -a lazy man." - -He looks at her with sleepy, half-shut eyes that mirror the deep, -beautiful blue of the sky overhead. - -"Fortunately you do not have to abide me," he says, bruskly. "After -to-morrow I shall forever be out of reach of your shrill voice and -scolding tongue!" - -A strange look comes into her dark eyes a moment. Some of the golden -light dies out of them, they grow darker and vaguely sad, but she -laughs. - -"A pity for you, too. My influence and example might rouse you otherwise -from your stupid inertia. Tennyson must have had a lazy man in his -mind's eye when he wrote the Lotos-Eaters." - -He smiles, and quotes with careless good-nature: - - "'In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined - On the hills, like gods together, careless of mankind.'" - -"Is not that an idyllic life, Reine?" - -"No," she says, promptly. "I have no patience with the _dolce far -niente_ of some people. It is a pity you are to marry Maud Langton!" - -He colors, and asks: - -"Why?" - -"Because she is as lazy as you are. When you marry her and come into -Uncle Langton's money, you'll both be too lazy to breathe, just _that_! -You will die for lack of energy to live." - -She has stopped beside the hammock-chair, and leaning against the tree -looks down into the handsome, debonair face with a gleam of audacious -levity in the dusky eyes. He starts up to a sitting posture, thoroughly -aggravated. - -"Thank you," he remarks, with immense dignity. "I understand," with -cutting irony, "the reason of your spite. You wanted Mr. Langton's money -yourself." - -"Not a bit of it," decidedly. "Thank goodness, I know how to earn my own -living. Not but that Uncle Langton has treated me unfairly, though. I am -as near kin to him as Maud. My father was his own brother. Why should -he make her his heiress, and marry her to the son of his old sweetheart, -cutting me off with a beggarly invitation to spend three weeks, and be -her bride's-maid?" - -"Why don't you tell him that?" he queries, watching the rich color -deepen on the delicate cheek. - -"I don't care to," with careless indifference. "I don't want his money." - -"No--do you mean to say you do not care for all this?" He glances around -him at the spacious white villa, set in the midst of a green, -flower-gemmed lawn, shaded by stately trees. "Only think, my lady -disdain: A summer home in these grand old mountains, a winter palace in -Washington, a cottage by the sea, and a fabulous bank account; does it -all count for nothing in your eyes?" - -"Yes," pertly, "if, like poor Maud, I had to take _you_ as an -incumbrance with it all!" - -He flushes with wounded vanity and anger. - -"The feeling is mutual," he retorts, under the spur of pride. "If I had -to take _you_ with Mr. Langton's money, it might go to found an idiot -asylum." - -"Vane Charteris, I hate you!" she exclaims, with a flash of childish -passion. - -"I take it as a compliment," he replies, with a profound bow. - -"Quarreling as usual," says a clear, sweetly modulated voice, and both -turn with a start. - -A tall, imperially stately woman has come sauntering down the path from -the house. You think of Tennyson's description: - - "A daughter of the gods, divinely tall. - And most divinely fair." - -Vane Charteris' face lights with languid pleasure. It is Maud Langton, -his betrothed. This very night she is to be his bride. - -"Ah, Maud," he says, "I am glad you are come. Perhaps you will deliver -me from this little vixen!" - -There is a grave, far-away look in the light blue eyes of the -bride-elect. She looks at Reine, not at her lover, as she answers -lightly: - -"It is very undignified to call names, Vane, and how often have I told -you, Reine, that you must bridle that sharp tongue of yours?" - -"_He_ began it," mutters Reine, with a childish petulance. - -"You should have known better than to tease the child, Vane," says Miss -Langton. "If you are in fault, you must apologize, of course." - -"I'll be shot if I do," he begins, stoutly, then stops at her look of -dignified amaze, and says, with a gleam of tender relenting: "Very well, -Maud. Of course I can refuse _you_ nothing on this day of _all_ days. -See here, Reine, I beg your pardon for what I said. Will you forgive -me?" - -"No, I won't--so there!" she flashes, with some wrathful tears splashing -down her cheeks. - -"Reine!" Miss Langton cries, horrified. - -"Reine!" mimics the girl, provokingly. - -"Ah, me!" with a pretty sigh of resignation, "I see it is no use trying -to train you," but Reine Langton is already out of hearing. They catch -the distant gleam of her white dress among the trees. - -Vane Charteris rises from his indolent pose in the hammock-chair and -installs his blonde angel in his place. Tall, graceful, with the fair -beauty of a Greek god, he might hold any woman's heart, but as he stands -by her side, lightly swaying the chair, Miss Langton's large, blue eyes -wander from him to the line of the distant hills that stand around about -her beautiful home in a glorious green wooded circle. - -"Ah, Maud, my beautiful, gentle darling," he says, "how hard it is to -believe that Reine Langton is your cousin. You are so utterly unlike. -You are so calm and sweet and gracious, she is so rude, so pettish, so -like a chestnut burr!" - -"Poor Reine," she says, not disputing him, yet a little apologetically, -"she has had no training. Her mother died in Reine's infancy, and her -father brought her up after his own fashion, dying two years ago, and -leaving her to get her own living. You cannot expect an underpaid -teacher to have the manners of a lady." - -"She is rather young to teach others, isn't she?" he says. - -"Rather," she replies. "Sixteen or seventeen at the most, I should say. -But now, Vane, I really must go in; I have fifty things to attend to. -All my bride's-maids will be coming presently." - -"My sweetest, how shy you are," he laughs; "you will barely look at me, -yet in a few hours more you will be my own. Mine to love and caress as -much as I please. Do you realize it, my dignified darling?" - -A slight, a very slight shiver passes over the imperially-molded form. -She looks at him, then, half-fearfully, half-questioningly-- - -"Vane, tell me the truth," she says. "Is it me you love or is it my -uncle's money?" - -A dark-red flush stains his handsome face. - -"Maud, that question is unworthy of you. I have loved you from the first -hour I saw you. I have told you how irritated I was at first when my -mother's old friend wrote to me offering me a wife and a fortune. Poor -as I am I was determined not to marry you unless I loved you. But your -peerless beauty conquered me as soon as I saw you." - -Something very like a sigh ripples over the delicate rose-leaf lips. She -does not smile nor blush as if she felt flattered. - -"I will tell you something else, now, my Maud, if you'll promise not to -laugh," he goes on; "I was jealous at first of that handsome, black-eyed -Clyde that came so frequently to call on you. I was very glad when you -sent him away. You never cared for him, did you, dear?" - -"Of course not, you foolish boy," she laughs, and with that she slips -away from him. - -He watches the flutter of her pale blue robe out of sight, then, -dropping his eyes, sees a folded slip of paper lying on the ground at -his feet. In a careless, mechanical way he picks it up and reads the few -lines hastily scribbled in a man's strong hand. - -"My darling," it says, "you have relented at the last and made me the -happiest of men. God forever bless you. Do not fail to be at the -appointed place. If you do not marry me I swear I'll shoot myself -through the heart, but if you keep your promise I promise to make you -the happiest woman on earth." - -The note was signed with a blurred, undistinguishable initial. Vane -Charteris tucked it into his vest-pocket in happy unconsciousness of the -fatal truth. - -"Reine Langton must have dropped this," he thinks to himself. "I'll -restore it to her the first opportunity. I wonder who her suicidal -correspondent may be?" - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -Inside the elegant, ornate white villa all is confusion and excitement. -The house is crowded with guests, and the preparations for the wedding -are going blithely on. - -In the dining-hall the long table glitters with plate of silver and -gold, and all the luxuries of home and foreign countries are temptingly -spread thereon. Flowers are lavishly arranged everywhere. Trained -domestics hurry to and fro, bent on perfecting every arrangement, for -the wedding of Mr. Langton's beautiful niece is a very grand occasion -indeed, and every honor must be paid to the heiress, and the husband of -her uncle's providing. - -Mr. Langton himself was an old man, old and peculiar to the verge of -whimsicality, as was proved by the fact of his adopting one orphan niece -as the heiress to all his possessions, and leaving the other, a frail, -weak girl, to fight her battle with the cold world alone. - -Latterly Mr. Langton had become displeased with his favorite, Maud, -because she had countenanced a suitor of whom he did not approve--a -rascally fortune-hunter, he irascibly declared. The upshot of the whole -matter was that he wrote to a clever young lawyer, the son of an old -sweetheart long dead, and bade him come and marry Maud, to which the -young man replied that he would marry her if she was pretty, and he fell -in love with her, but not otherwise. - -We have heard the result announced in the words of Vane Charteris to his -betrothed. He was conquered at once by her peerless beauty. Mr. Langton -privately confided to the young lady that she must marry the husband he -had selected for her, or he would cut her off with a shilling. Maud -acquiesced meekly, prudently banished her obnoxious lover, and Mr. -Langton announced to his friends the near consummation of what he -happily termed a love-match. - -That it was a love-match on one side, the words of Vane Charteris have -assured us. Whether it was the same on Maud's part remains to be seen. - - * * * * * - -"Can we assist you in any way?" asked the gay bevy of bride's-maids, -coming into Maud's room _en masse_ as the dressing hour drew near. - -The beautiful bride-elect sat in the midst of the bridal finery, loosely -wrapped in a dainty dressing-gown, her beautiful golden hair unbound, -and flowing over her shoulders. She was very pale, and her blue eyes -glittered with excitement. - -"Thanks, no," she answered, in her languid, well-trained voice. "My maid -can do everything, and you will need all your time to beautify -yourselves." - -They laughed and protested, but lingered in the room, admiring the -elegant white satin dress, with its frosting of seed-pearls, the -beautiful Brussels veil, and the costly set of pearls, Mr. Langton's -bridal gift to his well-beloved niece. Maud did not talk to them much, -and Reine Langton's quick eyes saw that she was growing nervous and -impatient. - -"Come, girls, let us go," she said. "It is time to dress, and Maud wants -a little time to herself. Remember that this is her last hour of 'maiden -meditation, fancy free.'" - -The gay, pretty troop ran away, nothing loth, to don their bridal -finery. Reine went to her own airy chamber thoughtfully. - -"How calmly and coolly my cousin takes it all," she thought, "while I--I -would give my two ears, I know, to be in her place. Oh, Vane, Vane! how -cruel you are to me, and how much you despise me. What a fool I am to -love you so!" - -And full of indignant self-scorn, she threw herself into a chair, and -wept until her eyes were red, a calamity which necessitated a copious -mopping with cologne water. - -"My looks are spoiled for the evening, that's clear," she says to -herself, ruefully. "I shall look a fright; no one will give me a second -glance. But who will care for poor Reine Langton, anyway?" - -But when the pretty bride's-maid dress, Mr. Langton's gift, is on, and -the dark, curling tresses are looped back with pale rose-buds and some -long, trailing sprays of feathery white, she is well worth looking at. - -The mellow _brune_ tint of her skin is brightened by the vivid, yet -changeful rose-flush on the round, dimpled cheeks; the dark eyes are -none the less dazzling for the new touch of dreaminess that has come -into their subtle depths beneath the drooping lashes, "like to rays of -darkness." - -Dressing has taken but a little time. It is a process over which Reine -never lingers. She adjusts the last flower with one careless glance into -the mirror, and goes to the window. The dim, mysterious twilight has -fallen over everything. The silver sickle of a young moon hangs in the -amethystine sky, the summer air is heavy with perfume and dew. Reine -props her dimpled chin in the hollow of one small hand, and falls to -musing. - -To-morrow she goes back to the old dull life of care and labor, to the -made-over dresses, the shabby boarding-house, the stupid, stubborn -pupils of her village school. - -These three weeks she has "fed on the roses, and lain in the lilies of -life." Servants have waited on her, she has had her time at her own -disposal, she has thoroughly enjoyed every hour of it in her eager, -active fashion. This brief visit has been like a green oasis in a desert -land. To-morrow she will step across its green borders, and journey on -through the sandy reaches of a dreary, uncongenial life again. - -"The same old, tiresome life," she says, yet even as she speaks she -knows it will not be the same. - -Something has come into her life these brief, bright summer days that -she knew not of in the old days--even love. - -"After to-morrow I shall never see him again," she says to herself with -patient gravity, and there comes to her a shamed remembrance of his -words that morning: "After to-morrow I shall be forever out of reach of -your shrill voice and scolding tongue." - -"Forever!" The word, never dwelt upon before, acquires a strange, -terrible meaning in her thoughts. She realizes, with a gasp of terror, -what Maud's lover really is to her. Though she has gibed him, teased -him, pitilessly derided him, she has given him her whole, foolish, -girlish heart. She flushes hotly with a passionate shame. - -"I love him--when he will be Maud's husband in less than an hour!" she -cries to herself. "For shame, Reine Langton. Shake off this disgraceful -weakness, and be your own brave self again." - -There is a tap at the door, unheeded and unheard in her preoccupation. - -It opens, and the house-maid enters, flurried and excited. - -Reine starts up in a panic and looks at the clock. - -"Oh, dear, it is past the time," she cries. "How could I be so careless? -Are they all waiting for me, Mary?" - -"No, Miss Langton--leastways I don't think they need you." - -"Not need me? What do you mean? Isn't the bride dressed yet?" - -"No, miss--yes, miss--that is, I don't quite know. _She's_ run away," -the girl stammers, blankly. - -"Who has run away?" Reine demands, sharply. - -"The bride--Miss Maud," is the startling reply. - -"Where has she gone? What for?" Reine demands, inelegantly, in the shock -of her great surprise. - -"To marry her old lover, Mr. Clyde, that she loved, and she couldn't -love Mr. Charteris, miss," said the house-maid, succinctly. - -There is a moment's silence. Reine drops back into a chair, dazed with -the suddenness of the news. - -"You see she left a little note to her uncle, miss, to let him know -where she'd gone, and the old gentleman's that mad, miss, he up and -swore bad enough to lift the roof off!" - -There is a quick, startling rap at the door. Mary runs to open it in a -hurry, and Reine glances up with dark, anxious eyes. - -The next instant she starts to her feet with a smothered cry. - -On the threshold stands Vane Charteris, pale as death itself, but -superbly handsome in the customary suit of solemn black that makes -gentlemen appear like mourners on all festive occasions. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -Fifteen minutes before, while Reine Langton dreamed at the window, there -had been great excitement in the villa. The house-maid's tale was a -true one. The bride-elect has eloped with another man. - -They have the terrible story down in uncompromising "black and -white"--in her own hand-writing. She has gone away to marry Mr. Clyde. - -"Because I loved him all the while, uncle," she writes, pleadingly, "and -at last I found it would break my heart to give him up. I could not love -Mr. Charteris, though I tried hard, because you wished it. And indeed, -Uncle Langton, you are deceived in Vane Charteris. It was your money he -wanted, not me; but poor Clyde loves me for myself alone. I know you -will forgive me when I come back to you, for you cannot long be angry -with your own loving Maud." - -All this to the uncle she had disobeyed, but not one word to the lover -she had betrayed and deserted. He stands silent, biting his lips to keep -back the words that rush to them, a lurid flame of angry scorn burning -in his dark blue eyes. - -"I could bear all else but that most cruel thrust," he says to his old -friend, hoarsely, when the dismayed bride's-maids have left them -together, amid the splendid paraphernalia of the bridal chamber. "When -she knew how I loved her, to cast that wretched money into my face! -Great God! the falsity of women! Henceforth I live only for revenge!" - -The old man, so old and feeble that people said of him already that he -had "one foot in the grave and the other on the brink," whirled around, -and paused in his terrible revilings of Maud and her chosen lover, and -looked strangely at his favorite. - -"So you want revenge, my boy," he said, chuckling wickedly. "You are -right to live for it. Very well, you shall have it ready made to your -hand." - -"How?" Vane Charteris asked, eagerly. - -"That false, deceitful jade shall never receive a penny from my hoarded -wealth!" declared Mr. Langton. "You shall have all." - -But Vane Charteris shakes his head, decisively. - -"No," he says, firmly, "I will not have my revenge that way. It would be -defrauding another. You have another niece." - -"I have not forgotten her claims," Mr. Langton says, grimly. "I was -going on to speak of her when you interrupted me. What I was about to -say was this: Reine Langton shall be my heiress, and you shall be her -husband." - -Vane Charteris starts and recoils. - -"No, no!" he exclaims. - -"What! you refuse my niece's hand when I offer it to you?" he storms. - -"Yes; I cannot marry her, for I do not love her," Vane answers, firmly. - -"You handsome idiot! Who said anything about love? I thought we were -discussing revenge," cries the old man, testily. - -"So we were, but I cannot take my revenge like that! I would sooner die -than have an unloved wife tied around my neck like a mill-stone," Vane -Charteris answers, gravely. - -"An unloved wife," the old man repeats; "and pray, couldn't you love my -niece, Reine? She's a bright little beauty to my thinking." - -"Love that little hoiden, that incorrigible vixen!" the young man cries, -regarding his mother's old friend as if he thought he had taken leave of -his senses. - -Mr. Langton frowns darkly. - -"Take care," he says, "you are speaking of my heiress, remember. I see -how it is. Maud disliked Reine--jealous of her bright prettiness, -perhaps--she has set you against her." - -"She has not," declares Vane. "Reine has done it, herself. You cannot -deny her brusk manners, and her sharp, ungoverned tongue, Mr. Langton." - -"Pooh! mere girlish fun," retorts Mr. Langton. "I have never disliked -her sprightly ways, myself; I like the vim and spirit of Reine. She -makes me think of Lelia, a 'rosebud set with little willful thorns,' -much more charming than Maud's 'passionless, pale-cold calm.'" - -"'The king is dead, long live the king,'" Vane Charteris quotes with -grim sarcasm. - -"Yes, Maud is dethroned, and Reine shall reign in her stead," Mr. -Langton replies; "and if you are wise, Vane Charteris, you will reign -with her." - -There is a moment's silence, and then Mr. Langton goes on: - -"You talk of revenge. Marry Reine and you have it in full measure. Maud -believes that she can marry Clyde, and come back and wheedle me into -taking them both into my good graces. How glorious for Reine to take her -place in my favor and in your heart!" - -"She could not do that," Vane answers. "I was proud of Maud's beauty, -and grace, and refinement. I loved her gentleness." - -"The silky, purring deceitfulness of a treacherous cat," interpolates -Maud's outraged uncle. - -Vane flushes deeply. - -"Still I should never love Reine," he said. "She continually jars upon -me. She keeps my nerves upon edge. You are right to make her your -heiress, but forgive me for saying that I can never make her my bride." - -"She shall not be one without the other," declares the old man -stubbornly. - -"You mean--" Vane says, aghast. - -"That if you refuse to marry Reine, she shall go back to her life of -toil to-morrow, and I'll leave my money to found an asylum for idiots -and fools," storms the old man, violently. - -"You would never be so unjust, Mr. Langton," Vane exclaims, -incredulously. "Let me reason with you. Though I do not admire Reine, I -pity her. She has a hard life. Let me plead for the poor orphan girl. -Take her in the place of Maud, and give her your love and your wealth." - -"No, I have announced my ultimatum. To-morrow she leaves here, and -to-morrow you leave here. She to her life of slavery, you as a mark for -the finger of scorn to point at, a jilted man! How false-hearted Maud -and her successful husband will laugh at the misery of the man they -fooled so shamelessly; how the minister, waiting down-stairs, and the -wedding guests will laugh in their sleeves at the deserted bridegoom. -Go, now, sir, and remember that your cursed obstinacy has beggared you, -and cheated Reine Langton of fortune." - -He glares with bleared, furious eyes at the uncompromising young fellow. -Vane looks troubled, reckless all at once. - -"I do not want to cause Reine such a misfortune," he says, sadly. "Give -me five minutes to decide in, Mr. Langton." - -"Take them," the host says, shortly. Vane walks to the window and stares -silently out at the dewy, odorous, tranquil summer night. Many thoughts -crowd into his mind. - -He has loved Maud Langton dearly, and he is cut to the heart by the -bitter humiliation she has put upon him. He is a jilted man. How shall -he face the sneering world again? that world that but a little while ago -fawned upon him because he was going to marry Mr. Langton's heiress. - -Mr. Langton waits impatiently, watch in hand, for the stipulated five -minutes to pass. He is very anxious to have his way and spite Maud for -her falsehood and disobedience. Inwardly he curses Vane's Quixotic -foolishness in refusing a fortune, no matter how burdened. - -"The time is up," he says, impatiently. "Yes or no. Marry Reine to-night -and I will make my will to-morrow, and leave everything to you and your -wife. For the present, until my death, which can't be far off," with -sardonic humor, "I'll settle twenty-five thousand a year upon you; -refuse, and you both go." - -Vane Charteris turns upon him a white, desperate face. - -"For myself I despise your threat," he says. "I am a man. I can carve my -own way to fortune, yet I should hate for Reine to blame me with her -loss of fortune. Mr. Langton, I will marry her if she will have me." - -"Of course she will; no girl in her senses would refuse a handsome man -like you, let alone the fortune," Mr. Langton cries, with returning good -humor. - -"On one condition," Vane continues, haughtily. - -Mr. Langton lifts his eyebrows interrogatively. - -"This: that I may go abroad to-morrow to be absent a year--you may offer -any evasive excuse to the bride--and that while I am gone you will train -Reine to be a graceful, dignified woman, whom I can respect and honor." - -"Like Maud, for instance," Mr. Langton says. - -"Maud's manners were perfect," Vane answers, flushing. "I could not wish -more grace and refinement for my own wife so that her heart is kept -truer." - -"You are quite decided to go away?" Mr. Langton inquires, disappointed. - -"Yes," decidedly. "I can marry Reine, but I cannot live with her just -yet." - -"Very well, you shall have your way. Now go and ask her if she will have -you." - -"Where shall I find her?" - -"In her own room, I think. I have not seen her in all the bustle. I will -wait here. If she says yes, bring her to me." - -And Vane turns away with a white, set face, to obey him. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -Vane Charteris enters the room and motions the maid to withdraw, closes -the door, and stands face to face with Reine Langton. It strikes him -suddenly on what a ridiculous errand he has come. This morning he -offended her, and she refused to pardon him. Tonight he has come to ask -her to be his wife. - -But Reine--passionate, impulsive Reine--has quite forgotten all that -now. After that one startled moment of indecision and surprise, she goes -forward to him, she puts her small hand on his coat sleeve, she looks up -into his white, haggard face with dark, pitying eyes. - -"You are come to tell me," she says, forgetting in her eager excitement -how strange it would be for him to seek _her_ sympathy. "But I have -heard. Believe me, I am very sorry for your disappointment. It was mean -and cruel," indignantly, "in Maud. I would not have done it, _bad_ as -you think me." - -How soft the dark, uplifted eyes; how gentle the pitying voice, how kind -the words! Can this be Reine--sharp-tongued, restless, gibing Reine? He -stares in great surprise. - -"I should not care if I were you," she goes on. "I should be too proud -to grieve for one so false and unkind. She never loved you; I saw _that_ -as soon as I came here, but I did not know she could be so mean. I will -never speak to her again." - -"You take my part," he says, unconsciously pleased. - -"Yes, because you have been treated unfairly," she says, warmly. "You -have been jilted at the very altar--you so handsome, so noble----" she -stops, biting her lips, vexed at herself for these outspoken words. - -But Vane Charteris smiles. - -"Thank you for those words," he says. "They give me courage to ask what -I came for--Reine, will you be my wife?" - -The white hand falls from his arm, she steps backward a pace, and stares -at him mutely, with great, wondering, dark eyes. - -He repeats the words: - -"Reine, will _you_ be my wife? Will you go down-stairs and marry me, a -jilted man? Will you take the man your beautiful cousin deemed -worthless?" - -A passionate sarcasm quivers in his tone. She looks at him, the deep, -rich color flushing into her cheeks. - -"You do not mean it; you are jesting!" she cries, in a vaguely troubled -tone. - -"I do," he answers. "The guests are here; the feast is provided; the -minister waits. Nothing is lacking but the bride, who has fled to the -arms of another. Will you throw yourself into the breach, Reine, and -make everybody happy?" - -"If I thought I could," she begins, with a questioning glance, and a -delicious thrill at her heart. Something whispers to her that he would -wed her to spite Maud, yet her instinct prompts her to take him at his -word. In time her tender love must win a return from him. - -"You must not stop to think," the strange wooer says, impatiently. -"Everyone is waiting, and your uncle is most impatient. I have his -permission to win you if I can." - -"Uncle Langton wishes it?" she asks, wondering. - -"Yes. What is your answer, Reine?" - -"It is yes," she answers, simply, frankly, and happily. - -"Thank you," he says; "come, then, Mr. Langton is waiting for us." - -Then, softened by her gentle mood and the sparkling beauty he cannot -help but acknowledge, he says, with a dash of mischief: - -"You are changed from this morning Reine. So you do not hate me after -all?" - -A spark of the morning's _diablerie_ flashes into the bright eyes again. - -"Yes, I do," she retorts, "and I am only taking you that I may torment -you to death." - -He checks the impatient sigh, and leads her to Mr. Langton. - -"Sensible girl," he chuckles, beaming upon her. "Knew better than to -refuse uncle's fortune, didn't you, Reine?" - -She stares at him, her rosy cheeks grow pale. - -"I don't understand," she falters. - -"Didn't you tell her?" Mr. Langton demands of Vane. - -"No, I forgot. After all, it wasn't necessary," he answers. - -"Cunning dog," the old man laughs. "So she took you for yourself alone? -Well, I told you so. She has a true heart in spite of her wild ways." - -But Reine stares from one to the other, vaguely troubled. - -Mr. Langton bends and kisses the fair, low brow. - -"Reine, you are my heiress now," he says. "I shall cut Maud off with a -shilling. You and Vane will have all my money when I am dead." - -"Oh, if you please, Uncle Langton, I'd rather not," she cries, -breathlessly, then she looks at Vane. "Is he taking me for the money?" -she says, with a flash of disdain in her great, black eyes. - -Vane flushes an angry crimson, but his old friend interferes. - -"No, you little goose," he replies, severely, "He's taking you because -you're a deuced pretty girl, and worth a dozen disobedient Mauds. Now -will you put on that wedding-veil there, and go down-stairs with him and -show those gaping, gossiping simpletons that there's a bride after all, -and the wedding-feast will not be spoiled by the groom's sorrow?" - -He rings the bell with the words. A trim maid appears with a quickness -that would argue that she had been listening outside the door. - -"Put that wedding-veil on Miss Langton," commands her master. "She will -be the bride, and also my heiress." - -"Miss Reine, let me congratulate you," the girl exclaims, with a -heartiness that shows how Reine has won her way since she came to -Langton Villa. - -In five minutes the veil is on, with the trailing sprays of orange -flowers meant for Maud. The rich, white silk, with its lace flounces, -makes no inappropriate bridal dress. But Reine stands still, a lovely -bride, grown suddenly strangely pale and grave-looking. - -"Now, Mary, hunt up the bride's-maids while I go down and notify the -minister," adjures Mr. Langton. - -They go, and the bride and groom remain alone together. She stands shyly -in the center of the room, with drooping eyes, dark, slender, lovely, -but strangely unlike the fair and stately Juno Vane Charteris has -pictured these many days as his bride. - -They speak no word to each other, and the laughing "men and maidens" -come in and surround them. - -"It is just like a novel," one says; and another: "It serves Maud -right," and all agree that it is "just too romantic for anything," and -are glad there will be a wedding after all. - -But the two principals say nothing in all the babble of idle tongues. -Arm in arm they go forward to the marriage altar, side by side they -breathe those solemn vows that bind together their antagonistic lives. -It is all like a dream to Reine: the wedding march, the wedding flowers, -the curious faces, the solemn words, the circle of gold upon her finger. -But as she turns to meet the congratulations of the guests, one precious -thought is blooming like a full and perfect rose in her passionate -heart: - -"He is all my own now. I shall not be parted from him to-morrow." - -After the hum of congratulations is over there ensues a momentary pause. -The bride is led to a seat, and Vane Charteris drifts away from her -side. The good wishes, the pretty sentiments of the guests fall -meaningless on his ears. - -"What happiness can I promise myself as the husband of that little -vixen?" he says to himself, darkly. - -So he stands apart in moody silence, and the curious glances of a -hundred eyes note the handsome, troubled white face, and turn again -pityingly on the girlish young bride. - -"She will never be happy with him," they say, decidedly. "He has only -married her to spite Maud." - -Suddenly, in that momentary lull and stillness, the door is flung -violently open, a tall, queenly figure, clad in a gray traveling-dress, -wavers a moment on the threshold, then rushes across the room to Mr. -Langton. She falls on her knees before him. - -"Oh, for God's sake, tell me I am not too late," she cries. "Uncle -Langton, I have repented my folly before it was too late. Forgive me, -uncle. I have come back to marry Mr. Charteris." - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -Dead silence falls. Every eye turns on that graceful, kneeling figure, -and fair, uplifted face, with the gold braids crowning the graceful head -so royally. - -Mr. Langton stares stupidly a moment. - -Maud puts her hand on his arm and shakes him. - -"Uncle, don't you understand?" she says. "I have come back to marry -Vane. I repented as soon as I saw Mr. Clyde. I knew in a moment that I -did not care for him enough to sacrifice everything for him. I told him -so, and he was very angry, but I came away in spite of his terrible -threats. I--I like Mr. Charteris best." - -Vane Charteris starts forward like one awakening from a nightmare. - -"Hush; do not perjure your soul, Maud," he breaks out, sternly. "Say -what you mean. You do not care for Vane Charteris, but you love Mr. -Langton's money too well to give it up for love in a cottage with Mr. -Clyde." - -She starts to her feet, half extending her arms. - -"This from you, Vane!" she cries, dramatically. "Surely you have not -turned against me after all your professions of love. Do not be so hard, -Vane. You see I have come back to you. Forgive me, I pray you. I _do_ -care for you, I want to be your wife!" - -"You can never be my wife. By the folly of an hour you have barred -yourself out of my life forever," he answers her with a strange, icy -sternness. - -She stares at him mutely a moment, then turns to Mr. Langton. - -"You see," she says, triumphantly, "it is Mr. Charteris who refuses -me--I do not refuse him. I am willing to keep to my contract--he -declines my hand. Surely you will forgive me now, dear uncle, and take -me back. I have not forfeited your love nor your fortune." - -And Mr. Langton, finding voice at last, answers her, angrily: - -"You have forfeited both by your cursed madness. Henceforth you have no -part in my heart nor my home. Yonder sits my heiress, and Vane -Charteris' _wife_!" - -With a gasp like one dying, Maud follows the direction of his pointed -finger. - -She sees a slight, girlish figure that has suddenly come forward to the -side of Vane Charteris as if mutely claiming him for hers. Her own -costly wedding veil drapes the dainty, lissome figure. - -"Reine Langton," she cries, furiously, "have you dared to rob me of my -fortune and husband?" - -Reine lifts her flashing, dark eyes. - -"Remember, Maud, you flung them both away," she answers, indignantly. - -"Fool that I was," Maud wails, despairingly. "I have lost all, all, by -my brief madness! Oh! Uncle Langton, surely you will forgive me, and -take me back now when I am so bitterly repentant. Let her have Mr. -Charteris--I can do without him--but do not send me away!" - -He looks coldly at the pleading blue eyes, and the eager, upraised -hands. If possible he is more bitterly angry with her now than he was -when he received her note an hour ago. - -"It is useless to plead with me," he says, coldly. "You should have -thought of all this before. It is too late now. I have flung you out of -my heart forever. Reine will be my heiress--you can go." - -"I have nowhere to go," she says, looking at him with wide, frightened -eyes and parted lips. - -"It matters not to me," he answers, cruelly. "Go back to the fine, gay -lover that lured you from your duty and your plighted word. See if he -will take you, now that you have lost all chances of the Langton -fortune." - -Reine comes bravely forward to the side of the discarded girl. - -"Oh! uncle, let her stay," she says, imploringly; "I do not want your -fortune, I have _Vane_. That is enough for me. Let Maud come home and -have the money--or at least _share_ it." - -"No," he thunders, stormily; "I have said my say--I will abide by it. -She is nothing to me henceforth. Let her go." - -Maud looks around at the bride. - -"It is all your fault," she says, bitterly. "If you had not married Vane -before I came, my uncle would have forgiven me. Vane does not love you, -he has only taken you for my uncle's money. Beware that you do not rue -this night in dust and ashes." - -"If I had only known that you would come back, Maud, like this," Reine -begins, wringing her hands in a passionate kind of self-pity. - -Maud crosses to the door before them all, with that proud, imperial step -that had become Mr. Langton's heiress so well, but is mockingly out of -place now. The bride follows her. - -"Maud," she whispers, anxiously, "send me your address to-morrow, and I -will come to you. Indeed, indeed I am anxious to befriend you." - -Maud puts her aside without a word, and steps over the threshold. She -walks with her light, proud step down the hall, and disappears in the -outer darkness, looking regretfully back, as Eve might have looked when -she was driven from paradise. - -"My friends," Mr. Langton says, rising, "do not let this unpleasant -episode damp the wedding festivities. You came to do honor to my -heiress, and Vane Charteris' bride. _She_ is here, and the banquet -waits." - -"The queen is dead, long live the queen!" that is what he means. They -understand that Maud is dethroned, and Reine reigns in her stead. They -obey his implied wish. No one speaks the name of Maud either in praise -or blame. The festivities go on. The luxurious banquet duly discussed, -the joyous music invites the young and gay to "trip the light fantastic -toe." This is a country wedding where all is freedom and simple -enjoyment. The guests "don't go home until morning." - -In the pale dawn-light some of the young men, who left with gay words -and light hearts, came hurrying back with blanched faces and startled -eyes. In the woods near-by, they have found the blood-stained body of a -dead man--Maud's lover, Mr. Clyde. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -Wearied with the long festivities of the night, Reine goes to her room, -in the pale light of the new day, and lays aside the bridal veil and -dress, donning a cool white wrapper instead. She bathes her face in some -fresh water, brushes out her silky, dark tresses, and loosely tying them -back with a scarlet ribbon, slips quietly down the stairs again. - -Ten minutes later, Mr. Langton and Vane Charteris coming into the -deserted parlor, find her standing with one of the maids before the long -table, on which the numerous and costly bridal presents have been -displayed. Friends have vied with each other in the elegance and beauty -of their gifts to Mr. Langton's heiress. Silver and gold, and precious -stones flash back the expiring light of the flickering lamps. The -house-maid has brought in a large box, and she and Reine are deftly -restoring the wrappers to the various articles, and packing them -carefully into its capacious recesses. - -Mr. Langton stares. - -"Child, what upon earth are you doing?" he exclaims. - -Reine looks around, brightly. - -"Only packing these things away for Maud," she explains. - -"For Maud?" Mr. Langton gasps. - -"Yes, sir. I shall forward them to her as soon as I find out where she -is staying," she replies, pausing to admire a richly-chased bracelet, -set with rubies, before she closes the satin-lined case. - -"The deuce you will," Mr. Langton growls. "Upon my word I never saw such -cool impertinence in my life. Who authorized you to do such a thing?" - -"I took the liberty myself," Reine responds, flashing a laughing glance -upon his indignant face. - -"Very well. Let me inform you, Mrs. Charteris, that these things belong -to you, not to Maud. They were given to my heiress, and Vane's bride, -therefore they are your own." - -The beautiful color flows into her face, but she shakes her small head -resolutely. - -"You must pardon me, uncle," she says, "but, indeed, I think your ideas -of _meum et tuum_ are rather confused. All these pretty things belong to -my cousin by every right in the world, and I am determined she shall -have them." - -"I say she shall not," he cries, violently. - -"And I say she _shall_," Reine reiterates, laughing, but in earnest, the -golden lights fairly dancing in her eyes. - -"Why, you audacious little spitfire," the old man begins to splutter, -but Vane Charteris interrupts him gravely. - -"I think Reine's idea is the true one," he says. "The gifts really -belong to Maud, and she ought to have them." - -The bride flashes him a dazzling look of gratitude from her brilliant -eyes. - -"There, now, Uncle Langton," she cries, with pretty triumph. "You see my -husband sides with me." - -"Sides with Maud, you mean," Mr. Langton mutters, between his teeth. - -"He will always be on the side of justice, I hope," Reine says, with a -smile at her husband, that he does not see, consequently does not -return. - -But Mr. Langton frowns at the pert little lady. - -"See here, Reine," he says. "I won't be set at naught by a child like -you, if you were fifty times my niece. Have your way this time, but -don't begin your rule too soon. Remember, I haven't made my will yet." - -"_That_ does not frighten me one bit," she laughs; then she rises on -tiptoe to put her rosy lips to his ear. "You cannot take my husband from -me," she whispers, archly. "I do not care for the rest." - -He looks at her half-pityingly, and turns away without a word. - -But something born of that pitying thought makes him say to Vane -Charteris, as they pass from the room: - -"There is no reason you should regret Maud. Reine is quite as charming -and beautiful, though in a different way from her cousin." - -And Vane answers, readily enough: - -"She is beautiful, certainly no one can deny that. She has the -brilliant beauty of the rose. But one must beware the thorns. She is a -perfect contrast to Maud, who always reminded me of a tall, white, -stately lily." - -"The rose is the sweeter, to my thinking," Mr. Langton replies. -"Besides, the rose is the true emblem of love." - -They pass through the hall, and out into the soft light of the early -day. The cool, dewy breath of the morning, freighted with the scent of -countless flowers, blows in their faces, the matin songs of myriad birds -make music in their ears. Roses, honeysuckles, jessamines and lilies, -open their perfumed chalices to greet the rising sun that begins to -color the eastern sky with tints of purple and rose and gold. - -And up the graveled path came a trio of young men who had left the house -but a little while ago, laughing and jesting in the light-heartedness of -youth. They come silently now, with blanched and solemn faces, and -heavily-beating hearts. - -"Something dreadful has happened," they tell Mr. Langton. "We have found -a dead man in the woods. It is Mr. Clyde. He is cold and stiff--has -certainly been dead several hours. And, worst of all, he has most -probably been murdered. There is a bullet-hole through his heart." - -Found murdered! With what an icy chill the words strike upon the senses -in that beautiful, peaceful summer dawn. - -Having finished the packing of the box, Reine comes out, attracted by -the hum of voices. - -The rich color pales in her cheeks at the dreadful news. - -"Oh, how terrible," she cries. "It was Maud's lover, and she loved him, -poor girl!" - -She sees Vane Charteris wince, and feels as if she could bite her tongue -off for the thoughtless words. Her heart sinks heavily. - -"He has given me his hand, but not his heart," she says to herself. "I -must be very patient. Perhaps I may win his love yet. I must do so, for -I cannot live without it." - -As she thinks all this, he comes to her side. The heart of the unloved -bride beats quick and fast as the blue eyes fall upon her. - -But he has only come to say, coldly and carelessly: - -"Reine, you had better go in. This is too terrible a thing for a young -girl's ears." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -Yesterday, Reine would have defied Vane, and taken her own way, -recklessly. To-day, filled with the yearning wish to win her husband's -heart, she obeys with gentle dignity, and retires into the house. - -"I have read somewhere that love wins love," she says to herself. "If -that be true, surely my patience, my gentleness, my devoted love will -sometime win a return from him." - - * * * * * - -They hold an inquest over Mr. Clyde's body that day. No facts are -elicited that throw any light on the manner of his death. - -He was a stranger in the neighborhood, boarding at a quiet farm-house -for his health, he said. He had few friends and fewer enemies. The -people who lodged him deposed that they had not seen him since their -early seven o'clock supper, the evening previous. He had been in very -gay and brilliant spirits then; had dressed himself elegantly and gone -out before dark. No one had seen him until he was found dead in the -woods this morning, shot through the heart. The physicians examine the -corpse, and decide that he has been dead since nine o'clock last night, -and suddenly a baleful whisper runs from lip to lip. - -There are a hundred people, guests of the grand wedding at Langton villa -last night, who remember Maud Langton's abrupt entrance a little after -nine o'clock, and her frank confession that she had gone away to marry -Mr. Clyde, but had repented, and left him in spite of his threats. - -These facts are communicated to the coroner. He looks exceedingly grave. - -"It will be quite necessary to examine Miss Langton on the subject," he -declares. - -Someone is found who remembers to have heard that Miss Langton is at -the hotel in the village, near by. - -An officer is dispatched to bring her in to the inquest. - -So they wait in the odorous sweetness of the green wood, the officers of -justice, the silent corpse, the curious crowd; the wild birds sing on as -gayly as if no dead man lay there on the sweet, green grass, with his -handsome white face upturned to Heaven as if pleading for vengeance on -his slayer. - -He has not been murdered for purposes of robbery. His gold watch, his -diamond ring, his purse, containing a hundred dollars in bills, are all -secure upon his person. It is not known that he had an enemy in the -world. A strange mystery centers around his death. - -A few notice that old Mr. Langton goes away quietly before the officer's -return with Maud. And Vane Charteris stays. Standing apart beneath the -shade of a towering maple, he waits, with a strange, incensed look in -his dark blue eyes, and on his handsome face that is almost as white as -that of the dead. Many eyes regard him curiously; but the cold, white, -inscrutable face tells nothing to their wondering gaze. - -At last, after what seems a long and wearisome interval of waiting, the -rumble of the carriage wheels is heard. They pause in the road near by, -they catch the impatient neigh of horses, and the officer appears -leading a lady through the trees and grass toward them. - -She comes toward them, trembling so that, but for the support of the -officer's arm, she must certainly fall to the ground. At the coroner's -request she lifts her veil and looks at him with frightened, blue eyes, -and a wild, white face--whiter than the lilies to which Vane Charteris -likened her that morning. - -She is duly sworn, and they re-cover the dead, white face, with its -staring eyes they cannot close, and mute, cold lips. - -"Do you recognize this man?" they ask her, and after one shuddering, -quickly-withdrawn glance, she averts her face, and answers with white, -pain-drawn lips: - -"It is Mr. Clyde." - -She is asked next: - -"When and where did you see him last?" - -A quiver passes over the pale, beautiful face. - -"Last night, at or near nine o'clock, near this spot," she falters, yet -standing suddenly erect, with stately, lily-like grace, and a -proudly-poised head. - -"Was he living or dead?" - -"Living, of course," haughtily. - -"Mr. Clyde was your lover?" the coroner interrogated. - -"I have not said so," she says, flashing him a haughty look. - -"The fact is well known," he answers. "You went away to marry him last -night?" - -The deep color flows into her cheeks, then recedes again, leaving her -pale as marble. - -"I cannot deny it," she murmurs, in a crushed voice. - -"Then you changed your mind, as it is a lady's privilege to do, and left -him. He was very angry, and used threats toward you," the coroner -pursues, politely. - -"Yes," Miss Langton answers, in the same low, sad voice. - -"Of what nature were those threats?" they ask her. - -"He threatened to destroy himself if I did not become his wife, but, oh, -I did not believe it, really--I thought he was only trying to frighten -me into compliance with his wish," she cries, while a look of regret and -sorrow transforms this fair, beautiful face. A hum of surprise goes -through the eager throng of listeners. - -"Do you believe that he really killed himself?" - -"Yes; how else should he have met his death?" she inquired, fixing a -look of grave wonder upon him. - -A slight whisper goes through the crowd again--some shrug their -shoulders. - -The coroner pursues without answering her question: - -"Was Mr. Clyde in the habit of making such suicidal threats?" - -"He had done so on several occasions." - -"In the presence of witnesses?" the question is asked with strange -gravity. - -Maud looks at him with a grave wonder on her fair, proud face. - -"No, of course not," she answers, a little annoyance in her clear tone. - -"Then you cannot prove that the deceased made those threats against his -own life?" the coroner asked in a troubled tone. It is very plain to him -that she cannot see the cloud of distress and suspicion gathering -around her. - -"Cannot prove it!" she says, indignantly. "You have _my_ word under -oath." - -"Other evidence would make it all the stronger," he replies, evasively. - -The officer who has brought her goes forward and whispers something in -the coroner's ear. He starts and looks at the girl fixedly a moment from -head to foot, then proceeds with the examination. - -"When you left your uncle's house last night, did you return to your -trysting-place with your discarded lover?" - -She stares at him with strangely dilated eyes, and parted lips. - -"Why should I?" she says. "I had dismissed him, and parted from him. I -supposed he had gone away." - -"Please answer, yes or no, to the question," he urges. - -"What question?" a little shortly. - -"The one I asked you just now. Did you return to your discarded lover at -this place when you left Langton Villa the second time? Yes, or no." - -"No, then," with a slight touch of defiance. - -A minute of dead silence. The coroner resumes, almost irrelevantly, it -would seem: - -"Is the dress you wear now the same one you had on last night, Miss -Langton?" - -"Yes, the same. I have not slept all night, she replies, wearily. - -"Please observe that on the front breadth of your dress there are some -dark, reddish-looking splashes and stains that resemble blood. Can you -account for them?" - -A cry of mingled horror and fear comes from her lips. All eyes turn on -the stylish, dark-gray silk that clings so gracefully to the tall, -finely molded figure. True enough, there are some dark red stains on the -middle breadth between the lower frills and the upper drapery. - -"Can you account for them?" the coroner repeats. - -But after one swift glance at the tell-tale marks, Maud crimsons, and -the tears start into her eyes. - -"You must pardon me; I spoke falsely to you just now," she says, with -desperate calmness. "I can tell you how those stains came there. They -are Vernon Clyde's blood." - -Again an ominous whisper runs through the circle of listeners. Maud -glances around her fearfully. She meets strange, averted glances from -faces that have been wont to smile upon her before. A strange light -comes into her eyes. - -"Oh, what do they mean?" she cries. "They do not think, do they, that I -killed Mr. Clyde? I tell you he killed himself. He told me he would do -so if I refused to marry him." - -"Tell us how those blood-stains came upon your dress," the coroner -answers, briefly and gravely. - -She clasps her hands and shivers through all her imperially perfect -form. - -"I _did_ come back here last night," she says, in a fearful whisper. "My -uncle had discarded me. Mr. Charteris had married another, and I had no -one to turn to but the lover I had discarded a little while before. So I -hurried back, thinking I would be Clyde's wife after all, but when I -came, he," with a gasp, "he lay dead before me. I had thought it but a -mere idle threat to frighten me, but he had kept his word faithfully. He -had shot himself through the heart. I knelt down beside him, and laid my -hand on his breast, but it was cold and still. Oh, you must not think I -killed him! I loved him, and I would have gone away with him, but I was -afraid of losing my uncle's money," she ends, with a choking sob. - -"Why did you not raise an alarm when you found him dead?" - -"I was afraid they would charge me with his murder, so I hurried away, -not knowing of those tell-tale stains on my dress where I had been down -on my knees beside him. I did not kill him, no, no, but my fatal -weakness drove him to take his own life." - -There is a moment's perfect silence, then the voice of the coroner is -heard, with a troubled cadence in its sternness: - -"I regret my painful duty, Miss Langton, more than I can say. The high -position you have always held in this county would forbid the thought of -your criminality, but the evidence against you is of such a nature that -we shall be compelled to commit you to prison until further -developments." - -Her cry of terror and indignation echoes to the blue sky above her -golden head. The sweet song-birds fly affrighted from its shrill, eerie -sound. - -"You believe me guilty," she exclaimed. "Yet I have told you again and -again that Vernon Clyde died by his own hand." - -"If you could prove it to us," he says, "if you could even prove by a -competent witness his threat of self murder, you should go free this -hour." - -She looks at him dumbly and strangely. Suddenly a light of dazzling joy -breaks over her face. She slips her gloved hand into the folds of her -dress, withdrawing it with a gasp of disappointment. - -"Let me tell you," she says, hurriedly and eagerly. "Yesterday Mr. Clyde -sent me a note relative to my promise to meet him last night. In it he -says, distinctly and clearly: 'If you do not marry me, I swear I will -shoot myself through the heart.' I remember that the note is in the -pocket of the blue dress I wore yesterday. Tell me, for Heaven's sake, -would that be proof sufficient?" - -"If the writing could be proved as Mr. Clyde's, it would entirely clear -you from suspicion." - -"Then let them take me to Langton Villa," she cries, anxiously. "I can -lay my hand upon the note in one moment." - -All eyes are turned upon her glad, triumphant face. No one remembers -Vane Charteris where he stands in the shade of the tall maples. Yet a -strange look has come upon the fair, handsome face. The lips curl -nervously beneath the golden-brown mustache, the blue eyes gleam with a -strange, mocking triumph. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -Mr. Langton is nowhere to be seen when Maud re-enters the home, so late -her own. Reine comes to meet her, pale, troubled, sympathetic. They have -not been very fond of each other in the past--Maud has been too proud to -encourage the friendship of her poor cousin--but now the heart of the -younger girl goes out to the other in a gush of sympathy and sorrow. - -"Maud, I am _so_ sorry," she says, putting her hand gently on the girl's -arm; "but never fear, dear. All will come right. Of course you would not -have harmed a single hair of Mr. Clyde's head. Everybody must know -_that_." - -"Come with me to my room, Reine," Maud answers. - -Inside that quiet room she had quitted only yesterday eve in such high -hope Maud's proud self-possession breaks down. Throwing herself on a -luxurious sofa, she gives way to hysterical weeping. - -"I am _so_ sorry, Maud," Reine can only repeat, in gentlest sympathy. - -Maud gives her an angry glance through her tears. - -"Sorry," she says. "Sorry! Why should you be? Your fortune is built on -the wreck of mine." - -"Oh, Maud, do not say so," the girl cries, deeply pained. "Indeed, -indeed, I do not want the money. I will ask Uncle Langton to give it all -to you. I have Vane, I care for nothing else." - -"You love him?" Maud says, with lifted brows, slightly incredulous. - -"Yes," with a deep, beautiful blush. - -"You cannot suppose that he cares for you," Maud says, with subdued -contempt. - -"Not yet--not as he cared for you, of course, Maud. But I hope to win -him after awhile. You know," hopefully, "he must have thought he could -learn to care for me, else he would not have married me." - -"What a little simpleton you are," Maud says, disdainfully. "Ring the -bell for my maid, please." - -The maid comes, her eyes red with weeping. She has been mourning over -the troubles of her late mistress, and now, with dejected brow, stands -waiting. - -"Nellie, you remember the note you brought me from Mr. Clyde yesterday?" - -"Yes, miss, an' if I'd known what trouble it would bring, I'd never have -carried the first note back and forth," says Nellie, with vain -lamentation. - -"It's too late for regrets now," Maud answers her impatiently. "I want -that note, Nellie. It is in the pocket of the blue dress I wore -yesterday. Get it for me." - -Barely a minute--and a cry of dismay from Nellie's lips. - -"Oh, Miss Maud, 'tisn't there." - -Maud's face grows suddenly white and scared. - -"Look again," she says, with a gasp. - -"'Tisn't there," the maid reiterates, after a second flurried search. - -"Then it's somewhere else," confidently. "I know it is in this room. -Look until you find it, Nellie." - -Then she turns to Reine. - -"Can you guess why I came back last night?" - -"You told us the reason when you came, didn't you?" Reine says, blankly. - -"Not exactly. I will tell you now while Nellie is searching for the -note. Of course you knew when I went away I didn't expect to lose my -uncle's fortune?" - -"I thought you did. Hadn't he said----" begins simple Reine. - -"That I should marry Charteris, or lose the money--yes, I know, but I -give you my word I never believed it. I honestly thought I could marry -Mr. Clyde and return here. I thought it would be an easy matter to -wheedle my doting uncle into taking us both back. I never dreamed that -you would throw yourself into the breach and help them to their revenge -against me." - -"I never thought of such a thing myself, until--until Vane _asked_ me!" -Reine murmurs, blushingly. - -"Do you know why he asked you?" sneers the beautiful girl before her. - -"To spite you for having jilted him so publicly, Maud, and, perhaps, -because he liked me a little after all," she says, a little wistfully. - -"I gave you credit for just a little more sense, Reine," Maud answers, -bitterly. "Vane Charteris disliked you exceedingly. He thought you a -vixen, neither more nor less. He made you his wife because Mr. Langton -literally forced him to it." - -"It is not true. Why do you say such things? You are cruel, Maud," the -bride cries out, starting indignantly to her feet. - -"It is the truth. Nellie, have you found the note yet?" - -"No, miss, nor I don't think I can. Was it so very important?" returns -the girl. - -"Important! My very life hangs on its production," Maud says, wildly. -"You have looked carelessly. I could swear that it is in this room. It -_must_ be found." - -"I'll look again. Perhaps I've overlooked it, being in a hurry," the -maid returns, patiently, and Maud turns again to her cousin. - -"Nellie has always been very faithful to me," she says. "She was in my -confidence. She knew the trysting-place in the woods where I was to meet -Mr. Clyde. As soon as she learned that it was likely you would marry -Vane Charteris and cheat me out of Uncle Langton's fortune, she hastened -after me, and urged me to return and prevent such a catastrophe. I -decided at once to return. I had no notion of doing the -love-in-a-cottage business with my poor, but handsome lover." - -"You were heartless, Maud," Reine says, with a flash of her superb, dark -eyes. - -"So Mr. Clyde said," carelessly. "Anyway, I told him I should come back. -He was very angry. He drove Nell back, and swore I should stay and go -with him to the preacher that was even then waiting to marry us. I would -not yield an inch, and as soon as I could I got away." - -"Why do you tell me all this, Maud?" Reine says, with something like -royal scorn. "You make me think very little of you." - -"You will perhaps think very little of yourself presently," beautiful -Maud answers, maliciously. "Come here, Nellie, and tell Mrs. Charteris -all the hard things her husband said about her when Mr. Langton almost -went down on his knees to him to marry her." - -"How can she know?" Reine says, puzzled. - -"I was hid in a closet, listening, if you'll please to excuse me, -ma'am," the maid says, timorously, to the new mistress of Langton Villa. -Then she looks at Maud. "Oh, I'd rather not," she exclaims. "It would -only hurt Mrs. Charteris' feelings." - -"Do as I bid you," Maud answers, with her imperious tone of command. -"When Mr. Langton asked Vane Charteris to marry Reine, what words did he -use in reply?" - -Nellie looks at the bride with scared eyes. - -"Mrs. Charteris, you mustn't get mad at me. I wouldn't tell it, no, not -to save my life, only that Miss Maud will be angry if I don't," she -says, deprecatingly. - -No words come from Reine's pale lips. She stares with great, troubled -dark eyes alternately at the beautiful, cruel mistress and the shrinking -little maid. - -"Tell her," Maud repeats, imperiously. - -"Well, then, he said," the maid begins, nervously, "he said, Mrs. -Charteris, a flat no that he wouldn't marry you, that he couldn't love a -vixen and a hoiden like you, an' he'd sooner die than have you hanged -like a mill-stone around his neck." - -"Why, then, did he consent to marry me?" the bride gasps, after a shiver -and moan of unspeakable humiliation. - -"For your own sake, ma'am, 'cause Mr. Langton said he'd make you his -heiress if the gentleman would marry you, and if he wouldn't, why he -would leave his money to some asylum for fools. An' so Mr. Vane he said -he would marry you, 'cause he wouldn't want you to lose the fortune on -his account." - -"On one condition," Maud says, in her clear, high-pitched voice, gazing -with pitiless eyes at the beautiful, scarlet face before her. - -But Reine lifts her small hand with a sudden imperious gesture of -command. - -"I will not hear another word," she says, in a tone of mingled sorrow -and pride. "You must obey me now, Nellie; I am your mistress, not Maud. -And I command you never to open your lips on this subject again." - -Nellie shrinks abashed. Her whilom mistress laughs low and mockingly. - -"You have heard enough, eh? Well, I don't blame you. Well, Nellie, the -note?" - -"Oh, miss, I haven't found it yet, and indeed--indeed, I've looked in -every spot in this room where it could possibly be. Sure, you've tucked -it away somewhere and forgot, Miss Maud. Try to remember where you had -it last," the girl says, soothingly. - -Startled and half afraid, Maud springs to her feet putting her white -hand to her brow. - -"Let me think," she says, confusedly; "ah, now I remember; yesterday, -when I went down the path to Mr. Charteris and Reine under the tree I -had the note in my hand. I slipped it into my pocket." - -"It must have fallen on the ground," Nellie says, quickly. "Shall I go -and see?" - -"Yes," Maud answers, anxiously. - -Reine, grown suddenly, strangely pale, looks at the beautiful, harassed -face of her cousin. - -"That note, Maud," she says, in a voice of repressed excitement. "Is it -so very important?" - -"Important?" Maud says, peevishly. "Did I not tell you my very life -hangs on it? They believe that I killed Mr. Clyde. I must go to prison -unless I can find that note, which would establish my innocence." - -"Then it must be found," Reine says with sudden nervousness. "I will go -and help Nellie find it." - -"No--no, Reine; where is my uncle?" - -"Shut up in the library, I think, Maud." - -"Is he so very--very angry with me," she asks, lifting her large blue -eyes to Reine's troubled face. - -"I--I'm afraid so," Reine stammers, with marked hesitation. - -"Would he see me, do you think?" Maud inquires. - -"I do not know," Reine answers, with an unconscious sigh. - -"Go and ask him, Reine. Oh, I must make friends with him! What shall I -do without a friend in this perilous time?" - -"I will be your friend," Reine ventures, wistfully. - -Maud measures the slight figure with scornful eyes. - -"_You!_ what good could you do me?" she asks, disdainfully. - -"I do not know. I am small, but I am willing," Reine answers to that -look. "Remember, Maud, a little mouse once saved a lion." - -"Go and ask my uncle if he will let me come in and speak to him," Maud -answers, ignoring her offer with proud indifference. - -The slight, girlish figure turns away without a word. In the hall she -meets Nellie returning. - -"You have not found the note?" she says. - -"No, ma'am, and whatever will my poor Miss Maud do? Oh, Mrs. Charteris, -will they hang her for Mr. Clyde's murder? Oh, I daren't go in and tell -her I cannot find it," whimpers poor Nellie. - -"Nellie," abruptly, "tell me where to find Mr. Charteris." - -"Oh, ma'am, at the inquest, most probably," returns Nellie, surprised; -then, with an imploring look, "oh, Mrs. Charteris, please'm don't tell -him what I told you. I know Mr. Langton would discharge me for -listening. I shouldn't have told you, never, but for Miss Maud." - -Reine looks at her sadly. A far-away look in her "dark--dark eyes." - -"You needn't be afraid, Nell. I shall never tell him," she says, slowly, -and passes on. - -She opens the library door softly, and goes in. Mr. Langton is sitting -dejectedly in his arm-chair. - -"Uncle, dear," she says, in a strange, low voice, "tell me where to find -Mr. Charteris." - -He starts, guiltily, it seems to her. His fingers close over a slip of -paper in his hand. - -"You want Vane--oh, ah, yes, of course," he says, confusedly. "What can -you want of Vane?" - -She smiles sadly to herself. Her own husband, yet "what can she want of -him." - -"A matter of business, sir," she replies, with cold brevity. - -"Business!" He glances up and sees how white and strange her face is. -"Is it important? It will wait, won't it?" - -"No; it's a matter of life and death," she says, with trembling lips. - -"Life and death? You are jesting, child, surely. I am very sorry, dear, -but Vane has just sent me a line. He has gone--I mean he has been called -away suddenly. He may be compelled to remain some time. You will have to -be satisfied with my poor society. Vane sent you his love, and regrets -that he could not bid you farewell." - -A slight, cold smile touches the scarlet lips that curl in faint scorn. - -"Do not fib to me, Uncle Langton. You know very well he sent me no such -message. Let me see that note." - -She draws it deliberately out of his fingers, and reads the curt -message: - -"Mr. Langton, I am about going away as we agreed upon. I will write you -from abroad. Invent some excuse to satisfy the curiosity of Reine." - -"So that is the love he sent me," she says, looking at him with -reproachful, dark eyes. "How charmingly affectionate he is! Aren't you -afraid that you'll never get to Heaven, Uncle Langton, after that -tremendous fib?" - -"Don't tease, child, I have vexation enough. I did not think it of -Charteris, really. I wish now I hadn't----" he stops and gnaws his gray -mustache, fiercely. - -"I wish so, too," she says, with subdued bitterness. "It was a sad -mistake all round. It cannot be helped now. But, uncle, I _must_ see -him. Tell me where to find him." - -"You may find him in New York to-morrow. He left on the ten o'clock -train to-day." - -"This is dreadful--poor Maud," she says, incoherently. "Oh, uncle, Maud -is up-stairs. She prays you to see her. Uncle, you _must_. She has no -one to turn to but you. The shadow of a terrible crime is hanging over -her head. She must go to prison unless something happens to help her." - -"She has made her bed, so let her lie," he says, petulantly. - -"Oh, uncle, you must forgive her and befriend her; say that you will." - -"I won't," he says, with bitter brevity. - -"Let her come to you for five minutes; she can plead her own cause -better than I can." - -"I decline to see her. Tell her so. Tell her I will never have anything -more to do with her," he replies, sternly, leading her to the door, and -shutting her out into the hall. - -She goes back to her cousin, stumbling over Nellie, who is crouched -outside the door, dreading to enter with the story of her non-success. - -"He will see me?" Maud says, hopefully, as she enters. - -"I am very sorry, dear, but he utterly declines," Reine says, -sorrowfully. - -"Of course! I doubt if you ever asked him," Maud cries, irritably. "But, -Reine, what is the matter? You look white and scared? What has -happened?" - -"Vane--Mr. Charteris has gone away," Reine falters, miserably. - -"Gone away--of course. That was the condition on which he married you. -He said he could marry you, but he could not live with you." - -"Maud, why do you tell me these horrible things?" falters the wretched -young bride. - -"To make you as wretched as I am," Maud breaks out, with vindictive -passion in her voice and face. "But it is all true, every word. He said -he would stay away a year, and Mr. Langton must train you to be such a -woman as he could respect and honor; a woman," triumphantly, "like me." - -"God forbid!" Reine says, with a stifled gasp, turning her white face -away that Maud may not see the hopeless pain that shadows the -brightness. - -The door opens and Nellie creeps forlornly in. - -"Oh, Miss Maud," she says, tearfully, "I can't find it, I can't find it! -I've searched high and low but it's nowhere to be found!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -How strange are the turns of fortune. Yesterday the beautiful queen of -the county, the heiress of a millionaire, the betrothed of a handsome, -adoring lover; to-day the inmate of a prison, the shadow of a crime -hanging over her head, looked upon with horror and suspicion by those -who, twenty-four hours ago, were ready to fall down and worship her. So -Maud Langton muses drearily. - -Out of all the throng of defaulting friends only one remains to her--the -girl she hates with cordial good-will, the rival who has spoiled all her -hopes, who has married her lover, and who reigns at Langton Villa in her -stead. What bitterness to acknowledge that slight, dark-eyed girl she -has always despised, as the only human being who clings to her, and is -kind to her in this, her dark hour. - -But it is true. It is Reine who takes her by the hand when others fail -her; it is Reine who stands up bravely by her side and declares her -belief in the existence of the mislaid note; it is Reine who almost -pledges herself to find it if only they will give her time--hours, or -days, or weeks, as the case may be. - -And when she has thus declared her purpose, she goes back to Langton -Villa to "beard the lion in his den." - -"Uncle Langton, I am going to New York after Mr. Charteris," she says to -him, coolly. - -"Eh? what--after Vane?" he growls, in his curt fashion. "What's up?" - -"I have important business with him. I _must_ see him, if only for five -minutes." - -The old millionaire looks keenly at the dusky, beautiful face. Some of -the brightness has gone out of it since yesterday. The large, dark eyes -have a strange, intent, far-off look, the lips droop like a grieved -child's, the white rose instead of the red, blooms on her cheek. - -"Child, you look tired and pale. All this excitement has been too much -for you. What is this business with Vane, eh? To scold him for running -away?" - -"Nothing of the sort," with impatient wrath; "a mere matter of business, -as I said to you just now." - -He does not believe her, and in his proud old heart there is a secret -indignation at Vane for his cavalier flitting. Reine shall not run after -him. - -"You mustn't go," he says, bluntly. "I won't have you run after him. -He'll come to of himself, only give him time and let him have his fling -undisturbed. You will only disgust him, going after him. You shall hold -your own, and be as stiff as he is." - -She stares at him, her white hands locked before her, her sweet lips -apart. - -"But, uncle----" she begins. - -"I know," he interrupts, "but believe me, child, I know men better than -you do. You must not seem to care. Remember that you are a bride, -unwooed, as yet, married for spite, not for love. In fact, Vane has gone -away for a time just to accustom himself to the idea of his strange -marriage, and to give you time to--to train yourself for your new -position." - -"To make myself over into a woman like Maud," she breathes, low and -bitterly. - -He starts, evidently disconcerted. - -"Eh? what? Who told you that, Reine?" - -"A little bird in the air whispered it," she retorts, with grim -pleasantry. - -"No such thing. I wish I knew who had been telling tales to you. I'd -wring their necks!" testily. "But you understand, don't you," anxiously, -"how premature it would be to follow him? Give him a little time. He'll -come to his senses fast enough, and thank fortune for his pretty little -wife!" - -"Uncle Langton," indignantly, "do give me leave to speak. Do you think -I'm a love-sick fool to go running after a man that despises me?" - -"I thought you had more sense," he says, beaming upon her; "you give it -up, then?" - -"No, I am determined to go. Try to understand, sir, that it is on no -personal business I wish to see him. It is for--for another. He will -understand." - -"Write to him, then, Reine." - -"It would not do. He is very obstinate, I fancy. I may have to urge him -very persistently." - -Mr. Langton peers at her curiously beneath his shaggy brows. - -"What is this mysterious mission on which you are going, Reine? -Explain." - -The dark lashes fall, veiling her troubled eyes from his keen scrutiny. - -"I cannot tell you; it may turn out a mere chimera; say that I am going -on a 'wild-goose chase,' and you will hit the truth." - -"Of course you know there is not another train until to-morrow," he -observes. "Vane will have had twenty-four hours the start of you." - -"I know that. Still I must follow him," she says, persistently. - -"Then I must tell you. I didn't mean you should know just yet; it is not -likely you will find him in New York when you go. He's off for the other -side of the 'herring-pond.'" - -"Gone abroad!" She starts, and her tortured face whitens. Into her eyes -comes a look of despair. - -"You know he was booked for Europe--he and Maud were, I mean. Their -passage was taken on the steamer which leaves New York to-morrow. Vane -has obstinately chosen to go alone. Never mind, lovey. The young -simpleton will be suing your pardon some day." - -"Never mind me, uncle, I am not thinking of myself," she says, through -white, quivering lips. "Oh, tell me what to do! I must see him for five -minutes only--I must, I must, I _must_! if I have to follow him to -Europe!" - -"Is the case so desperate as that?" he asks; "I will help you, then. -Shall I telegraph him to stay in New York until----" - -"Not until I come," nervously. "_That_ might make him very angry." - -"Until _I_ come, then. For I shall go with you, of course. What could -you do all alone by yourself in big New York?" - -"You will go--oh, you dear, kind uncle, how thankful I am!" she cries, -kissing his withered old cheek in the fervor of her gratitude. "Now, I -shall be brave as a lion. Oh, pray telegraph him this hour, if -possible!" - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -"Now, Reine, I know the hotel where Vane stays when he comes to New -York. If he received my telegram he will be waiting there for me. I will -go and bring him to you." - -They are in a small, private parlor of a hotel in New York. Reine, very -dusty and anxious-looking, is walking up and down the floor, never -having even removed her hat. - -"I will bring him to you," Mr. Langton repeats. "Now, dear, go to your -room and bathe your face and hands, and brush your hair. Do not let your -husband find you so dusty and travel-stained." - -"As if he cared," she says, with infinite mournfulness, yet obeying his -hint all the same. - -She looks with dim, pathetic eyes at the pale, grave face in the mirror. - -"How these few days have changed me," she sighs. "No wonder! Yet I did -not know it was in my nature to suffer such pain. If Vane cared for me -he must be startled at the change. But he does not love me, and never -will, alas!" - -She waits, perhaps the longest half an hour she ever knew in her gay, -careless life. Mr. Langton comes at last--alone! - -"Whew! how confoundedly hot and dusty is New York at this season," he -splutters, mopping his face with his handkerchief. "The thermometer up -in the nineties, and the dust in clouds that choke and blind one. An -hour of life at Langton Villa is worth a year in this noisy, abominable -place. Reine, let us go home." - -She stares at him with wide, dismayed dark eyes. - -"Uncle, he--he is gone?" she falters. - -"Gone, yes, the impertinent young puppy," he growls. "Gone without a -word, utterly ignored me and my telegram. I wish to Heaven----" he -pauses with a dark frown. - -"What, Uncle Langton?" with pathetic wistfulness. - -"That--that I'd never married you to him, the scamp!" he blurts out in a -fury. "He has treated us both with the most distinct contempt. We will -go home, dearie, and Vane Charteris may go to the devil!" - -This from the irate old man, but Reine looks at him bravely. - -"Uncle Langton, I object to your calling names," she says, distinctly. -"Mr. Charteris is my husband. I insist that you shall respect that -fact." - -"A pretty husband," he mutters. - -"No one shall blame him in my hearing," she goes on with shy, pretty -dignity. "After all, it was unfair to hang an unloved wife like a -millstone around his neck." - -"You know all," Mr. Langton mutters, darkly, "but where the deuce you -found out is beyond my ken. If I knew, I'd shoot the fellow that told -you. Well, are you ready to go back to the mountains to-morrow? - -"No, oh, no," she clasps her small hands in anguish. "Oh, uncle, you -promised to leave me your fortune. Give me only just enough money to -follow Vane across the ocean, and I'll resign all the rest!" - -"What, you obstinate little vixen! You are quite determined to follow -him?" - -"I _must_, uncle. Oh, you do not know how much depends on my seeing -him!" - -"And you would cross the great 'herring-pond' alone? I should think you -would be frightened at the thought, you, a green little country girl. -Who knows where Vane may cast his lines? Perhaps among the frog-eating -Frenchmen, or the garlicky Italians. Can you speak French?" - -"Like a native," she responds, with an arch little _moue_. - -"Italian?" - -"Perfectly, and Spanish, too. You know I get my living by my learning," -she laughs, trying hard to be her own bright, careless self. - -He is plainly delighted. - -"Very well, you shall go," he replies. "A steamer sails to-morrow. We -will go in her." - -"_You_," she cries, with incredulous joy. "It will be too wearisome for -you. You are so old." - -"Not a bit," contemptuously. "Do you think I will let you go alone?" - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -The _Sea Gull_ wings her flight blithely and rapidly across the "dark -blue waves," as if she were not freighted with the heaviest heart that -ever beat in breast of mortal man. - -For Vane Charteris, although his passionately longed-for revenge has -come to him in such strange and subtle fashion, is a most unhappy man. - -Mingled with his almost fierce joy at the speedy retribution that has -been dealt out to Maud, his false love, is a stinging, unconquerable -remorse that pursues him like an evil spirit, although he cannot bring -himself to repentance for what he has done. A shuddering horror takes -possession of his soul when he thinks of the cloud of shame and -disgrace, and impending peril lowering darkly over that golden head he -has loved so dearly, but his passionate anger and resentment are -stronger than the languid, admiring affection he had cherished for his -fair, queenly-looking betrothed. - -In the madness of his insulted pride it seems to Vane impossible that he -should lift a finger to save the treacherous one from her terrible fate. - -Arriving in the great, smoky city of London, that is hot and smoky and -altogether unbearable, Vane throws himself into whatever excitement is -going with an _abandon_ and recklessness altogether unlike himself. - -He is bent on losing himself and his tormenting thoughts in the deepest -oblivion he can find, but in less than a week he succumbs to fatigue and -mental agony, and decides that he is "fagged out." Either he must -recuperate or he must die. - -Life is sweet to us all; even to Vane, with his dearest hope gone from -him. - -He decides to run down to the sea-shore a little way, and brace his -constitution with the life-giving sea-breezes. - -He hears of a quiet place, frequented by invalids, authors, and poets, -and such quiet people, "packs his traps" and goes down by the first -train. Behold, it is a coast such as Tennyson portrays: - - "All sand and cliff and deep-inrunning cave." - -"I shall die of memory and stagnation here in less than a week," he -tells himself grimly, as he paces along the yellow sands up to his -balconied hotel, where a few dispirited invalids and long-haired poets -eye the handsome young American with a dreamy, listless curiosity. "I -shall find health and quiet here with a vengeance. I shall go mad with -this eternal sea!" - -And after one night with the long, low moan of the "sad sea waves" in -his ears, and the ghosts of the past stalking drearily in the haunted -darkness, he stoutly prepares to "fold up his tent like the Arabs, and -silently steal away" to "fresh fields and pastures new." The spirit of -unrest is upon him; strange mood for one who all his life-long had been -indolent, languid, not to say, in Reine's plain English, _lazy_. - -But while he chews the end of his morning segar, and restlessly -meditates on the where to go next, a boy comes to him with a pretty -little three-cornered note. In stupid astonishment he takes it and holds -it unopened in his hand. - -"I was to take back an answer, sir," the lad ventures, as a gentle -reminder. - -Then Vane turns it over and looks at the superscription. It is addressed -to himself in a pretty, graceful hand, with a good deal of character in -it. - -Unfolding it, he reads, with staring eyes: - - "MR. CHARTERIS:--Arriving at the hotel an hour ago, I learned, on - inquiry, that you were at the 'Haven of Rest.' Will you come to me - for ten minutes? Hastily, - - "REINE LANGTON." - -The earth seems to yawn beneath Mr. Charteris' feet. He mutters, on the -uncontrollable spur of the moment, a profane expletive: - -"_The_ devil!" - -"Eh, what, sir?" the lad mutters, uncomprehendingly. - -The words recall Mr. Charteris to his senses, he having been momentarily -shocked out of them. - -"Who gave you this note, boy!" he demands, sternly. - -Really, it seems to him there must be some mistake. Reine, his unloved -wife, here on Albion's wave-washed shore--impossible. - -But the lad replies, distinctly: - -"A young lady at the Sea View Hotel, a very pretty lady, with big black -eyes." - -This description is too suggestive of Reine to admit of further doubt. - -With a suppressed groan, Vane tears a leaf from his memorandum book, and -scribbles, hastily: - - "Reine:--I will be with you in fifteen minutes. - - "VANE." - -Totally forgetting, in his flurry, to put her name upon it, he doubles -the sheet and puts it into the lad's hand with a generous silver piece. - -"Now, fly back to the lady, you young scamp," he apostrophizes. - -As if the reward had lent wings to his feet, the urchin runs lightly -along the sandy shore, and disappears in the distance. - -Vane takes a turn up and down the balcony to steady his nerves. He has -had what some people are wont to call a "turn." - -The authors and invalids eye him with blended curiosity and admiration. -It is not often that a handsome, comely young fellow like this anchors -his bark in this "Haven of Rest." - -"She has followed me here," Vane is saying to himself, through his -compressed lips. "Now, I call _that_ downright bold and unwomanly. It -proves to me more and more how unwise a choice was forced upon me by Mr. -Langton's perverse will. Why did he let her come? And how the deuce am I -to get rid of her? For I swear I won't live with her, at least not yet." - -So saying, he flings on his hat and starts off at a swinging pace along -the sands toward the hotel. - -"I must see what she wants," he says, under his breath, and gnawing the -ends of his golden-brown mustache savagely, while the _habitues_ of the -place watch him carelessly, little thinking that the handsome American -is going unwillingly to the bonniest bride all England holds. - - * * * * * - -He had called her "bold and unwomanly," yet in his heart he is forced to -retract the words when he finds himself in her presence, and the spell -of her dark, bright beauty throws its glamor over him, against his will. - -For Reine, with the pardonable vanity of "lovely woman," has hastened to -make herself fair for her husband's coming. - -In London, while they rested and searched for Vane, Mr. Langton has -bought her a box of what he calls "fine things." Among them is a sheer, -white India muslin morning robe, trimmed with a profusion of fine, rich -lace. Nothing could be lovelier than Reine in this dainty robe, with -deep-hearted crimson roses in her hair and at her belt. - -The slight, graceful figure advances to the center of the pretty morning -parlor, then pauses suddenly, while the curling, black lashes flutter -and fall till they waver against the burning crimson cheeks. - -"You sent for me?" he says, abruptly, noting her sudden shame and -confusion with ungenerous malice. - -"Yes, I--I----" she pauses, and throws up her girlish white hands as if -to ward off a blow. "Oh, do not look at me so," she says, imploringly. -"I _know_ what you are thinking and saying to yourself. It is that--that -I am bold, forward, unlady-like, to have followed you here, when you," a -choking sob, quickly suppressed, "when you despise me so!" - -It is his turn to blush now under the dazzling light of the "dark, dark -eyes" she opens wide upon his face, while she makes her frantic plaint. - -"It is no such thing, pray do not say so," he retorts, fibbing -unblushingly, in that he feels himself, to use his own graphic inward -phrase, "cornered." "Of course you had a perfect right," dejectedly, "to -come after me." - -"Not at all," she says, decidedly. "No right that I would presume upon -thus far. Oh, Mr. Charteris," with a sudden transition from shame and -self-pity to irrepressible mirth, "pray, pray, do not look so dejected -and forlorn. I have not come after you, indeed; that is, not as you -think. I hope to leave here for America to-morrow." - -"Leading me as a captive in your train?" he inquires, not feeling half -so bad at the prospect as he could have imagined ten minutes ago. - -"Certainly not," she replies, in her frank, decisive way; then, a little -frigidly, "pray be seated, sir, and I will unfold to you the business -upon which I have followed you to England." - -He bows silently, turning a little pale beneath his healthy, florid -tinge. - -What an ominous sound that dull, prosaic word, "business," has from her -lovely, heart-shaped, crimson lips. Besides, he feels, to use his own -inward thought again, "_wilted_." She does _not_ want him, as he has -vainly imagined, and ridiculously resented in secret. She is come on a -mere matter of business. She makes him understand that thoroughly by her -pretty, dignified manner that has stiffened into ice. - -"I should not have come--nothing could have induced me to," she goes on, -with sensitive deprecation and lowered eyelids, "only for the sake of -_Maud_." - -"Of Maud!" he starts, and his pallor grows death-like. "What has she to -do with you and me, Reine?" - -She looks up silently, and their glances meet and hold each other a -moment; the velvety black orbs, swimming in golden light, hold a mute -and stern reproach before which the proud, defiant blue ones waver and -shrink, pained and ashamed. - -"I do not understand," he says, sullenly, answering her look against his -will. - -"Oh, yes, you do, you know," she returns with airy frankness. "You -remember poor Mr. Clyde wrote Maud a note, swearing he would kill -himself if she didn't marry him. And Maud lost the note that day she was -in the hammock-chair under the tree. You, Mr. Charteris, found it, and -tucked it into your vest pocket, thinking it of no consequence. But in -that you were mistaken, as you learned the day of the inquest. Oh, Mr. -Charteris, will you give up that note, and pray God to pardon your -wicked revenge?" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -There is a moment's perfect silence. From deathly white Vane Charteris -has turned to a burning crimson, then marble-pale again. No sound is -heard save the low, hoarse swell of the waves as they break on the rocky -shore. - -"Oh, you did not realize, surely," the girl goes on, with pained eyes, -and clasped hands, "what a terrible thing you were doing when you went -away silently with that note in your possession, that is worth the -wealth of the world to poor Maud Langton. You were blinded by your -wounded pride and insulted love, or you could not have stooped to take -such an ignoble revenge for your wrongs." - -He stares at her still, like one dreaming. Is the girl a witch? How does -she know? - -"Oh, speak!" she breaks out, impatiently. "Have you nothing to say?" - -"You have taken my breath away," he answers. "Why do you bring this -absurd charge against me? Who says," with a sneer, "I have that -wonderful note?" - -"I am your accuser," she answers, fixing upon him the full fire of her -magnetic dark eyes. "I saw you, I was not very far away when Maud left -you that day, I saw you pick up a note from the ground and read it, then -you slipped it into your vest pocket. I am quite sure it was Maud's -note. I do not believe you will deny it." - -"Since you know so much, I will not," he answers, with blended amaze and -defiance. "What then?" - -The beautiful dusky face lights up with the lovely earnestness of hope. - -"You will give it to me," she says. "I have followed you across the wide -ocean to ask you for it." - -"Why should I give it to you?" he asks, with distinct coldness. - -She gives him a glance of blended pride and patience. - -"Not for any grace you owe me, certainly," she says, with gentle -calmness, "but for Maud's sake." - -"Do I owe her any kindness?" he asks, sardonically. - -"You owe her forgiveness, which is divine," she answers, anxiously. - -"I prefer _revenge_. Do you remember these lines? - - "'The sweetest thing upon this earth is love, - And next to love the sweetest thing is hate.'" - -She rises and faces him, something of proud scorn in her free and -girlish bearing. - -"Yes, I remember them, but such sentiments are unworthy of you, Mr. -Charteris. What! are you not the brave, noble gentleman I deemed you? Am -I to blush for my--husband?" - -A subtle thrill, he cannot tell whether it be of pain or pleasure, it is -so intense, shoots through him as the low word falls from her lips. A -passionate shame, evoked by her proud scorn, tingles through all his -frame, yet he says, mockingly: - -"So you own the tie that binds us? I thought not, as when I came just -now and inquired for Mrs. Charteris I was told there was no such person -staying in the hotel. I had to ask for Miss Langton." - -"I am traveling as Miss Langton," she explains, simply, yet coloring -crimson under his keen, cool gaze. - -"May I ask why?" with an unconscious touch of pique in his tone. - -"No, you may not ask," with a great deal of dignity in her tone; then, -suddenly: "Yet I think you should know I am too sensitive to claim the -name you will not accord me of your own free will." - -She opens the scrawl he has sent her awhile ago, holding it open before -his eyes. There is neither name nor address upon it. - -"I, upon my word, I beg your pardon. It was entirely--I give you my word -of honor--unintentional; a mere omission. I was so flurried, you see, -and somehow I forgot. Can you forgive me?" he stammers. - -"With pleasure," she returns, coolly, looking away from his shamed -countenance. "But we have digressed from our subject. We were talking of -Maud and the note you hold. How can you withhold it from her when you -know that her very life hangs upon it?" - -"Reine, do you know that I hate that woman?" he cries, with subdued -fierceness. - -"Then you never loved her," she replied, decisively. - -"I did; but her falsity turned my love to hate," he answers, moodily. - -"No," she answers. - - "'That is not love - That alters where it alteration finds, - Or bends with the remover to remove.'" - -An utter silence which she breaks again, anxiously: "You will not refuse -my prayer? Give me the note and let me go to Maud." - -He turns from her sullenly and looks out of the window at the blue, -sun-gilded waves breaking in snowy foam against the shell-strewn shore. - -"You could not let her suffer for a crime of which she is innocent," the -pleading voice goes on. - -"I suffered innocently," he says, shortly enough, without turning -around. "Why did she make me a mark for the finger of scorn?" - -"You can live _that_ down," she answers. "But she, her very life is at -stake. Do not forget that if she suffers the full penalty of the law, -for this crime of which she is not guilty, her blood will be on your -hands. You will, in the sight of God, and to my knowledge, be Maud's -Langton's murderer." - -Though he will not turn around, she sees the strong shudder that shakes -his frame. - -"You will be a haunted man," she goes on, relentlessly. "By day and by -night you will dream of the girl you have slain. You will remember -always that the golden head you hoped to pillow on your breast is laid -low in a dishonored grave." - -"For God's sake, Reine, why do you torment me so?" he cries, turning -fiercely round upon her. - -"For Maud's sake, and your own sake, and for humanity's sake, and my own -sake," she retorts, bravely. "That Maud's innocence may be vindicated, -that you may be saved from the evil consequences of your wicked revenge, -that the world may see how divine a thing is repentance and forgiveness, -and that I," her brave voice falls to a low, pathetic cadence, "that I -may not have to die of shame because I have given my heart to one so -lost to honor, truth and mercy." - -Vane Charteris stands like one stunned a moment. - -"What a little vixen it is," he says to himself, darkly. "There is no -end to her tongue." - -"I know what you are saying to yourself," the girl breaks in, -vivaciously; "you are wishing I would go away and leave you alone----" - -"You are mistaken," he replies, thinking of a way to put her to -confusion, and silence her tongue that is but a little louder than his -own accusing conscience. "I was thinking of what you said just now. Is -it really true that you have given me your heart?" - -The warm, red color creeps up to her temples under the blue fire of his -steady, curious eyes. She rallies herself with a brave little effort of -will. - -"Yes," she answers, with a little touch of pathos in her low voice. "It -is quite true. Does it amuse you? It is only a girl's heart. You will -break it and throw it from you of course. I have often heard that -women's hearts were men's playthings." - -He regards her in curious silence. Few women would be brave enough to -make that frank admission to a cold, careless, unloving husband. Yet -Reine is as proud as the most, she lacks none of the modesty of her sex. - -There is a curious, restrained pride in her every look and movement now. -And, strange to say, he does not feel disgusted at her pathetic -admission of her love for him. - -"She _loves_ me," he repeats over and over to his heart, looking at the -lissome, daintily rounded figure, and the brilliant face, bright and -rich like a tropical flower, with the softness of emotion lying on it -like dew. "She loves me," and there is a certain masculine vanity in the -thought that he, Vane Charteris, is the lode-star of her girlish dreams. - -But before he can think of anything to say, she goes back, pertinacious, -to the old theme: - -"But we have digressed from the original subject. Once more, Mr. -Charteris, will you give me the note?" - -And he answers, bluntly, almost angrily: - -"No, I will not." - -And for the first time since their interview, Reine shows a sign of -weakness. She reels unsteadily, and throws up her white hands in the -air. - -"I have failed, I have failed," she cries, despairingly. "Oh, you are -merciless; you are a veritable Shylock. Nothing will sate your thirst -for vengeance but a pound of flesh!" - -He catches the falling figure in his arms. For one moment the white, -anguished face rests against his breast, then she opens her eyes and -struggles from his clasp. - -"Do not touch me," she says, with indignant scorn. "You are a monster!" - -And his own conscience, knocking loudly at the door of his heart, echoes -the words. - -"Reine, Reine," he falters, hurriedly, "do not be hasty. Give me a -little time. I will answer you to-morrow." - -"You take back your refusal?" brightening so swiftly that you think of -the sun coming out from under a cloud. - -"Until to-morrow--yes," he says, feeling a sort of relief at his own -words. "You can wait until then?" - -"Yes, for I cannot go until to-morrow. Did I forget to tell you that -Uncle Langton is with me?" - -"Is he, really?" - -"Yes, and I fear the trip has been too much for him, poor old dear," -with loving compassion. "He feels worn and tired. He is lying down this -morning. Will you go to him?" - -"I shall be very glad. Does he--does he know why you came?" - -"No," quietly; then, flushing: "You will not mind if he is a little -cross, and--and fault finding? He is so old, you know, and then he is -tired and half sick." - -"I shall not mind," he answers, a little grimly, as he follows her -through a small suite of rooms to Mr. Langton's own especial one. - -"Mr. Charteris is here, uncle," she says, quietly ushering the visitor -in, and sensitively withdrawing. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -Vane Charteris, entering the cool, breezy white room, with its wide -windows opening upon the sea, encounters the half-indignant gaze of his -old friend, who is lying on a low couch in a silken dressing-gown and -tasseled cap, his wrinkled old hands grasping the knob of his -gold-headed cane, which he proceeds to thump viciously on the floor at -the young man's entrance, thereby expressing the war-like state of his -mind. - -"I hope I see you well, Mr. Langton," airily observes the handsome young -"reprobate," as Mr. Langton mentally dubs him. - -"Then you'll be disappointed," snaps the old millionaire, irefully. -"Never was so mortally used up before in my life. Soul and body will -scarcely hold together. And all on your account, you disobedient young -rascal." - -"Disobedient?" Mr. Charteris queries, in a mild tone, slightly arching -his eyebrows. - -"Disobedient, yes;" with an emphatic thump of the cane. "Didn't you -receive my telegram ordering you to remain in New York until I came?" - -"Ye-es, I did," admits the culprit, with no great show of repentance, -"but being, according to the old law, free, white, and twenty-one, I -didn't seem to see that I was under any man's orders." - -"Nor any woman's either?" testily. - -"Nor any woman's either," Vane repeats, undauntedly. - -"At least I expected a show of courtesy from a young fellow whom I had -tried hard to benefit," Mr. Langton retorts, with his stiffest air. - -Whereat Mr. Charteris, after a little ambiguous cough, puts on a show of -meekness. - -"Ah, there I see my naughtiness," he says. "I acted like a churl. There -can be no two opinions as to _that_. But, sir, if you could only know -the madness of the passion that drove me on, I think you might find some -excuse for me in your heart." - -Mr. Langton, differing from him on this latter point, says nothing in -reply, but discreetly changes the conversation. - -"You talked with Reine?" he inquires. - -"Oh, yes; or, I may say, she talked with me," this ruefully. - -Mr. Langton at this chuckled heartlessly. - -"She has a sharp tongue of her own, I warrant you," he says. - -"Inherited honestly enough," replies Mr. Charteris, with a pointed bow -at the old gentleman. - -"Yes--yes; chip of the old block," Mr. Langton retorts, in nowise -disconcerted at the hint of his niece's resemblance to himself. "Well, -Vane, this mission on which she has followed you abroad--has she -broached it?" - -His yet keen eyes detect the flush that steals up to the young man's -temples as he replies in the affirmative. - -"I hope it was concluded to her satisfaction." - -"It has not been decided yet," Vane replies, with no little -embarrassment. - -"I may not venture to inquire into its nature?" Mr. Langton asks, -curiously. - -"No, I think not--at least, not just yet. Later on you shall hear, -perhaps," Vane responds, ambiguously, and with very palpable confusion. - -They have some desultory conversation, then Mr. Langton asks, casually: - -"Well, and have you enjoyed your '_outing_?'" - -"Recklessly," responds he. - -"I don't think I quite enter into your meaning," the old millionaire -retorts; and Vane, laughing carelessly, replies: - -"I mean I have enjoyed it down to the ground, as the fellows say here." - -"Humph! looks as if you had been dissipating straight through," Mr. -Langton comments, glaring keenly at him under his shaggy brows. "You -don't ask me anything about that wretched girl," he says, startlingly. - -"Reine has told me," Vane replies, pale to the lips. - -"Serves her right. I can't, for my life, feel sorry for the treacherous -little cat! To think that she should have treated me so!" said the -vindictive old man. - -"This affair is likely to go hard with her," says Vane, with -admirably-acted indifference. - -"Pooh! nothing of the sort," Mr. Langton returns, trying to salve his -uneasy conscience. "No danger of such a pretty girl as Maud coming to -grief. That cold, white beauty that reminds you," maliciously, "of a -lily, would win over any jury in the world." - -They discussed the subject a little while, carelessly, almost -unfeelingly, it would seem, since Maud Langton has been so much to them -both a little while ago; then the old millionaire turns carelessly, to -all intent, to another subject. - -"Do you know it seemed to me superlatively ridiculous to be dragging my -old, sapless bones so far as this, dancing attendance on another man's -wife?" - -Vane colors, then turns aside the implied reproach. - -"It must have weighed upon you, certainly," he responds. "I am rather -surprised at such thoughtlessness, even on the part of Reine. Why did -you let her persuade you?" - -"Nothing of the kind. I simply came in spite of her. Did you think I -would have suffered your wife to come alone, Vane?" - -"Will you smoke?" Mr. Charteris inquires, proffering a choice Havana, -and lighting one himself. - -Mr. Langton, taking one gingerly between his fingers, resumes: - -"There is a good deal more to Reine than we thought for. I am downright -pleased over the exchange of heiresses I made. I wish now, seeing how -all fell out, that I had taken her without encumbrance." - -"Meaning me?" Vane asks, with an uncomfortable flush. - -"Meaning _you_," Mr. Langton replies, beginning to puff away furiously -at his Havana, as if he were a smoke-stack. "You see I am mistaken in -you, Vane. After all you said I didn't believe it was in you to treat -your bride in such a cavalier style. If I had thought you would really -run away from Reine the next day, and set all the country talking and -sneering, you might have gone to the devil before I'd have given you my -pretty little niece!" - -"The regret is mutual, sir," Vane replies, with some heat; and then, -glancing up, warned by some strange instinct, he sees his unloved wife -standing just within the door. - -She has entered just in time to catch Mr. Langton's closing speech and -the angry answer. - -Vane sprang to his feet, very red and confused. - -"I--I beg your pardon," he says, in the utmost confusion. - -She bows, speechlessly. Her face has gone quite white; her eyes shun -his in a kind of fearful shame. She says at last, in a strange voice, -but with desperate calmness: - -"I feared Uncle Langton would be rude to you. You must pardon him, and -pardon me." - -"For what?" he gains courage to ask, a little blankly. - -"For our share in making you unhappy," she answers, very low. - -Something in the proud humility of her attitude strikes a remorseful -pang through his heart. - -She stands alone in the center of the room, slender and graceful as a -young palm tree, her head drooped slightly forward, the dew of unfallen -tears shining like pearls in her long, dark lashes. She is like, yet -unlike, the giddy Reine of a month ago. - -"There is nothing to pardon," he says, in a flurried tone, "Mr. Langton -was right. I have acted very badly--like a brute, in fact. You must wish -you had never seen me." - -"Yes," she says, low, but steadily. "It would have been so much better -for you." - -"I did not mean that," says he, disconcerted. - -"You are good enough to say so," she replies, with delicate disbelief, -and then she goes up to her uncle. - -"The physician you sent for is here," she says. "Shall I send him in?" - -"Are you so bad as that?" Vane asks, with a slight start. - -"Yes; I can scarce hold myself together," Mr. Langton replies, and his -trembling old hands attest the truth of his words. "I must have -something for my nerves or I shall not be able to stir from this -to-morrow." - -Vane rises, glad to get away under any terms. - -"_Au revoir_," he says. "I will call again to-morrow." - -He goes back to the Haven of Rest with the poets, æsthetes and such -people, lounging on the balconies. That name is a misnomer. It appears -to him a haven of unrest. He wanders away to the shell-strewn beach, and -smokes like a chimney while he reviews the situation. - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile, the physician attending Mr. Langton has thrown a bomb-shell -into that camp. - -"You are quite broken down and exhausted," is his dictum. "Rest and -recuperation are what you need. I will leave you a tonic, and in about -ten days you may be well enough to be taken for a short drive, and in -two days more you may be strong enough to walk down to the sea-shore, -and----" - -"Distraction, man!" thunders the irascible invalid. "Do you think I have -come to this place to stay a year? No, sir. I am going to start back to -America to-morrow." - -"But, my friend, you know that is quite impossible," laughs the stout, -good-natured physician. "At your time of life, recuperation goes on but -slowly, and----" - -"I tell you I'm as young as I ever was," this from Mr. Langton, in tones -of mulish obstinacy. - -"And I tell you you're breaking down of old age, and you'll not stir -from this for two weeks; if you do you'll risk your life. You understand -me, young lady?" turning to Reine. - -"Yes, sir, and your directions shall be implicitly carried out." - -"But, Reine," he objects when the doctor has gone, "you know you said it -would be impossible we should stay beyond to-morrow." - -"We must manage some way--you must not be hurt by our haste. We will go -as soon as we can, that is all," she answers, patting his cheek, then -turning gently from him to the window. - -The dark, blue waves go splashing softly past under the gaze of her -dark, sad eyes. A thought comes into her mind: - - "But most of all would I flee from the cruel madness of love. - The honey of poison flowers, and all the measureless ill." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -"Another day. Never was mortal so glad to behold daylight," ejaculated -Vane Charteris, yawning with all the weariness of one who has seen the -long hours of a sleepless night glide past. - -This is somewhat an unusual experience for our hero, but for once mind -has so far triumphed over matter as to keep the drowsy god Somnus far -away. A day and a night have been passed in vexing thought. Now when -the first golden beams of sunshine gild the sea, he rises weary and -unrefreshed, and goes for a stroll on the shore, this early outing being -also a novel experience for him. - -Early as it appears to him, others are astir before him. He meets -several people returning from an early morning dip in the briny element. - -Down on the sands he comes face to face with a vision fresh and fair as -the summer morn itself--Reine, in a graceful boating dress, stepping -lightly into a little boat that rides at anchor on the tide. - -As she takes up the oars with consummate skill, his voice falls on her -hearing, giving her a shock of surprise: - -"Good morning; will you carry a passenger?" - -She lifts to him her lovely face, flushed with a Hebe-like bloom, the -light of the new day sunning itself goldenly in her pansy-dark eyes. - -Somehow in this out-of-doors chance encounter there is none of the -embarrassment that would attend a formal meeting in the house. There is -even some of the old time _badinage_ and sauciness in her tones as she -replies: - -"Can I believe my ears or my eyes? Mr. Charteris out at this unheard-of -hour? I thought you 'never, never----'" - -"'Well, hardly ever,'" he returns, with a spice of malice. "How came you -to do it yourself?" - -"Because I always _do_, you know," she returns, smilingly. "I have been -out some time; I have had a glorious bath in the sea this morning, have -you?" - -He laughs no, and again renews his petition to be taken in, to which she -assents, carelessly. - -"I did not know you could manage a boat," he observes, as with a -skillful sweep of the oars she turns the little craft forward, dancing -lightly on the crest of the waves. - -"Did you not? Well, that is not strange, seeing how little you know of -me anyway. I am a good swimmer, too. You would not have guessed that?" -she says, lightly. - -"No, and yet it is a knowledge all women should possess," he returns. -"Where have you learned these things?" - -"My father taught me. He wanted me to be thorough in such things as well -as in more lady-like accomplishments." - -"He must have been a sensible man," Mr. Charteris comments to himself, -and then there is a silence broken only by the soft, steady splash of -the oars in the water. An embarrassing consciousness has fallen over -both. Vane is thinking to himself that after all there may be some -excuse for the _brusquerie_ and wildness of the little savage, as he -sometimes unkindly termed her in his thoughts. He remembers what Maud -had told him of her tuition under her father. Masculine training would -be apt to give her that touch of wildness. - -She in her turn studies him shyly, but intently. She sees the haggard -impress of the sleepless night on the pale, handsome face, and about the -dark-blue eyes, with their slight heaviness and the faint blue circles -around them. Impulsively she speaks: - -"You have thought the matter well over. You will forego your revenge and -save Maud?" - -"Why should you think so? What sign have I given of yielding?" he asks, -curiously. - -"Your face, even your voice betrays you. If you had decided to refuse my -prayer, you would look and speak differently. You would despise -yourself, and your very looks would reveal it." - -"I did not know you were such a close observer," he replies, "but it is -true. You have saved me from myself, Reine." - -As he speaks he leans forward, tossing a folded paper into her lap. The -oars lie idle a moment, as they drift at the mercy of the wind and tide, -while she reads the precious note. - -Then she lifts her eyes, full of eloquent thankfulness, to his face. - -"I expected no less of you," she says. "I knew you could not be so cruel -to Maud." - -The handsome blonde face darkens. - -"It was not solely for Maud's sake," he replies. "Pray remember that I -would not have yielded to you, Reine, only--only you showed me so -plainly what a monster I was, and how truly I would be that false girl's -murderer if I persevered. And then--then, I could not bear to have my -wife ashamed of me." - -He looks away consciously as he speaks. A thousand tingling little -arrows of rapture shoot through her frame as the low words, "my wife," -fall from his lips; spoken not harshly nor sneeringly, but kindly, -almost tenderly. Is it possible, she asks herself, in thrilling silence, -that he may one day forgive her, and be kind to her--nay, even give her -love for love? - -"I remembered," he goes on, even more kindly, "that this was the _first_ -request my wife had made of me, and I could not choose but grant it." - -He can be dangerously winning when he pleases. It pleased him to be so -then--perhaps to try his power over her. The result is quite -satisfactory. The rich color leaps to her cheeks, the light of joy -flashes into her deep, dark eyes, the low-breathed answer is freighted -with emotion. - -"I thank you more than I can express for your kindness," she answers, -earnestly. "You make me very happy." - -"Then, while you are in that pleasant mood, there is something I must -ask you," he ventures. - -"Yes?" She flashes him a bright, swift look of inquiry. - -He is silent for a moment. He has an air of confusion that does not sit -ill upon him. - -"Reine," he says, "it was all a mistake, your traveling under your -maiden name. It--it places you in a false position." - -"No one knows aught of us here--it cannot matter," she replies, with a -blush, and quickly-drawn breath. - -He studies the beautiful face attentively. How fair, how young, how -lovely it is. How sweet the heart-shaped, crimson lips, how long and -dark the lashes that droop against her cheeks. How luxuriant and long -the silken tresses that float like a banner on the fresh morning breeze. -And she loves him; some strange, sweet thrill strikes through him -whenever he recalls the truth she had owned with such pathetic -frankness. - -"I have acted badly--no one realizes that fact more than I do," he -continues, gravely; "but, Reine that is past. I am your husband; you are -my wife, shall we let bygones be bygones and begin again?" - -"You mean----" she says, giving him a little wondering look. - -"I mean," he replies, "that I will go back to America to-day with you, -and I will try to do my duty by you in future if only you will forgive -me for shirking it in the first instance, and running away in such a -dastardly fashion." - -Two crimson spots rise into her cheeks, her lashes fall lower. - -"But--but we are not going back to-day," she explains, in an agitated -voice, telling him what her uncle's physician had said. - -"Not get away for two weeks?" he says. "Very well, Reine, then I shall -leave the Haven of Rest and come to stay at Sea View Hotel, and it must -be publicly made known that you are mine." - -"Indeed you will not, then," she breaks out with sudden self-assertion. -"I am not willing." - -"Not willing?" he cries, and Reine's quick ear fancies it detects a tone -of relief in his voice. "You refuse to be my wife, Reine--woman-like, -taking revenge for a transient wrong." - -"It is not that," she says, falteringly; "I am not angry with you, Vane, -but it is best to--to wait." - -"Until when?" he asks, bending his curious eyes on the bright, arch -face. - -And looking frankly at him, she replies, gently: - -"Until love comes." - -"Until love comes?" he repeats, blankly. "But I thought you owned----" - -"Yes, I know," she says, checking him with uplifted finger, "but I mean -mutual love." - -With a light dip of the oars she whirls the boat around on its homeward -way. The graceful head is poised in a free, half-haughty fashion. He -cannot understand the strange look on the dusky, lovely face. It is -neither pride nor humility, yet a strange blending of both. - -After a moment she says in her clear, sweet voice, toned to a softer -cadence than usual: - -"Do not think me stubborn that I refuse to own your claim just now, -Vane--I am proud in my own way. I cannot come to you until you wish it -from your heart." - -He is silent, gazing at her in sheer perplexity. She goes on gently: - -"You see I was deceived at first, Vane--not willfully--I do not accuse -you of _that_, but I fancied there must be in your heart some little -spark of tenderness for love to grow upon. When I found out my -mistake--how my uncle had forced the match upon you, and how but for my -too eager consent Maud might have been yours, I--well, _it was hard to -bear_! So I would rather wait, Vane--until the year you wished is over. -Perhaps by then, the soreness of your regret for--another--will be past, -and your heart may be open to me." - -Has the moisture of the sea got into his eyes that they look so dim? He -draws his handkerchief across them, and can find no words to answer. So -she resumes, after a minute's weary waiting: - -"I am not perverse, Vane. I am not fighting against my fate--only trying -to make the best of it. You will give me a fair chance to win your heart -before I wear your name? Will you not?" - -"Yes," he answers, wondering at her strangeness. - -"Thank you. Now we will return to my uncle. I will take the liberty to -invite you to breakfast with him. Will you come?" - -"Yes, thank you," he replies, and the little boat touching the shore, -they spring out and go up the walk together, both very silent and -thoughtful. He begins to think that Mr. Langton's quaint phrase of -yesterday is true. "There is more in Reine than we suspected." - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -A sociable breakfast for three being laid in Mr. Langton's room, the -small party proceed to enjoy it, Vane and Reine with appetites sharpened -by the early morning air, and the sharp sea-breeze. - -The old millionaire regards the young people curiously beneath his -shaggy brows. Something in their expressions makes him say, confidently: - -"You have come to an understanding regarding that secret mission, you -two, I see." - -"Yes," Reine answers, giving him a radiant glance from under her -drooping, black-fringed lashes. - -"And you are ready to return to America?" - -"As soon as you are strong enough," Reine makes answer, trying not to -let him see her inward anxiety to be gone. - -"It is too bad that this old hulk of mine should be the means of -detaining you," he grumbles. "What shall you do now?" - -She lifts her dark, inquiring eyes to the face of Mr. Charteris. He -nods, affirmatively. - -"I will tell you, uncle," she replies. "I shall write to Maud's counsel, -and tell him I have found the missing note, and that I shall soon -return, bringing it with me. He must obtain a stay of proceedings until -my return." - -"And this was your mission abroad?" Mr. Langton queries, surprised. - -She smiles and nods, and Mr. Charteris comes in for his share of the old -man's scrutiny. - -"Then _you_ had the note, Vane!" he says. - -"Yes, sir," he responds, rather shame-facedly. - -Mr. Langton looks from one to the other of the expressive faces, and -comes to a very fair comprehension of the truth. - -After a moment passed in silent thought, he breaks out with -irrepressible enthusiasm: - -"Reine, you are a trump!" whereat both the young people laugh with -contagious merriment. - -"Where are you staying, Vane?" Mr. Langton queries. - -"At the Haven of Rest. I wished to change my quarters to the Sea View -Hotel, but this imperious little lady here forbids me," he replies. - -The keen little old eyes turn curiously on the crimsoning face of the -girl. - -"Why should you do that?" he asks, and stammering some incoherent excuse -Reine flies from the room. - -Then Vane rather ruefully explains the reason. To tell the truth he -begins to feel ashamed of himself, the more so that Mr. Langton applauds -Reine's determination. - -"I am proud of her," he declared. "I was vexed at first. I thought she -meant to follow you and plead her own case. Now I cannot help but glory -in her nobility and her reasonable pride. She has the head of a Solomon -on her young shoulders. If you were not blind, Vane, you could not fail -to see what an adorable girl you have married." - -"She is different from what I thought, certainly," Vane admits, gravely. - -"She can hold her own--I am glad of that," Mr. Langton grunts, amicably. -"You see you could not have her for the asking. Serves you right. There -is hardly any excuse for the way you acted." - -"It was outrageous, certainly," Vane answers, with admirable penitence, -"but I wish she would have made it up and let me come here. The Haven of -Rest is a dry place certainly--given up to invalids and poky people." - -"I hear that Sea View is rather gay," Mr. Langton replies. "Some new -people arrived this morning. There is talk of a ball to-night." - -"A ball! Will Reine go down?" Mr. Charteris inquires. - -"Scarcely, I think. You see I shall not be able to escort her." - -"Perhaps she will allow me that honor," Mr. Charteris observes, -promptly. - -"Perhaps so," Mr. Langton responds, with a dry smile. - -The ball comes off. Vane constitutes himself the attendant cavalier of -Reine. In a white lace dress with Marechal Neil roses on her breast and -in her hair, she has never looked more brilliant and beautiful. There is -a softened grace about her, a new light in her eyes that is wondrously -winning. She is withal a perfect dancer, embodying the very poetry of -motion. - -Some very pretty girls are present, some very nice men, but Reine is the -belle of the ball. Mr. Charteris looks on in surprise. Reine had not -been appreciated at Langton Villa. - -"You have not given me a single dance," he says to her late in the -evening. - -"You have not asked me," she replies, in just the slightest tone of -reproach, "and now I cannot; my card is full." - -She floats away with a partner who has just claimed her. Vane, leaning -carelessly against a chair in the corner, watches her languidly. She -seems to enjoy herself. Smiles hover on the crimson lips, the dark eyes -flash beneath their curling lashes. - -Suddenly someone comes up to him--an acquaintance he has formed in -London, and who has, somehow, found his way to this secluded spot. - -"Ah, Charteris, how-de-do," the new-comer says, unceremoniously. "Who is -the dark-eyed beauty? I've been watching her this half hour." - -"Which one, Sir George?" with affected nonchalance. - -"By Jove! there is but one, you know, the divinity in white lace and -yellow roses. I saw you speaking to her just now," returns Sir George -Wilde, with a look of interest in his handsome brown eyes. - -"_That!_" says Mr. Charteris, "oh, that is--Miss Langton," with a -curious hesitation over the name. - -"Friend of yours?" inquires the dashing young baronet. - -"Slight acquaintance," Charteris answers, warily. - -"A compatriot, I take it," pursues Sir George. - -Vane nods affirmatively. - -"You'll introduce me, then?" - -"With her permission," Vane responds, a trifle stiffly. - -"_That_, of course," laughs Sir George. - -A little later Vane goes to her to proffer his request. She stands for -the moment alone in the embrasure of a window, her dark eyes turned from -the giddy dancers out upon the mystic, lonely sea, with the moon and -stars asleep upon its breast. He tells her, watching the bright face -narrowly, that an English baronet has been so attracted by her beauty -that he desires an introduction. Will she accord it? - -The laughing, dark eyes, a spice of mischief in their starry depths, -glance up into his own. - -"A baronet!" she says, making a little round O of her rosy mouth. "Do -you think, Mr. Charteris, I could really bear the burden of such an -honor without being crushed by it?" - -"You can but try," he retorts, lightly. "England expects every man and -every woman to do their duty." - -"Then I am ready for the sacrifice," she laughs, as lightly. - -He looks at her a moment in thoughtful silence. - -"Well?" she asks, interpreting a question in his look. - -"It is this, then, Reine: I am placed in an awkward position. How shall -I introduce you--as Miss Langton, or as--as Mrs. Charteris?" - -He flushes uncomfortably as the words leave his lips. His bride's face -reflects the crimson glow. After a minute she replies, with outward -indifference: - -"Better, perhaps, as--Miss Langton, according to our agreement this -morning." - -Some slight feeling of pique rises in his heart. He will not own to -himself that when he condescended to ask her the question he had thought -to give her pleasure, and had felt, too, that he should not be ashamed -to see this peerlessly-lovely girl wearing his name. - -"Perhaps she does not really care for me as she pretended," he thinks to -himself, and the first spark of jealousy is lighted in his heart when he -sees her long lashes fall before Sir George's admiring gaze, and sees -with what calm and graceful self-possession she acknowledges the -introduction to the handsome, titled nobleman. "Who would have thought, -when she first came to Langton Villa, that the wild little 'school -ma'am' had so much dignity?" he thinks. "Is it, after all, a new phase -of her character, or was I simply blinded then by my admiration for -Maud? It seems that Sir George is irresistibly attracted by her graces. -What can he see in the girl that I was blind to?" - -And full of this wonder, he sets himself to watch the young baronet, who -hovers around Reine with the palpable desire of the "moth for the star." - -The whole room sees his admiration, and smiles at the fair American's -conquest. - -Vane is a good deal amused, and unknowingly piqued. - -"What barefaced admiration," he says, within himself. "The young dandy -is falling in love with my wife, confound him!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -At a rather early hour the next morning, Mr. Charteris is astir, and out -upon the sands. - -Not so early as some others, though, he finds, for in a merry group of -young people on the sands, he meets Sir George Wilde in close proximity -to Reine. Vane, giving them a careless good-morning, passes on to some -little distance, where he pauses with folded arms, and a slightly sulky -aspect, to look out over the wide waste of heaving sea, his shapely -back turned resolutely on the merry-makers. - -"Confound the fellow's impudence," he remarks to himself, with needless -savagery. "How he follows her around. Of course she would rather be with -me. She loves me, or pretends to." - -Why he should feel vexed at Sir George's monopoly of his, Vane's, -unloved bride he could not explain to himself. Yet the feeling is there. - -Glancing furtively over his shoulder, and seeing the undeniably handsome -and well-matched pair strolling on side by side, creates a feeling of -decided ill-humor within him. - -"It is quite a flirtation," he tells himself. "Reine should know better, -being a married woman. But perhaps she has taken a fancy to the fellow. -Perhaps she was mistaken in the notion that she cared for me. She had -seen no one else then. But now, meeting this handsome, spoony young -baronet, she may regret this nasty marriage as much as I do." - -While these thoughts flash through his mind, the gay hum of voices die -away. The party have gone out of sight, and a sudden resolution comes -into Vane's mind. - -"I'll go and breakfast with the old gentleman again," he thinks. "After -all it's only the proper thing to call and inquire for his health. Of -course Reine will not have come in from her walk yet." - -In this he deceives himself. Reine is there by the side of the old man's -couch, with a lapful of rosy-tinted shells which she is displaying with -a good deal of childish pleasure in their acquisition. - -"Sir George found this one; isn't it a beauty?" she is saying, -vivaciously, as the door opens, and Mr. Charteris is ushered in. - -A start, a blush, a dimpling smile. She rises, gathering her treasures, -child-like, in her apron overskirt. - -Mr. Charteris, vouchsafing her a careless nod, passes on to Mr. Langton. - -"I hope I find you better this morning, and rested?" he observes, taking -the chair Reine places, without seeming to see her. - -"A trifle easier, yes," Mr. Langton responds, with more than ordinary -graciousness, and then Vane steals a furtive glance at Reine. - -Some of the brightness that came into her face at his entrance has faded -from it. She has quietly seated herself again, her long lashes droop to -the shells in her lap, which she fingers rather at random. - -"So the baronet helped you gather shells," he remarks, condescendingly. - -She looks up, with returning smiles. - -"Yes," she returns, spreading the pretty collection out to view. "Will -you look at them? Some are quite pretty." - -"Reine has been telling me about your friend," put in Mr. Langton. "He -was very kind." - -"Not my friend, a mere acquaintance," Vane replies with acerbity. "I saw -him a few times in London; he is wild, rather." - -"Indeed! and _I_ thought him so nice," Reine says, with dismay. - -"So he _is_ nice; wildness, a little, you know, doesn't count," Vane -hastens to say, ashamed of the spirit in which he has spoken a moment -before. "Sir George is unexceptionable, rich, titled, and all that. He -is what the ladies term a most desirable _parti_. A pity you are -a-a-already married, Reine." - -"Were I free he could be nothing to me," Reine retorts, a crimson flame -coming to her cheeks. - -Mr. Langton, struck by something in Vane's tone, looks from one to the -other of the flushed faces, and says, laughingly: - -"O-ho, my fine young lad, jealous, are you?" - -Mr. Charteris is positively indignant. - -"Don't tease, if you please, Mr. Langton," he retorts, with immense -dignity. "Jealousy only exists with love, you know. And I haven't -pretended to fall in love with my wife yet!" - -With this most ungenerous stab, he flies out of the room in a passion. - -The rosy-lipped shells fall unheeded from Reine's lap to the floor as -she rises and stands before her uncle, the bitter tears of shame -crowding into her eyes. - -"Oh, Uncle Langton, how _could_ you--how _could_ you?" she cries, in -bitter distress. "It--it is too--too absurd. He never could, you -know----" - -"There--there, don't cry, dear," he soothes, gently. "I am an old -bungler, I know, and I shouldn't have said it so plain, but the fact -remains. Vane Charteris, whether he knows it or not, is falling in love -with you, my dear, and is correspondingly jealous of the baronet's -attentions to you." - -The beautiful dark eyes looked at him incredulously. She shakes her -head. - -"You are mistaken," she answers, decidedly. "Your hopes mislead you. -Confess now," smiling pensively through her tears, "that 'the wish was -father to the thought.'" - -"Perhaps so," he answers, willing to drop the subject and sorry he had -agitated it. - - * * * * * - -Vane goes home rather ruefully, without breakfasting with Mr. Langton, -as he had promised himself. - -"What possessed me to be so rude, I wonder?" he soliloquizes. "Though I -did not love her, it was awkward and ill-considered to cast it in her -teeth. I begin to believe that it is I who am brusk and unmannerly, not -she." - -The day goes, long and wearily it seems to Vane, who is conscious of -some new feeling he cannot realize, perhaps does not try to. - -He smokes and reads, turning an unsociable cold shoulder on the rather -dry _habitues_ of the hotel. In the evening, drawn by "a spirit in his -feet," and thoroughly _ennuyed_ with his own society, he saunters over -to the Sea View Hotel. - -On his way he meditates rather slowly. - -"It is doubtful whether she will receive me," his musings run. "I was -rude this morning. Of course the little spitfire will resent it. She has -too much spirit to tamely brook such shameless impudence. I certainly -forgot myself in my vexation at that stupid old man." - -The wide balcony of the Sea View presents a pleasant sight. A dozen or -two of "young men and maidens" are assembled on it, some sitting, some -walking, but one and all flirting with the greatest interest and -delight. - -Vane's quick eye singles out one solitary figure sitting apart from the -rest, a slight, girlish one in white, the dark head bent over a book. - -To this figure Vane goes forward, not without a lurking dread of meeting -a petulant repulse. - -He stops behind her chair, and Reine, startled, looks around. - -Vane is relieved to find that there is no resentment in her face, only a -new, sweet gravity a little strange to see on the piquant, girlish face. - -"Ah, it is you, Mr. Charteris!" she says, carelessly. "You left us so -unceremoniously this morning, I fear--thought you would not return." - -Vane slips into the chair beside her, his heart unconsciously lightened -of the burden that has weighed it down all day. - -"To tell the truth I was half-afraid to come," he answers; "I was very -rude to you this morning, and I knew you had reason to resent it, and -expected you would. You remember you were wont to give me a piece of -your mind very often in the days 'when we were first acquainted.'" - -"Yes, but things are changed, you know," she returns, gently. - -Reine is changed too. The thought flashes over him suddenly as he looks -at her keenly, taking advantage of her momentary obliviousness of his -presence. - -She has folded her very small and slender white hands across the book in -her lap, and is gazing a little dreamily out to sea. - -The dark eyes are not so free and glad as they were of old. - -They have grown larger and vaguely sad, the peachy cheek, rounded -daintily like a child's, is pale to-day, the crimson lips have a slight, -pathetic droop. Something in the softened loveliness of the brilliant -face goes to his heart like a wordless reproach. - -For a moment he regrets the arch, daring, sparkling face that used to -flash defiance at him and his opinions. - -"You are changed, too, Reine," he says, unconsciously putting his -thought into words. "You used to scold me when I was naughty. I hope you -are not afraid of me now because you are my wife?" - -A great wave of color surges into her cheek at his words. She turns on -him the half-shy gaze of the frank, dark eyes. - -"Afraid of you--oh, no, it is not that," she says. "But you disliked my -wild ways so much that I have tried to be more what you wished me, more -dignified, more gentle." - -He looks at her with a half question in his blue eyes, a flush on his -handsome face. - -"Like Maud," she explains, further. - -"Like Maud--why, really," he begins, with supreme anger and sarcasm, but -she interrupts him, somewhat incoherently: - -"I thought--I was told, I mean that--that I was to stay with Uncle -Langton a year, and be formed over into a woman like Maud." - -His blue eyes darken with shame and anger. - -"So you have heard _that_!" he says, with self-contempt. "I was a fool, -a dolt. Give over the attempt, Reine. You can never be like Maud any -more than--than a rose is like a lily!" - -"So I thought," she answers, visibly abashed. "Maud is so grand, and -white, and queenly, and I am so little, and dark, and ugly." - -"That is not true," he answers, hastily. "You are beautiful, Reine. I am -sure you know _that_. You are like a beautiful 'queen-rose,' all -sweetness, color and dew, 'set round with little willful thorns.' Maud -is like a grand white calla lily, beautiful, but devoid of sweetness and -perfume." - -"The lily is the most beautiful of all flowers," the girl answers, -sighing. - -"But the rose is the emblem of love," he replies, smiling as the swift -color floods her cheeks. - -She has no answer ready, and he goes on with some embarrassment: - -"Do not try to be like Maud, Reine. Though so beautiful and stately, -she was mercenary and treacherous. Perhaps a less perfect manner is -preferable with a heart free from guile. Do you not think so?" - -Before she can reply, Sir George Wilde comes up to them. His eyes rest -admiringly on the beautiful, graceful, dark-eyed girl by the side of -Vane Charteris. - -"Sentimentalizing and reading poetry?" says the intruder, looking at -Reine's book. "Upon my word it is simply shocking, the number of -flirtations going on this evening. Miss Langton, let me see your -verses," coolly taking the open volume from her hand. - -Vane, looking off to sea, unreasonably vexed, and out of humor, hears -him reading in a clear, full voice, the lines on which Reine's hands -have been closely folded since he sat down by her. - - "'We stand at the window watching, - Oh, God! through the glass of time, - For the sails of our hopes to blossom - Out on life's horizon line. - - "'And we see not across the islands - The clouds that come up the sun, - Until they have folded in silence - The headlands one by one. - - "'And the winds to each other calling - Over the waters pass, - And we say: "They are wrecked at dawning, - The hopes of our lives, alas!"'" - -"Lugubrious reading, certainly," comments the lively young baronet. -"Does Charteris enjoy that style of poetry for a summer evening by the -sea?" - -"I--I was not reading to Mr. Charteris," the girl stammers, vaguely -confused. "I was reading when he came, and then I laid the book down." - -Both men regard her a little gravely. - -The touch of sadness in face and voice is strange, yet sweet, in the -young and lovely girl. - -Sir George tells himself that there is some depth to this lovely -American girl, and wonders why Charteris doesn't fall in love with her. - -For himself, he is very far gone indeed, and Vane, irritated by his -society, abruptly announces that he will go up and see Mr. Langton. - -"He will be very pleased, I know," Reine answers, brightening suddenly, -and Vane turns away with a sudden angry conviction that she is glad to -have him gone. - -Sir George is glad at least, there can be no two opinions as to that. He -settles himself delightedly in Vane's vacated chair. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -"I have a proposition to make to you," Vane says, after he has conversed -with Mr. Langton awhile on indifferent subjects. - -Mr. Langton, lying on his couch, looking dull and weary, glances up with -some interest. - -"Well?" he says, abruptly. - -"I saw your physician to-day," Vane observes, slightly embarrassed. "He -thinks it would be at the risk of your health if you left this place -under a month." - -"The rascal! He's keeping me here to swell his fee for attendance, -that's all," groans the millionaire; "well, and what has that to do with -your proposition, eh?" - -"A great deal. You know your delay in returning to America is attended -with serious risk to Maud Langton, languishing in prison, and waiting -for a release that cannot come until she regains possession of that note -that is to prove her innocence." - -"I have urged Reine to return alone, but she is unwilling to leave me," -Mr. Langton answers, hastily. - -"There would be no risk in doing so," Vane replies, "with a competent -nurse left in charge of you. It is of that I wished to speak to you. -Persuade Reine to go back without you. I will myself accompany her." - -"_You!_" Mr. Langton exclaims, in such thorough surprise, that Vane -flushes a deep red. - -"Yes," he answers, a little testily, "I will go with her. Why not? She -is my wife." - -"Certainly, and it will be a very good plan," Mr. Langton replies, -secretly delighted at Vane's repentance, but pretending to be very calm -and non-committal. - -"You see," Vane continues, with a sigh of relief, "after the business -that took us home was concluded, I should bring Reine back. By that time -you would be well and strong again, and we would travel some, the three -of us, and remain abroad some time. Do you like my plan?" - -"Very much. I am pleased with the idea. Have you spoken with Reine on -the subject?" - -"No, not yet. To tell the truth I have relied on you to persuade her. I -might fail, you know. Will you undertake to plead my case for me?" -inquires Vane, blushing like a girl. - -"I thought you were lawyer enough to plead your own case," laughs the -old millionaire. - -"You see, this is different," answers Vane. "I--I do not quite -understand Reine. I do not know how she would receive such a proposal. -Perhaps she would laugh at me. I should have to plead as a lover, not as -a lawyer. Only imagine the spirited little lady laughing in my face." - -"I do not believe it is likely," Mr. Langton replies. "But since you are -so afraid of your wife, I will speak to her about the matter. But, pray -tell me, is your anxiety solely over Maud, or are you reconciled to your -strange marriage?" - -A step at the door, a hand at the latch, and Reine comes in, -interrupting the answer hovering on his lips. Vane rises abruptly. - -"I will go down and smoke my segar on the balcony," he says, then, -looking at his wife: "Reine, will you walk on the sand with me -afterward? It will be moonlight, and the nights are very pleasant." - -A smile of surprise and pleasure lights the changeful face into -splendor. - -"Thank you, I shall like it very much," she answers, with some inward -wonder at his kindness. - -"I will wait for you, then, on the balcony," he replies, and when he's -gone, Mr. Langton hastens to tell her of Vane's proposal. - -Her color comes and goes, her bosom heaves as she listens. - -"But you know I could not leave you here alone with only a hired nurse," -she remonstrates. - -"You could, and you must," he replies, seriously. - -"Listen, Reine, your husband has held out the olive-branch of peace, and -you must not decline to accept it if you care for him. I shall do very -well here with the doctor and the nurse. After all, I am not sick, only -weak and fatigued. Remember Maud's peril before you refuse." - -"I have written to Maud's lawyer. He will know that I have the note, and -they will wait until I come," she replies. - -"Delays are dangerous," he answers, "and the mails are not sure. Suppose -your letter should not reach them. Letters have been lost before now," -he says, artfully. - -The girlish face grows white and troubled. - -"If I thought that mine would be lost----" she begins. - -"You would go," he finishes for her. "Very well, Reine, take my advice -and go. I will remain here until you return. Go down now to your husband -and tell him you will be ready to accompany him to-morrow." - -"If anything should happen to you, I should never forgive myself," she -says, with lingering hesitation. - -"Nothing _will_ happen," he answered. "You will find me here, when you -come back, safe and well. Go, now, to Vane, and tell him you will go." - -She lingers a moment, warned by some strange presentiment of evil; then, -conquered by his renewed persuasions, and her own anxiety over Maud's -fate, she goes from the room with a strangely beating heart to seek her -husband. - -He throws away his segar with a smile at sight of her, and comes out -from a little knot of men who have clustered around him. - -"You are ready?" he says, with a new tone of tenderness in his voice -that makes the girlish heart beat all the faster, and drawing her hand -through his arm they bend their steps to the shore. - -It is twilight, that most seductive hour of all the twenty-four. The -moon is rising softly, a few stars shine in the purple vault above, and -mirror themselves in the laughing waves below. - -The murmurous sound of the great deep is all that breaks the silence. - -"Mr. Langton has told you, Reine," he says, looking down into the -brilliant face that is "luminous, star-like, gem-like," in the soft, -twilight haze. - -"Yes," she answers, in a low voice, as if she scarcely cared to break -the charmed silence brooding around them. - -They walk slowly arm-in-arm along the sandy shore. Vane has drawn her -hand very closely through his arm, and the tips of her velvet-soft -fingers lie against his wrist, sending thrills of sweetness along every -nerve. To him also "silence seemed best," so they stroll on quietly -awhile. Reine lost to everything but the magic charm that lies in the -presence of the man she loves, and Vane held in thrall also by some new -feeling, whose power he is scarcely prepared to acknowledge. - -He looks down at the young face that is strangely fair and tender in the -mystic light, and wonders at his own blindness that he has never quite -realized the charm of her beauty before. She has thrown some soft trifle -of filmy lace over her waving dark hair, with soft ends knotted beneath -the round, dimpled chin. Nothing could be more becoming. It frames the -glowing face so delicately and so exquisitely, making her fairer than -she knows. A strange, delicious thrill goes through Vane's heart as he -remembers that this girl belongs to him--she is his wife. - -"And she loves me," he says to himself, with the same wonder he had felt -when that truth first flashed upon him. It flatters his manly vanity, -cruelly hurt by Maud's treachery, to know that one true heart clings to -him and loves him, though the woman he had loved had deceived him. - -Suddenly her lips part with an anxious question: - -"And you think it wise and prudent that I should go back to Maud leaving -Uncle Langton here?" - -"Yes," he answers, and there is a silence which she does not break. - -"What do you think of the plan?" he asks. - -"I hardly know," the girl answers, with some embarrassment. - -"But you will do as I wish you--you will go back--in my care, Reine?" - -"If you think it for the best," she answers very low. - -"I do think so, otherwise I should not urge it. You need not be afraid -to go with me, Reine. I will care for you with every tenderness--you are -my wife, you know." - -And, stooping over her, he lays his lips full and softly upon her own. - -The shock of a great, new happiness tingles through the girl's sensitive -frame. It is the first caress her unloving husband has ever offered her. -With that impulsive kiss hope, which has almost died in her wounded -heart, is born anew. - -"You are my wife," he repeats, gently. "I shall not lose sight of that -fact again. I shall remember my duty better." - -She sighs a little. That word "duty" sounds so cold. - -"I will try to make you happier," he continues; "I fear you have not -been so light-hearted as you used to be since _that_ night. Do you know -those verses you were reading this evening sounded like a reproach to -me?" - -She glances up, inquiringly. - -"The verses you shut your hands over when I came up to you," he -explains. "The sad words ring in my head: - - "'And we say: "They are wrecked at dawning. - The hopes of our lives, alas!"' - -"Did you think, my child, that they applied to your own case?" - -"I was tempted to think so--can you blame me?" she says, with a gentle -reproach in her voice. - -"Do not fall into such despondent thoughts again," he answers, -evasively. "You are too young for sorrow, Reine. Look on the bright side -of the picture. I foresee that this play will end with my falling -desperately in love with my own wife." - -"I hope so," she answers, with sudden, piteous earnestness, and a quiver -of passionate sorrow in her voice. - -"So do I," he says, filled with sudden penitence. "I am sure it cannot -be hard to learn to love so fair and noble a wife. You have saved me -from my own sinful passions, Reine. I can never forget that." - -"And now I must go back," she says, with a bitter sigh of regret. "Uncle -Langton will be lonely, and if--if I go to-morrow I have a great deal of -packing to do first." - -They walk slowly back to the hotel through the murmurous silence of the -summer night by the sea, with the strong, sweet smell of the brine in -their faces. It is the first time they have been together without cold -words from one or the other, the first time her husband has caressed -her. - -And when he leaves her at the balcony steps he presses his lips to her -white hand, and whispers, kindly: - -"After to-night, little wife, we are never to be parted any more, -remember." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -No one can recall without a shudder of horror the midnight burning of -the steamer _Hesperus_ in mid-ocean in 188-, and the terrible loss of -life consequent upon that marine disaster. - -She had been five days out, with fair skies and smooth seas, and every -prospect of a prosperous and speedy voyage, when that disastrous fire -stole upon her like a thief in the night, and wrapped her noble and -majestic form in a winding sheet of flame. - -Fifty souls perished miserably, including the captain and a part of -crew. - -In that terrible holocaust of fire and water, Reine Charteris was -_lost_. - -Her husband was saved--saved through such a tragedy of horror as sowed -silvery threads in his fair, clustering locks, and almost broke his -heart with remorse and pain. - -We will hear him tell the story in his own words, as he told it that day -when seated in the gloomy prison-cell, where Maud Langton was expiating -her folly in bitterness of soul, he placed in her hands a small metallic -case, locked with a tiny key, and said, solemnly and slowly: - -"This means freedom and release to you, Maud. It is a legacy to you from -the dead." - -The beautiful, queenly-looking girl, wasted and worn from long -confinement, and sickening dread and terror, looks up at the man's pale, -haggard face, at the deep crape band on his hat, and shudders. - -"You mean----" she says, then pauses, struck dumb by the white agony of -his face. - -"I mean I have lost my wife; Reine is dead." - -"Dead!" the beautiful prisoner cries in wonder--not sorrow. - -_That_ is so plain to his senses, sharpened by grief, that he cries out -bitterly: - -"Yes, dead! But look at your legacy, Maud. That is all your selfish soul -will care for!" - -She gives him one look of cold surprise, and then turns eagerly to her -treasure. - -The small key grates in the lock, the lid of the box flies open. - -Within lies a package wrapped in oil silk. Undoing this with eager -fingers, Maud comes upon the precious note that means so much to her in -this terrible plight, the note poor Reine had crossed the seas to win -from the vengeful grasp of Vane Charteris. - -All of Maud's cold, superb dignity breaks down at sight of that little -slip of paper. She weeps and laughs together. - -"This means hope, freedom, happiness to me," she cries, tearfully. "And -you had it all the time, Vane. And Reine knew. It was for that she -crossed the seas?" - -"Yes," he answers, "and it was for that she died." - -"No, no!" Maud says, and shakes her head; "how could that be? Oh, how I -thank you for bringing me this! You did not know when you went away how -much it was worth to me, did you? That my very life would depend upon -it?" - -He looks at her with steady, somber eyes. - -"Yes, I _knew_," he answers. "I knew, but I did not care. My love for -you was turned to hate by the crushing indignity you had put upon me. At -that time I would have sold myself to the evil one for the chance of -revenge upon you. Guess how I felt when, at the inquest over the dead -body of the lover you had preferred to me, I found what terrible power -fate had put into my eager hands. I rejoiced wickedly. I went away that -the great ocean rolling between us might keep from me the tidings of -your too probable fate, for I shuddered at the horror of my revenge, -although I could not forego it. Yes, Maud, I, who had loved you dearly -once, would not have lifted my finger to save you from the horror of a -shameful death upon the scaffold; do you realize, now, the intensity of -my hate?" - -She puts her delicate hand to her grand, white throat and sobs -hysterically. By day and by night she has dreamed of that horrible, -impending death. She knows that all believed her guilty of her lover's -death, and that no jury would have cleared her without that note in -Clyde's own writing, swearing that he would shoot himself if she failed -to marry him. - -"You were cruel, cruel," she moans. - -"Say rather that I was insane," he answers; "my heart and my brain were -on fire, and my soul was numb within me until Reine came to me and -showed me what a wretch I was, and how I should be your murderer if I -persisted in my wicked silence. Then I yielded to that white-souled -child who was far too pure to be my wife, and I prayed God to forgive -my sin, as I now pray you, Maud." - -She looks at him with her large, clear blue eyes, with the glad tears of -joy still pendant on the golden lashes and holds out her hands. - -"I cannot refuse to forgive you since you have relented and brought me -this invaluable paper," she answers, "and more especially since I know -that I did you a cruel wrong. Can _you_ forgive _me_, Vane?" - -"Once I thought I could not, but it is easy enough now," he answers, -gravely, just touching for a moment the soft, white, extended hands. "I -have no longer any room in my heart for anger or resentment. I think -only of my grief." - -"For Reine!" she asks, with an almost imperceptible lifting of the -golden eyebrows indicating surprise. - -"For Reine," he answers, with a tortured sigh. - -"Did she die abroad?" Maud asks in an awed and softened voice. - -"She was drowned at midnight in the Atlantic Ocean, amid all the horrors -of fire and flood," he groans. - -"On the ill-fated _Hesperus_," she exclaims. "Oh, I read the news in the -papers, but there were no particulars, and I did not dream of such a -tragedy. You were with her, were you not? Why was it that you could not -save her?" - -His gloomy eyes fell with a look of loathing on the paper in her hand. - -"She died, Maud, to save _you_ from the consequences of your folly. She -might have been saved but for that paper you hold in your hand," he -answers, sternly. - -"I do not understand you, Vane. Surely you know not what you say," Miss -Langton utters in perplexity. - -"Listen, and you shall be the judge," he answers, with a heavy sigh. "I -sailed with my wife on the _Hesperus_----" - -"And Uncle Langton?" she interrupts him to ask. - -"We left Mr. Langton resting at a quiet summer resort. He was too much -indisposed to return with us so soon. We were to have gone back for him -as soon as your freedom had been secured," he explains. - -She bows, silently, and he goes on, the pale, beautiful girl listening -attentively. - -"Reine came to me the day that we had been five days out, with that -little metallic case in her hand. She had been very bright and happy -since we started, but just then she was pale and grave. 'Vane,' she said -to me, 'I have put Maud's precious paper in this little case for greater -safety. But I have a strange dread of losing it. Put it in your breast -pocket and keep it for me!' I--oh, Heaven! I obeyed her," he exclaims, -struggling with a bitter remorse. - -The beautiful prisoner regards him with silent sympathy. - -"I obeyed her," he repeats, with a passionate remorse, "and that night -when we sprang into the water together, fleeing from the devouring -flames, it was still on my person. All hope seemed gone, and we clung to -each other in the desperation of despair, determined at least to die -together. Suddenly a crowded life-boat came in sight. A man shouted -there was room for one more and that they would take the woman in. At -these words she cried out frantically that I had Maud's precious paper, -and that I was the one to be saved, and with that she loosed her hold, -and with an awful suddenness pushed me from her, and sank down, down in -the terrible water. With the awful shock of her loss I became -unconscious. They drew me into the boat in the place of my poor girl, -and the boat swept on over her awful burial-place. It was for you, Maud. -She gave her beautiful, innocent life freely for you rather than risk -the loss of the legacy I have brought you!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -Even Maud Langton's cold and shallow nature, utterly incapable of such -an act of dauntless heroism as Reine's, is touched by the man's -overmastering grief and the story of the woman's devotion. - -"Poor little Reine! I did not deserve such a sacrifice from her," she -exclaims, with a guilty consciousness of her cruel and contemptuous -treatment of her generous rival. - -Vane Charteris makes her no reply. He has dropped his pale, handsome -face into his hands, his strong frame quivers with silent sobs. Maud -watches him in amazement. - -"You take it hard," she says; "yet I thought you did not love her, that -you would not care." - -"Not care!" lifting his somber blue eyes a moment to her pale, wondering -face. "I care so much that by night or by day, sleeping or waking, her -image is never absent from my thoughts. I would give the whole world to -have her back, my poor lost darling!" - -"Then you learned to love her?" Miss Langton exclaims, recalling his -fastidious dislike of Reine's wild ways and sharp little speeches. - -"Yes; now, when it is all too late," he answers, in a wild burst of -remorse and sorrow. - -Then there is a brief silence. How often those sad words, "too late," -come home to stricken hearts with a pathos that words are all too -powerless to express. Could Reine but have known--in that fair land to -which her soul had flown--her husband's poignant repentance, she might -well have answered with the poet: - - "Too late, too late, thy beaming smile rests on me, - Warm sighs and loving whispers come too late - Since thou hast lost that true and loving passion - Which, while it lived, met but thy scorn or hate. - - "It might have been--had but thy love awakened - Before my ruined life no power could save; - But now, alas! thy warm and tender glances - Fall on my heart like sunlight on a grave." - -"Believe me, Vane, I am very, very sorry," Maud says to him in her -gentlest tones. "Perhaps you think I was not worthy little Reine's -generous self-sacrifice." - -He has no answer ready for her. She begins to realize that he is -strangely changed. The fair and handsome face that used to be so gay and -debonair has grown wan and haggard. Some silver threads shine in the -fair, clustering locks on his temples. His step is slow and heavy as he -turns to go. - -"How long will it be before I shall be free?" she asks him, wistfully, -as he turns to go. - -He starts, and turns back, remembering suddenly what the petted beauty -must have endured in these weary weeks of confinement, with the shadow -of an awful fate hanging over her. - -Looking closer into the white face with its finely-chiseled features, -sharpened and refined by the agony she has endured, his heart swells -with momentary pity for the cold beauty who has wronged him so deeply. - -"But a little while, I think," he answers, kindly. "I have seen your -lawyer. He told me that the trial which he has been staving off from -time to time, will take place to-morrow. He is quite sure that your -innocence will be indisputably proven by the paper you hold, together -with other facts in his possession. I congratulate you, Maud, upon your -narrow escape from the terrible web that circumstantial evidence had -woven around you." - -She shudders, and grows deathly pale at the thought of it, and Vane -hurries from the room and from the presence of her who had been, for a -brief while, the sun of his existence. - -Hurrying back to his hotel, he finds there a letter which has followed -him across the sea from the quiet watering-place where he had left Mr. -Langton. It is from the genial, kindly physician, and the news is -startling. - -The old millionaire, the sharp-tongued, irascible, yet kindly-hearted -old gentleman, is dead--has died suddenly and strangely of disease of -the heart in two days after Reine and Vane had left him in the confident -hope of soon rejoining him. They have buried him there in the quiet -churchyard by the sea, far away from his native land, and the friends he -loved. All unknowing of Reine's fate, he has gone to rejoin her in the -unknown land. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -Mr. Langton's favorite axiom: "Delays are dangerous," which he had -quoted so effectively to Reine, would seem to have made less impression -on his own mind. The new will, which was to have disinherited Maud -Langton and made Vane Charteris and his wife his sole heirs, had been -carelessly and fatally postponed. Beautiful Maud, but yesterday -penniless, imprisoned, suspected, goes back to-day, free, joyous, -triumphant, to her old home, the undisputed mistress of Langton Hall and -her uncle's great wealth. Vane Charteris, in nowise disconcerted, and -scarcely disappointed, returns to the musty little law office in -Washington, from whence his old friend's letter had summoned him a few -months before to marry his heiress. - -It is a dull, prosaic life enough. Vane is young yet, and has not made -his mark. Very few clients come to seek his assistance out of their -difficulties. Some dreary days go by, and life does not look quite the -same through his office windows as it did in the golden spring before he -went to Langton Hall. It is autumn now. The leaves are turning red, and -brown, and yellow, the petals are falling from the flowers. Not that -Vane takes note of this. One flower that faded in the summer gone, is -worth all the world to him. For a time ambition, energy, hope, seem to -forsake him. Always before his eyes floats a vision of a fair, dead face -with waving tresses, tangled with seaweed; always against his breast he -feels the pressure of small hands pressing against him, pushing him from -her in the mad resolve to die in his stead. For in his heart Vane feels -that it was not alone for Maud's sake she died. She had meant to save -him, whom she loved far more than life. - -So the autumn days go by. By-and-by the gay, brilliant, beautiful city -of Washington begins to fill up with its usual winter throng. Congress -assembles, and the brilliant crowds that follow in its train. And one -day there comes a delicate, perfumed note to Vane from one of the most -fashionable avenues of the fashionable city. - - "Dear Vane," it says, "I have come to Washington for the winter, - but shall be very quiet, of course, being in deep mourning for my - dear uncle. I have invited the Widow Baird and her - daughter--unexceptionable people, you know--to stay with me. But I - am very lonely, very repentant, and very sad. Will you let by-gones - be by-gones, and come and see me? - - "MAUD LANGTON." - -A delicate, dainty, seductive note. With a start, Vane remembers the -elegant house on ---- avenue, which had been Mr. Langton's property. -Here it is that his heiress had pitched her tent, figuratively speaking, -and opened the campaign, for she is determined not to lose the delights -of the winter wholly, although in ostensible mourning. - -Vane is roused to indignation at first. Why should she ask him to call? -Does she take him for a simpleton? He has forgiven her for Reine's sake. -That is enough. - -He stays away, and in three days an elegant private carriage sets Maud -down in front of his office. She rustles across the threshold in a -costly costume, designed to represent slight second mourning--a black -silk with jetted trimmings, white _crepe lisse_ at throat and wrists, a -jetted bonnet with white _lisse_ strings, a dress that is marvelously -becoming to the pearl-fair beauty, framed in soft waves of golden hair. - -"Perhaps you think I have come to scold you," she says, with infinite -tact, as he comes forward, visibly embarrassed; "but I have not. Of -course you had a right to decline my invitation, if it did not please -you to come. I shall not trouble you long now. I am here on a matter of -business." - -Mr. Charteris bows and hands her a chair. She seats herself, making -_moonlight_, not "sunlight," "in a shady place," with her cold, white -beauty. - -Then her large, light-blue eyes turn scrutinizingly on his worn, -handsome face. - -"You are not looking well," she pronounces. "Business, perhaps, is -driving you too hard?" - -Vane smiles rather grimly. - -"I cannot make any complaint of that nature," he responds. - -The blue eyes light, unmistakably, with pleasure. - -"Then you are not busy," she says; "I am rather glad to hear it. Perhaps -you will have time to manage my property for me?" - -He looks inquiringly at the beautiful, smiling face. - -"I have quarreled with my lawyer," she explains. "I intended to take the -management of my affairs out of his hands. Will you take his place, -Vane?" - -A dark, red flush creeps up to his temples at her air of condescending -patronage. - -"Excuse me, I must decline," he answers. - -"You decline--surely not!" says the proud beauty, with incredulous -surprise. - -"Why should I not decline?" Vane Charteris asks, with a certain -haughtiness, before which Maud lowers her proud tone of patronage -visibly. - -"I thought you could not afford to decline," she falters. "Are you -not--not poor?" - -"Granted," he answers, with a slight, cold smile. "I am not yet poor -enough to barter my self-respect. For the rest, you know, Miss Langton-- - - "'Man wants but little here below, - Nor wants that little long.'" - -Maud, who has come bustling with pretty patronage and self-importance, -is visibly disconcerted. She takes a new tone. - -"You are harsh and cruel to me, Vane," she says, petulantly. "I came -with the best intentions. I only meant kindness." - -"Thank you," stiffly. - -"I thought you had forgiven my--my folly," she goes on further, with a -killing glance from the long-lashed, seraphic-blue eyes. - -"I hope I have," he replies, still coldly. - -"Then why--why will you refuse my request?" she asks. - -Something like scorn flashes on her from the man's sapphire-blue eyes. - -"Miss Langton, I have forgiven the indignity you put upon me last -summer," he answers, shortly, "but do you think I could stoop to serve -you--_you_?" - -The heiress colors under his glance of haughty scorn. - -"_You_ will never forget _that_," she sighs. "You will not believe how -eager I am to make atonement for my sin against you. I see you are -determined to be hard and cold with me. You will not make friends." - -Vane turns round upon her a little fiercely. - -"What are you driving at, Maud?" he asks, with positive rudeness. "Do -you wish to make a fool of me again? To win my heart from me again and -trample it under your feet?" - -And then a sudden impulsive shame seizes upon him as she shrinks before -his quick wrath with something very like fear in her face. - -"I beg your pardon--I was talking foolishly to you," he says. "You do -not at all understand me, I think, Miss Langton, or you would never -have----" - -"Never have come here, you mean," she says, as he pauses. "Aren't you -just a little rude, Mr. Charteris? But I am determined not to be angry -with you. Forgive me for trespassing on your time. I am going now." - -Swish! goes the rich silk against her chair with a waft of delicious -perfume. - -The tips of her gloved fingers settle lightly against his coat-sleeve, -the great, blue eyes look straight into his own, persuasively. - -"Vane, think better of your refusal, pray do," she says. "I did not come -here to insult you, neither to wheedle you back to your old allegiance. -I thought you would help me about this great, troublesome property. I am -so ignorant and helpless." - -"Any lawyer in the city would be glad to manage your business for you," -he returns, with cool courtesy. - -"I shall not ask any of them till I hear from you again. Perhaps you may -change your mind, and let me know that you will take this trouble off my -hands," she answers, good humoredly, moving toward the door. - -Vane attends her to her carriage, and with a formal bow returns to his -lonely office. How lonely he never quite realized till now, looking at -the empty chair where the brilliant heiress had sat just now, queenly -and graceful like the tall, white lily to which he had once likened her. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -We will return to Reine Charteris on that terrible night of fire and -flood, when, with all the deathless devotion of a true woman's heart she -sacrificed herself to save her husband and her friend. - -In the minute before the life-boat came into sight Reine's mind had been -comparatively calm and contented. - -Though she believed that certain death stared her in the face, it had no -special terrors for her. Her life had been good and pure, and she had no -dread of the hereafter. - -The thought of dying with the husband she loved had a strange, romantic -sweetness for her heart. - -In the bright and awful glare of light thrown upon the waters by the -burning ship, her pale and lovely face had upon it an expression of -rapt and Heavenly sweetness and content, untouched by dread or fear. - -Vane's arm was drawn around her, and they were slowly swimming about and -looking for some drifting desperate hope of rescue. - -A few minutes ago the black waves, weirdly illumined by the red glare of -the flames, had been filled with a writhing, despairing, shrieking mass -of anguished humanity, but now they had all disappeared. Some had -floated off to a distance, some had sunk beneath the waves and found a -watery grave-- - - "Unknelled, uncoffined, and unsung." - -Vane and Reine were quite alone for a moment--alone, and drawn seemingly -nearer together than they had ever been in life by the deadly peril that -menaced them. They had made up their minds to death. Both were good -swimmers, but they were too far from land for their strength and skill -to avail. They clung together, each feeling instinctively that death -would be less hard if shared together. - -At that moment one of the life-boats that had been seized upon in the -first moments of peril by a fortunate few, came in sight of them. It was -crowded, already, but one manly heart saw and pitied the terrible case -of the two victims. He shouted that they would make room for one -more--they would take the woman in. - -"Come, Reine, they will save you, my darling," Vane Charteris cried out, -tenderly and joyfully, yet with the solemnity of a last farewell in his -eyes, as he drew his young wife forward. - -But with a sudden cry of anguish, the girl resisted him. - -The bare thought of forsaking her husband and leaving him to die alone, -was more bitter than death. With that thought came the remembrance of -the precious paper she had crossed the sea to win from Vane's vengeful -keeping. - -"Let me save you--remember you have Maud's precious paper," she cried -out, hoarsely, and pushing him frantically from her with both extended -hands, she sank down--down into the depths of the sea. They waited a -moment, but she did not rise again, and seeing that Vane had lost -consciousness, they drew him into the life-boat, and in the efforts to -revive him, they soon drifted out of sight of the spot where the devoted -girl had disappeared beneath the fire-illumined waves. - -In the meantime Reine, who was really a strong and expert swimmer, had -only dived beneath the waves, and had come up again in a few seconds -later at a different spot where, herself unseen, she could behold the -life-boat with its living freight drifting swiftly out of her yearning -sight. She had freely given her one chance of life to her husband, but -with the thought that he would live there was born in her own young -heart an agonizing desire for life. She loved Vane so dearly that she -could not bear to leave him in the bright, gay world, and go down to -death alone. Though not regretting that she had saved her husband by so -great a sacrifice, she breathed a silent, fervent, yet seemingly -hopeless prayer, that she might also be rescued and restored to him. - -Yet who can tell how often God is near, listening to the wild appeals of -those who, despairing of human help, cry out to Heaven. Alone in the -wide waste of the ocean, with the midnight stars shining down upon her -like the pitying eyes of angels, a friendly plank drifted to her reach. -She clutched it eagerly with her hands, threw herself upon, and embraced -it with her bruised and weary arms. Now she felt, with a thrill of hope, -that there was at least one plank between her and eternity. - -The night wore on. Wind and tide bore her far away from the terrible -burning ship that towered aloft like a ghastly funeral pyre, throwing -its awful glare far and wide upon the sea. - -Tossed hither and yon, bruised and buffeted by the heavy waves, the -slender form of the fair young girl still held in its breast the faint -spark of life, though looking forward to death as inevitable, and -drawing nearer and nearer. - - * * * * * - -The blushing rose of dawn opened its petals at last. The morning light -glimmered palely in the east. It shone upon a deathly-white face with -pale lips, half apart, and eye-lids closed in unconsciousness, with the -long, thick lashes lying on the cheek like to "rays of darkness." - -At that moment a small sailing-vessel hove in sight. The floating plank -with its precious burden was sighted by the pilot, and in a few minutes -more the unfortunate girl was safe on deck. - -The crew gathered around her, filled with wonder and curiosity at the -sight of the beautiful ocean-waif. - -"She is dead," said the mate, with a sorrowful shake of the head. - -"I do not think so," said the captain, decidedly. "Look at her right -temple. You see it still bleeding from a slight wound that must have -been received from something that has struck her in the water. She has -been stunned by it, perhaps, and will revive presently. Call Doctor -Franks." - -Doctor Franks came and agreed with the captain. The girl was not dead, -but there was no telling how soon she would be, from the bad effects of -her exposure in the water, and the jagged wound on her head. - -"A bed must be prepared for her at once, and I will see what I can do -towards resuscitating her," said the kind-hearted Doctor Franks. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -"Go and tell the stewardess to prepare a bed quickly for this young -lady," said the captain, turning to the cabin-boy. - -The boy disappeared in the lower regions of the vessel, returning -presently with a plump, good-natured-looking woman, who had a "full -blown comeliness, white and red." - -"An' indade, Cap'en Dill, sorra a bit spare bed is there, saving the -little cuddy-hole where Mrs. Odell's maid slept afore she died." - -"Prepare that, then, Mrs. McQueen. Don't you see what a deuce of a hurry -we are in?" returned Captain Dill. - -"Faix, and it'll be by Mrs. Odell's leave, then," says Mrs. McQueen. -"Shall I ask her? It's a bit cross and ailing she is the day." - -"Ask her then, and be in a hurry," he answers. "If she refuses, the -poor girl shall have my bed, and I'll bunk on deck with a blanket." - -He is saved the necessity of the sacrifice, however, for Mrs. Odell, -whoever she may be, yields an ungracious consent to the appropriation of -the defunct maid's bed, and the still unconscious girl is removed -thereto. - -Long days afterward she opens her eyes consciously for the first time -upon this world, after a long battle has been fought with fever, and -delirium, and greedy death; opens her eyes with a passionate heart-cry -on her poor, fever-parched lips: - -"Vane, dear Vane!" - -There is a soft swish of silk as of a lady rising from her chair, and -Reine's large, hollow, dark eyes follow the sound. - -She lies on a small, white bed in a "cuddy-hole" indeed, herself, but a -small door is propped open, showing just beyond a very tiny, but elegant -saloon, furnished royally enough for a princess, with hangings of purple -velvet and gold, and softest couches and chairs, a carpet of velvet -pile, picturesque rugs strewn about the floor, small paintings, each -perfect gems of art, adorning the walls. Moving slowly through this -luxurious saloon comes a lady, on whom Reine's feeble gaze is instantly -riveted. - -A form of medium hight, with narrow, stooping shoulders, and a -middle-aged face with a strange beauty all its own--the beauty of -brilliant eyes, waxen pallor, and hectic-flushed cheeks, that the deadly -disease, consumption, bestows upon its victims. Clothed with almost -barbaric splendor, with rustling silks and velvets, and sparkling jewels -that seemed to flash fire in the dim saloon, she was yet one upon whom -the heart ached to gaze, for by her terrible emaciation, and hollow, -fever-flushed cheeks, and pain-drawn lips, she was one that cruel death -had plainly marked for his own. - -In wondering silence Reine's dark eyes lift to the strange woman's face -as she comes to her side, diffusing a delicate odor of _attar du rose_ -as she moves. She speaks in a low, pleasantly-modulated voice, -interrupted by a slight, hacking cough: - -"You spoke, did you not? Is there anything you wish?" - -"Yes, I want Vane," Reine answers, in a weak, childish voice, forgetful, -or momentarily unconscious, of all that has passed since she was -sundered from her husband's side. - -An expression of pity comes into the emaciated face regarding her. - -"I hope you will see Vane after a while," she replies, evasively. "Do -you feel better, my dear?" - -"Better?" the girl echoes, startled. "Have I been ill?" - -"Yes, with fever. But you are convalescing now. Do you remember nothing -of your illness?" - -"Nothing," Reine answers, dreamily. "And--and your face is strange to -me. Have I ever seen you before?" - -"Not to your knowledge, I think," Mrs. Odell replies, with a slight -smile. - -A puzzled look comes into the pale, thin face lying on the pillow, with -its great, hollow, black eyes. Reine is slowly gathering up the links of -memory. - -"Are--are we not on the Atlantic Ocean?" she inquires, after a dreamy -pause. - -Mrs. Odell, drawing her handkerchief across her lips after a slight -spell of coughing, answers: "Yes." - -Another dreamy pause. The dark eyes that have half-closed, open slowly -again. - -"Is this steamer the--the _Hesperus_?" she queries, half-doubtfully. - -Mrs. Odell draws back with a slight expression of alarm on her face. - -"I--I fear you are talking too much for an invalid," she says. "I will -call the doctor." - -Retiring into the saloon, and touching a silver call-bell, the fat -stewardess appears. - -"Send Doctor Franks in," Mrs. Odell commands. "His patient begins to -recover consciousness." - -Doctor Franks comes, eager, and on the alert, smiling a little as -Reine's curious eyes seek his face. - -"Another stranger," she complains, with almost childish petulance. - -"Well, and what would you have?" he answers, cheerfully, as he touches -her pulse. "Though strangers, we are all friends." - -"I want Vane," the girl answers, with a hungry yearning in her weak -voice. - -"After awhile--after awhile," he answers, evasively, as the lady had -done. "Are you feeling better to-day?" - -"Yes, if I have been ill--have I?" Reine inquires, with some of her old -sharpness of tone, for in her weak state she is easily irritated. - -"Have you? Well, I should say so," he responds, smilingly. "At present -you are nothing but a pair of big black eyes and a lot of hair that I -should have cut off only that you were so pretty with it that I hadn't -the heart." - -"Do not believe him," Mrs. Odell puts in, good-naturedly. "If I had not -scolded and begged, and almost gone down on my knees to him, he would -have shaved your pretty head bare." - -"I should not have liked that," Reine says, putting her small fingers to -the thick, glossy plaits. "Vane liked my hair. He thought it pretty; he -said so that very night when----" But, with the effort of recalling the -long-past time, a great wave of memory suddenly breaks over Reine's -heart. Her wan face grows paler, her eyes dilate wildly and fill with -swift, passionate tears. - -"I remember," she gasps, in a voice of pain, "oh, Heaven! I remember." - -There is a moment of silence and they watch her closely. All along Dr. -Franks had dreaded this moment of re-awakened memory in the girl's -heart. But her agitation is not so great as he had anticipated, for -though she is sobbing softly behind her hands, it is not with the -bitterness of an utter despair. - -"What is it you remember, Miss Langton?" he asks, touching her arm -gently. - -She starts and looks at him with her great, tear-filled eyes. - -"Who told you my name?" she asks, curiously. - -"It was marked upon your clothing," Mrs. Odell gently explains, and -again Dr. Franks says, curiously: - -"You were saying that you remembered----" - -"The burning of the _Hesperus_ and the loss of life, and our deadly -peril, yes--yes," Reine answers, weakly. "But Vane was saved; oh, thank -God for that. And now my life, too, is spared," she exclaims, with the -glad tears of joy falling through her white fingers. - -They regard her in sympathetic silence awhile, then Dr. Franks says, -kindly: - -"I am very glad your friend was saved, Miss Langton, and very happy to -think that we had the pleasure of seeing you. Were you bound for -America?" - -"Yes--returning home from a trip to England," she answers. - -"I knew you were American instantly," says Mrs. Odell. "We are also of -that nationality." - -"I am very glad," Reine answers, giving her a pensive smile. "Are you -also bound for your native shore?" - -"Not just now," the consumptive returns, with a smothered sigh. "I am in -delicate health, and Doctor Franks here has recommended the climate of -Italy for my health, with the additional advantage of a leisurely -sea-trip in a sailing vessel. We are now making our way to Mentone, -Italy." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -"You are bound for Mentone, Italy!" Reine repeats, with a quiver of -disappointment in her low voice. "Then I am going farther away from home -every hour!" - -"Yes," replies Doctor Franks. "Lucky thing for you, too, in your weak -and debilitated condition. Mentone is a charming climate for invalids. -Will set you up in less than no time. Then, when your roses are blooming -again, we'll send you home to America." - -"How long since you picked me up out of the water?" she asks. - -"Three weeks," he replies. - -Three weeks!--she shuts her eyes ever so tightly, but the traitor tears -creep through beneath the black fringe of her lashes. - -Three weeks since she parted from Vane amid the horrors of that awful -night. Three weeks he has believed her dead. Has he mourned her much? -she wonders. Perhaps time has already dulled the sharp edge of grief. - -Then graver thoughts chase these self-regrets from her mind. - -A terrible doubt chills the life-blood around her heart. - -After all, was Vane really saved? - -She remembers that crowded little life-boat, already so full that it -seemed rash and perilous to take in even one more passenger. - -Has the little bark survived the dangers of the sea, or gone down with -its precious freight of souls to swell the treasures of the "vasty -deep?" - -Truly has the poet written that: "Love is sorrow with half-grown wings." - -Reine lies silent, with quivering lips and closed eyelids, thinking with -grief unutterable of the beloved one's unknown fate. From first to last -this passionate love of hers has brought her nothing but bitter pain and -sharp humiliation. - -Doctor Frank's genial voice rouses her from her bitter absorption. - -"Come, come, mademoiselle, this will never do. No fretting and grieving -if you please. It will only retard your recovery and return to America. -Hold up your head now, and swallow this bit of refreshment our good -stewardess has brought you. Then you must go to sleep." - -"Do, that's a dearie," admonishes Mrs. McQueen, rather vaguely, -proceeding to feed the patient with a spoon from the bowl of gruel that -she has brought in, but after a sip or two Reine declares that she -cannot swallow, and begs to be let alone. - -To this the physician blandly consents after administering an -infinitesimal dose of a dark liquid. As a result Reine goes away on a -journey to the land of Nod in precisely fifteen minutes. Talking and -emotion have thoroughly wearied her exhausted frame. - -She sleeps soundly and dreamlessly till the light of another day shines -broadly over the world. - -Waking silently, and in her senses this time, the girl lies still with -wide dark eyes gazing around her. The door into the tiny saloon is open -as before. - -She sees Mrs. Odell lying on a satin couch, wrapped in a crimson -dressing-gown, and covered with a costly India shawl. Her eyes are -closed, her face is ghastly in its deep pallor and emaciation. - -Suddenly she starts broad awake, seized by a terrible fit of coughing -that convulses her slight frame. When she withdraws the snowy -handkerchief she has been holding to her lips, Reine sees that it is -streaked with blood. - -"Oh, dear!" she exclaims, terrified, and Mrs. Odell looks around. - -"So you are awake--what a sleep you have had. What made you cry out so?" -she inquires in a weak, exhausted voice. - -"It was the sight of the blood," Reine stammers. "I was frightened. You -are very ill, are you not?" - -Mrs. Odell, who has sunk wearily into a chair by her bedside, looks down -at her with a ghastly smile on her blood-stained lips. - -"Oh, no," she answers, with the hopeful confidence peculiar to that -flattering disease, consumption, "my lungs are a little weak, that is -all my trouble. The sea air and the Italian climate will quite restore -my health, I think. The American climate is too harsh for me. I shall be -better at Mentone." - -"You will make your home there?" Reine asks, and Mrs. Odell answers -readily: - -"Yes, until my health is restored. Then I shall return to my native -land. There is no place like America to me. Besides, all my property is -there." - -"Your friends and relatives, too?" Reine asks, and Mrs. Odell answers, -sighing: - -"Relatives I have none. My husband and children have all gone before to -the better land. My friends are few. A woman as rich as I am does not -know how to trust in friendship. Only think, child, my husband has left -me two millions of dollars, and I have neither kith nor kin of my own to -leave it to. I am utterly alone in the world." - -"As I was until I met--Vane," Reine murmurs silently to herself, while a -look of sympathy flashes from her beautiful eyes upon the lonely rich -woman. - -"The friend I cared most for on earth," Mrs. Odell continues, sadly, -"was my maid, who died just a few days before you were rescued. She was -a girl of culture and refinement, rather above her position, and a -friend, rather than a servant. I have missed her sadly, as much for her -company as her services." - -"Did she die suddenly?" Reine asks, with a sigh for the poor girl who -had found a watery grave far from her native land. - -"Yes, very suddenly, from an unsuspected heart disease." - -After a minute's silence Mrs. Odell resumes, pensively: - -"Do you know what I have been wishing, Miss Langton?" - -"I cannot even guess," Reine replies, wonderingly. - -"I have been wishing that you could take that poor girl's place with me. -Not as my maid, of course, but as my friend and companion. I have grown -to like you so much since you have been lying here ill and suffering. I -have taken care of you as far as my own feeble state would allow. Do you -think you could be my friend, child?" - -"I am sure I could; that is, if you would not suspect me of designs on -your property. I am an heiress, myself," Reine returns, with such naive, -innocent pride that Mrs. Odell's pain-drawn lips part in an amused -smile: - -"You simple child. No one could suspect you of anything. There is no -guile in that charming face," she answers kindly. - -"Thank you. I shall be very glad of your friendship, and hope I may be -of some account to you," Reine murmurs. - -"It is settled then," Mrs. Odell says, with evident satisfaction. "You -are to be my friend and my guest, the same as a daughter to me, until -you leave me to return to America, which time, I hope, may be far off -yet, for I shall not like to lose my little friend." - -"Do not say that," Reine cries out quickly. "I should hate to grieve -you, but I have two dear ones who would grieve to think that I was dead. -I must let them know the truth as soon as I can." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -Poverty is a great persuader. Numberless times it has forced people to -put their pride in their pocket. - -Vane Charteris, moping along in his law-office, finds such a dearth of -clients that it would seem the world is for once at peace. - -Nothing happens to break up the dull monotony of his life, or put a fee -into his lank pockets. True, invitations pour in upon the "handsome -rising young lawyer," but these he declines on the score of his -mourning. - -The city wakes up to the gayety of its winter season, but the ripple of -joyous life flows past him unheeded. The lethargy of a hopeless grief is -upon him. At last, with something of a shock, the vulgar and prosaic -question of: "What shall we eat, and what shall we drink, and -wherewithal shall we be clothed?" forces itself upon his consideration. - -For Vane, handsome, careless, ease-loving Vane, has suddenly and -thoughtlessly come to the end of his resources. - -Bills, formidable, some of them, begin to pour in. Our hero, anxiously -debating the question of "ways and means of raising the wind," begins to -realize that business is strangely dull, and himself placed in a -dilemma. - -You understand that Vane Charteris is no perfect hero, my friends, you -have seen that from the first. Self has in almost every instance ruled -his thoughts; he has yielded to temptation, he has shown himself daily -one of those petulant, faulty, yet daring types of men whom, after all, -women cannot help loving. - -So in this instance, instead of loftily adhering to his stubborn -rejection of Maud Langton's offer, Vane Charteris suddenly remembers, -with a sensation of relief, that all this while, a long month, indeed, -the offer has lain in abeyance, waiting on his pleasure. Maud, like a -skillful general, having made one artful move, is now waiting to see -what the enemy will do. - -Vane, like the thoughtless and innocent fly that he is, walks straight -into the trap she has set. He decides to call. After all he may be -forced to accept the management of her property. At this critical period -of his fate, he cannot afford to be proud. - -Yet it is with strange reluctance he climbs the marble steps and rings -the bell. A memory of the dead seems to hold him back. The perfume of a -white rose he has purchased and placed in his coat in passing a little -flower shop, rises strong and sweet, thrilling him with the thought of -her who has been like a rose herself. - -"A rosebud set with little, willful thorns." - -"I am foolish," he says to himself, disobeying the impulse to turn and -descend the steps. "I must go through with it, I have to live." - -He rings the bell again, and when the door is opened, sends in cards for -Miss Langton, and Mrs. and Miss Baird, with whom he has some slight -acquaintance. - -The two latter are out. Miss Langton receives him in the elegant library -where she is alone among the books, basking in the ruddy glow of -firelight and gaslight. As his eyes light upon her, he recalls the -English laureate's Maud: - - "Maud with her exquisite face, - Maud in the light of her youth and her grace." - -She is like a rare picture in her black velvet dress, with its -picturesque trimmings of cream-white lace, and the pearls that clasp her -throat and wrists. She rises with that slow and languid grace that Vane -was wont to admire so much. - -"At last," she says, in her well-trained, softly-toned voice. "Welcome, -Vane!" - -He touches the white, extended hand very lightly, and takes the chair -she places. - -"I was passing, and I thought I would look in upon you a few moments," -he observes, with unblushing nonchalance. - -"I am thankful for even that small grace," Maud answers, with her most -winning smile. "I know I have been a very bad girl to you, Vane, but I -think if you knew how sincere my repentance is you would not mind coming -now and then to cheer my lonely hours." - -Then she drops her eyes and sighs. Vane looks at the fair, calm, languid -beauty in wondering silence. A little while ago this had been his idea -of perfect beauty. Since then he has learned to love the slumberous fire -that glows in dark eyes and the soul that dwells on scarlet lips and -dusky, brunette complexions. The sweetness of the rose has won his -heart, but the beauty of the lily unconsciously charms his eyes even now -when he knows how false she is at heart, and only fair in outward -seeming. - -"I--I have no time for calling," he responds, with cool politeness. "I -am always busy." - -"Always?" she arches her golden brows slightly. "That is unfortunate. I -suppose, then, that I may abandon the hope that I have been secretly -cherishing, that you would relent and take the management of my -property." - -Vane regards her in apparent surprise. - -"Is it possible you have found no one else?" he inquires, carelessly. - -"I told you I should not try until I heard from you," she answers. - -"True, I had forgotten that," he answers. "And so you have been waiting -all this time. I wish you would tell me why you wish me to do this for -you when there are others equally capable, and far more willing." - -Of this pointed reminder Maud wisely takes no heed save a gentle, -quickly suppressed sigh. - -"Perhaps you would be angry if I told you my reason," she says, gently, -removing her eyes a moment from the contemplation of her folded, -milk-white hands to glance into his fair, grave, handsome face. - -"Oh, no, I am quite curious to hear," he replies. - -"I think you know that Mr. Langton allowed his lawyer a very liberal -salary," she begins. "You know there is a great deal of work, really, a -number of tenements here, several farms in the country----" - -"I know all that," he interrupts, with a slight air of brusqueness. - -"I should like," she answers, with a very becoming blush, "that you -should have that salary, Vane. It would only be fair, seeing that the -whole property would have been yours but for my foolish, deeply repented -error. - -"Thank you, you are very kind," Vane replies, with grim brevity. - -"Do you think so?" she asks, simply, then with an anxious look into his -unmoved face, she continues: "Will you be kinder still, Vane, and permit -me to offer this salve to my accusing conscience?" - -"If only I were not so busy," Vane says, with artful reluctance. - -"Cannot you make the time? I should feel so much better over this -unfortunate thing," she says, lifting her blue, pleading eyes to his -face. - -Vane pretends to meditate within himself. - -"Well, yes, since you make a point of it, I will try to take the trouble -off your hands," he says, after that pause. "But as for losing Mr. -Langton's money, pray don't think that I consider it hard lines, your -inheriting it. I think you know that it wasn't for the sake of that I -was--" he cuts his speech off short there, finding himself getting -unwittingly on sentimental ground. - -"I know," she says, quickly; "you mean you were going to marry me -because you loved me. How foolish I was to doubt it then! Oh, Vane, if -only we had it all to go over again, how different all would be!" - -Vane turns on the beautiful, sighing coquette a look of steady contempt. - -"If you had it all to do over again you would do precisely as you did -then," he replies, with quiet scorn. "Don't play the coquette with me, -Maud. I am in no mood for trifling." - -"Nor I," she answers. "I am in earnest, Vane. It _would_ be different; -but I will not dwell on it since it annoys you. I fully understand that -I am at liberty only to regard you as my man of business, not my -friend." - -There is just the right touch of sad and patient humility in the musical -voice, and a dewy moisture gathers on the golden lashes. Vane is -inwardly mollified by her repentance, but is careful not to show it. - -"My friendship can be of no value to you," he says, coldly. "You are -rich, and can number your friends by the score. I will serve you -faithfully in my legal capacity. That is all I can promise." - -"That is all I can ask, then," she answers, resignedly, and with such -sweet patience that Vane takes his leave with a vague feeling that he -has been unnecessarily cruel to the fair woman who had jilted him. - -"Has she really repented? Does she indeed care for me now, as her words -would imply, or is she the most consummate actress upon earth?" he asks -himself. - -And this is the beginning of the end. - - * * * * * - -Maud, left alone in the silent, stately library, throws off the mask of -meekness and patience that had set so becomingly on her beautiful face. - -She walks up and down the floor impatiently, with blended triumph and -vexation in her soft, blue eyes. - -"I have gained one point at least," she murmured to herself. "And I -will gain the rest, I swear it," clenching her jeweled hands tightly. "I -love him. How strange that I should grow to care for him when once I -fled from him in the hour that would have made me his own. I was mad and -blind. I was deluded by my romantic fancy for Clyde. Ugh! how the -remembrance of that man's face troubles and haunts me. I see it always -as I did that night, upturned in the moonbeams, dead and white. If I had -loved him really, the shock must have killed me. But I did not love -him--at least not half so well as I love Vane Charteris now. How proud -and independent he is. But I love him all the better for that. If he had -not come back and brought me that paper I might have been hung, or at -least imprisoned for life. I hate to think that I owe it to Reine -Langton, whom I never liked. How fortunate for me that she and Uncle -Langton died. I have the fortune now, and I am determined that I will -yet be the adored wife of Vane Charteris." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -"Is the English mail in yet, Mrs. Odell? I do so want my English -letter!" - -Mrs. Odell turns a compassionate look on the pale, wistful face of the -girl, into whose white cheeks all the life-giving breezes of Mentone -have failed to restore the vanished rose. - -Reine has been in Italy three weeks now. Thrice she has written to -England to her Uncle Langton relating the story of her escape, and -begging for news of himself and Vane. - -No answer has come to these eager appeals, and she is half wild with -anxiety. - -"There is no letter yet, my dear," Mrs. Odell answers, sorrowfully, for -she knows of Reine's strange story now. "I will tell you what to do now, -Reine. Write to the postmaster there, and ask him for news of your -uncle. Perhaps Mr. Langton has gone to another place." - -"It is not probable," Reine answers, sighing, but she takes her friend's -advice, and writes the letter of inquiry. - -This time the answer comes all too soon. Her own three letters are -returned unopened, with the information that Mr. Langton is long since -dead! The physician encloses a certificate of death. - -"He is dead, my dear, kind uncle is dead, Mrs. Odell!" Reine cries, -lifting her dark eyes, heavy with grief, to the pale face of her friend. - -"My poor darling, I feared as much," the lady answers, compassionately. -"Now, darling, you belong wholly to me." - -"You forget my husband," Reine answers, through her tears. - -And Mrs. Odell, clasping tighter the paper she holds in her hand, speaks -no word at first. How can she stab that tender heart yet deeper, already -bleeding with the sad news of her uncle's death? - -"You will be your uncle's heiress, dear," she says to her presently, -thinking to check the flowing tide of grief. - -The girl starts and looks up, bewildered. - -"I said, you will be your uncle's heiress," Mrs. Odell repeats. - -And Reine, growing a trifle paler, shakes her head - -"Not if he has died so suddenly," she answers. "He intended to alter his -will, but he had not done so when I left him. The old will left -everything to my cousin, Maud Langton. It is more than probable that I -am penniless." - -"It does not seem to distress you, losing the fortune, I mean," the pale -invalid remarks, with some surprise. - -"It does not," the girl answers, calmly; "I never cared to have my -uncle's money; I know that Vane will take care of me," she adds, with -tender confidence. - -And again Mrs. Odell's sad, white face grows sadder. - -"Dear, you forget that you have no assurance that your husband is -living," she exclaims abruptly. - -Reine presses the small white hand that loosely wears the wedding-ring -upon her poor aching heart, and lifts her dark, solemn eyes to the -lady's face. - -"My own heart tells me he is living," she says, with passionate energy. -"He cannot be dead, my darling, just as I had almost won his heart. He -lives to bless me yet with his love. Ah, if I only knew where to find -him," she breathes, with despairing earnestness. - -"My poor, poor child," Mrs. Odell says, with impulsive tenderness. "You -must not be too sure. We can be sure of nothing in this world." - -"You have heard--something!" Reine says, with vague terror, looking -fixedly at the lady. - -"Yes, dear. I have here some papers that I have been trying for sometime -to get, the English and American papers with the accounts of the burning -of the _Hesperus_ and the list of those lost." - -"And--my husband?" Reine says, looking at the lady with burning eyes. - -"Is reported among the lost," Mrs. Odell replies, the papers trembling -in her trembling hands. - -A moment's silence, then Reine, trembling all over with emotion, rallies -bravely from the shock. - -"Am not I, too, reported among the lost?" she inquires. - -"Yes, here it is, dear," and Mrs. Odell reads, under the heading of -"Lost:" "'Vane Charteris and wife.'" - -"So you see that does not really signify anything," Reine says, -momentarily radiant. "Here I am safe and sound on _terra firma_. And -Vane had so much better a chance than I had that he cannot be dead. Did -I not see him safe on board the life-boat myself?" - -"But, listen, dear," Mrs. Odell answers, sorrowfully. - -She folds down the paper and reads, in a weak voice, a short paragraph: - -"The _Sea-Gull_ rescued one life-boat after it had drifted two days at -the mercy of the wind and waves. It was filled with thirsty, famishing -women and children. They reported that the boat had been on the point of -sinking from too great a load, when the four men who were in it had -leaped into the water, heroically resigning their only chance of life in -favor of the weaker sex. There is no ground for hoping that either of -these noble, manly hearts survived their self-sacrificing act, as none -have been heard from since." - -"Well?" Reine says, in a hushed voice, with a strange, prescient dread -on her white face. - -"Oh, my poor, bereaved girl, how can I tell you?" exclaims the frail -invalid, the dew of womanly sympathy starting into her eyes. - -And Reine, with a horrible weight pressing on her heart, gasps faintly: - -"My husband----" - -"His name appears in the list of the four who leaped into the water," -Mrs. Odell replies in an awe-struck voice. - -One cry, whose terrible despair pierces to the blue heavens, then blank -silence. Reine has fallen forward, face downward, on the floor. For a -brief space, time, love, sorrow, all the things of life, are blotted -from her mind in a merciful semi-death. - - * * * * * - -The days go by--"time does not stop for tears"--and one day there comes -out of the room where Reine, the girl, was carried in senseless, a -beautiful, sad-eyed woman in sables. Sorrow has touched her with its -transfiguring finger. The beautiful dark eyes droop always beneath the -black-fringed lashes, the lips forget to smile, the white cheeks have -lost their dimples and roses. For the passionate, loving heart, life is -over and done--yet she lives on. - - "Death does not always bring its balm - To every aching ill-- - Life may outlast its dearest charm, - And heart-break does not kill." - -After a time there comes to the crushed heart a thought crowded out at -first by the intensity of woe--the remembrance of Maud. Maud, whose -hopes, like her own, have hung trembling on the life of Vane Charteris. - -"I must go home," she says, sadly, to her friend. "Maud will need me. -God only knows what has happened to her in these long months." - -And Mrs. Odell, who has daily grown weaker and frailer, looking up from -the couch where she rests almost all day now, cries out, sorrowfully: - -"Oh, Reine, you will not let this Maud come between us? She cannot love -you as well as I do." - -The girl answers her a little sadly. - -"I do not think she loves me at all." - -"Then, why go to her?" Mrs. Odell exclaims. - -"Because it seems my duty," Reine answers calmly. - -"Write to her," suggests the invalid eagerly. - -"There is no surety in the mail. It is safer to go," Reine objects. - -But that evening, faithful Dr. Franks, who has come across the ocean to -watch over the invalid's health, requests a private interview with Mrs. -Charteris. - -"I hear that you wish to return to America?" he says, fixing his kind, -smiling gray eyes on her quiet face, with its grave, sweet lips and -drooping eyes. - -"Yes," she answers. - -"Is it imperative?" asks Dr. Franks. - -"I think so," Reine replies, with some little wonder at his curiosity. - -"You are the best judge," he answers, gravely. "Were it otherwise I -would beg you not to go." - -"Why?" Reine asks, surprised. - -"For that poor lady's sake in yonder. Do you know that your going will -shorten her days upon earth?" - -"Dr. Franks, how can you speak so? You know I would not harm one hair of -her dear, kind head," Reine says, with subdued indignation. - -"I know," he says, gently for him, usually so brusque and careless. "But -she will grieve for you so. She has grown to love you as a daughter. She -has no one else to cling to--she is sensitive and loving, who has buried -all she loves, and is so ill and lonely." - -"What would you have me do?" Reine asks, irresolute and pained. - -"Stay with her till the last, if that were possible," he answers. "It -cannot be for long. Do you know that her days are numbered?" - -She starts, and trembles. - -"No, I thought that this genial climate was to restore her health," she -exclaims. - -"We hoped it, but all has failed," he answers, sadly. "She fails daily -and rapidly. There is no power in medicine, no magic in these balmy airs -to lengthen her life. She is surely fading from us." - -The dark eyes brim over with sorrow. - -"How long?" she asks, faintly. - -"I cannot tell," he answers, sadly. "Her disease is too insidious for -one to say with any certainty. It may be hours, days, weeks, months, for -who can prognosticate surely the coming of that dread enemy that -flatters only to destroy." - -"Then I must not leave her," she answers, warmly, "and yet, I know that -I ought to go back to America." - -"Can you not write?" he inquires. - -"I must do so," she answers, "and trust to God that my letter may go -safely across the ocean. Mrs. Odell has been too kind and tender to me -for me to desert her now. Believe me, I did not know that the end was so -near. I thought, I hoped, she would get well, but now I will not leave -her while she lives." - -"God bless you!" Doctor Franks exclaims, with strong but repressed -emotion. "Will you go in and tell her that? I left her in the bitterest -distress over the thought of your going." - -"Yes," Reine answers, but when he has left her she lingers a little to -regain her composure before returning to the presence of the hapless -lady whom death had marked for his own. - -The sun is shining on the soft, blue water, the flowers are blooming, -the birds are singing. - -Surely, this clime is fair and balmy enough to woo expiring life back to -its tenement of clay. And yet, she, too, her last loved friend, thinks -Reine, must go from her out into the darkness and dreariness of death. - -Crushing back one hopeless sigh, Reine goes back to the shaded, quiet -chamber, where the sick woman lies on her silken couch, with tearful -eyes veiled by the thin, emaciated fingers on which the shining wealth -of rings hang loosely. - -She kneels down and presses her soft, loving lips on the thin, -fever-flushed cheek. - -"You are crying for me," she says, with an earnest penitence and regret. -"I was cruel and ungrateful to talk of leaving you. Can you forgive me?" - -"You are sorry; you will stay!" the sick woman murmurs, with piteous -eagerness. - -"Yes, as long as you live, I will never leave you nor forsake you," -Reine murmurs, with all the solemnity of a vow, thinking sadly to -herself that this is the only heart left on earth to which she is near -and dear. - -"God bless you, you shall be like my own child, Reine. And it may not be -for long," Mrs. Odell sighs. "I am afraid--afraid, dear, that I shall -never see my native land again." - -"We will hope for the best," the girl answers, gently, "and if--if it -should be as you fear, you will not forget that Heaven is as near to -Italy as to our native land." - -Heaven! to these two who have lost the treasure of life, that word is -sweet and potent. - -Drawn nearer together by the waves of sorrow that have gone over their -heads, they cling together in the falling twilight, and talk softly of - - "A land whose light is never dimmed with shade, - Whose fields are ever vernal; - Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, - But blooms for aye eternal." - - * * * * * - -The soft Italian winter comes and goes. To Reine's young and -inexperienced eyes, as she ministers lovingly to her dying friend, it -seems as if a change for the better is taking place. But Doctor Franks -shakes his head. - -"Impossible," he tells her, sadly. "It is a marvel she has lasted so -long. It almost seems as if your love and tenderness have held her -fluttering spirit back from the other world. The end is not far now." - -But the spring days pass with such gentle touches on the wasting frame -that the spirit lingers still. - -At last, in the golden sunset of a golden June, Mrs. Odell's summons -comes, gently, as if angels had borne it down the golden stairway of the -sky, closing her tired eyelids on the fair land of Italy, with her thin -hand nestled in Reine's warm clasp, she opens them again on the -"stiller, fairer world of the dead." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -Standing alone and sadly by the marble cross that marks Mrs. Odell's -quiet grave, Reine's thoughts turn homeward. The longing for native land -inherent in humanity begins to stir in her heart. - - "'Tis hame, hame, hame, hame I fain would be, - Hame, hame, hame, in my ain countree." - -The slim, dark figure standing quietly with the pale face turned -seaward, has a pathetic grace and beauty all its own. - -So thinks one who approaches so quietly along the grass-grown paths of -"the city of the dead," that she starts with a frightened little cry -when he stands before her. - -"Oh! Dr. Franks, how you startled me," she says, with one slim, white -hand pressed against her heart to still its rapid beating. - -"Did I? Pardon me," he answers, with an irrepressible glance of -admiration. "I forgot you might be nervous in this quiet, lonely spot. -Do I intrude upon you?" - -"The place is free to all," she answers, somewhat confusedly. - -"That would be no excuse for me if you did not desire my company," he -answers, quickly and humbly, then in a lower tone: "Oh! Mrs. Charteris, -you must pardon me that I have followed you here! I had something to say -to you. Can you not guess?" - -"Do not say it, please. I would rather not hear," she answers, with -weary indifference in face and voice. - -His handsome, eager face grows blank and dismayed. - -"You will not listen?" he says. "Oh! Reine, think a minute. Is it best -to refuse such love as mine--so ardent, strong, and devoted? You are so -young and lovely, yet so lonely and unprotected. Let me throw the strong -shield of my love around you--let me make you my wife!" - -Reine waves him away with a quiver of pain on the beautiful face, that -is even more lovely in its pallor and gravity than it used to be in its -blushes and dimples. - -"I shall never love--never marry--again," she answers, in a choking -voice. - -"Then you can give me no hope?" Doctor Franks asks sadly, and she shakes -her head. - -"You do not know how long I have loved you," he says, pleadingly. "Ever -since I first saw you you have been the delight of my eyes and heart. -But I have tried to be patient. I have respected your widowhood and your -sorrow. But now, Reine, seeing you so utterly alone in the world, the -time seemed come for me to speak. Are you sure--quite sure, dear, that -you can never love me?" - -The sound of the sea comes to them soft and sad; the wind sighs through -the long grass above the quiet sleepers, whom the things of this world -trouble no more. Tears rise into the dark eyes of the girl as she looks -into the man's troubled face. It is no slight thing to a true woman to -hold the great, throbbing pulse of a man's heart in the hollow of the -hand. - -She lifts to his the great, dewy, pain-filled eyes. - -"I am so sorry," she falters; "but you must have seen how little I cared -for you, for anyone, and that my heart was broken." - -Before that grave and pathetic confession the man's passion is mute. - -"And I have wounded you," he says, in self-condemnation. "Forgive me, -Mrs. Charteris, I have heard of women who were faithful unto death. I -did not know there were those who carried love beyond it." - -She sighs wearily and rests her cheek against the cold marble cross. - -"My heart is broken," she repeats sadly. "I shall never have any more -room in my life for love and lovers." - -"Nor friends?" he asks, pleadingly, and Reine impulsively holds out her -hand. - -"Yes, if you care to claim me," she answers, gently. - -"Rather your friendship than any other woman's love," says the rejected -lover, loyally. - -"You must not feel like that, it is so very hopeless," the girl answers. -"I am going home soon. You may never see me again. I hope that you may -love and marry some happier woman." - -And when he has gone away and left her to the loneliness of her own -thought, she sinks down in the long, sweet grass, weeping long and -bitterly. - -Until now she has never quite realized the truth of her widowhood. It -comes to her with a great pang of agony that Vane Charteris has no -longer any place among men. - -His place in her poor life is vacant forever. - -"And I loved him so dearly," she sighs, lifting her desolate, tear-wet -eyes to the fair, blue heavens. "I loved him, and if he had lived he -would have loved me. My patient love must have won him in the end." - -And again her thoughts turn homeward as if drawn by some irresistible -power. - -"I will return to my native land," she resolves. "I will seek out Maud, -if indeed she has escaped from the terrible web that encompassed her. I -am so lonely and sad perhaps she will be kinder to me than of old." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -A year has passed since the ill-fated _Hesperus_ was burned in mid-ocean -with such terrible loss of human life. - -In the sultry heat of August, Vane Charteris has forsaken the -breathless, dusty city for the coolness and verdure of that terrestrial -paradise among the hills, Langton Villa. - -He is the guest of Miss Langton, who queens it right royally here over -the grand domain she had nearly lost by her folly of one year ago. - -They walk up and down beneath the trees, Maud and her handsome lawyer, -in the glow of the evening sunset, with the lovely sights and sounds of -summer all around them. - -The heiress, in a robe of palest blue, with creamy lace, looks her -fairest. Mr. Charteris, always handsome, is none the less so for the -shadow brooding darkly in the deep blue eyes, lending its touch of -earnestness to the grave, pale face. - -"How dull and _distrait_ you are," she says at length, impatiently. "Let -us sit down here beneath this tree, and I will try to charm this dull -mood away." - -But for once she finds her fascinations fail. Vane, always inclined to -be taciturn, is more than usually so to-night, even to the verge of -embarrassment. - -She wonders why his eyes evade her own, why he makes no reply to some -tender epithets that falls cooingly from the beautiful lips. - -"I thought you loved me, Vane," she breaks out at last, with some -indignation. - -"Yes, I thought so too, for a little while, under the glamour of your -beauty and my own loneliness, but when you were gone, I found that I was -mistaken. I am here to tell you this. Can you forgive me, Maud?" he -blunders out, with all the shame of a man who feels himself placed in an -uncomfortable position. - -"Mistaken!" she cries, transfixing him with the angry gleam of her blue -eyes. "Why, only the last time we met you said that you loved me." - -Vane, rather red and ashamed, still holds his ground bravely. - -"I was mistaken, as I told you just now," he says. "I do not, I cannot -love you." - -"Cannot!" she repeats, a little blankly. - -"I cannot," he answers. "I find in the light of my later experiences -that I never really loved you, not even when I was about to make you my -wife. I was under the spell of your beauty. I know now that my heart was -untouched." - -"What do you mean by later experience?" the beautiful woman asks, -sneeringly. - -"I mean that the love I feel now, when too late, for my lost wife, -Reine, is the only love my heart can ever know," he answers, speaking -low and reverentially, as if in the presence of the dead. - -The cold blue eyes of the beautiful heiress kindle with pride and -resentment. - -"You expect me to believe this?" she cries, hotly. "Do I not know how -you despised Reine Langton! How you called her vixen, spit-fire, scold! -How you longed to be out of her presence and rid of her?" - -"For all of which I would beg her pardon on my knees if she were -living," he answers, still low and reverentially; "I did not understand -her then. I was a simpleton, an indolent, fastidious fool. I know now -that those bright, wild ways were but the ripple and effervescence on -the water that ran deep, and calm, and sweet beneath. She was like a -lovely rose that hid its sweetness behind 'little wilful thorns.' At -heart she was true, and sweet, and womanly. Too late I learned that I -loved her, and in honor to her memory I will make no other woman my -wife." - -The angry color rises into Miss Langton's fair cheek. - -"You forget that you are pledged to me," she says, in a low, fierce -whisper. "You forget that our marriage day is already set." - -"I forget nothing," he returns, sadly. "Nothing except that I was -blinded for a moment by your subtle charm, and offered you what was not -mine to give, what belongs irrevocably to the dead--my whole heart. I -came to ask you for my freedom, Maud." - -"What if I refuse?" she asks, with a subtle flash in the blue eyes. - -"Then God help me and forgive you," he answers, solemnly, "for we can -never be happy together. There are two ghosts between us, Maud. The man -who murdered himself because of your falsity, and the fair, sweet girl -who gave her life to save yours. They would haunt us and reproach us -with their slighted and forgotten love. They would come between us -ever." - -Her cheeks and lips are paling, her eyes stare before her, wild and -frightened; she shivers, and puts up her white hand as if to ward off -some threatening danger. - -"I--am haunted already," she says, in a low and trembling voice. "Do you -think I do not see him in my dreams, with menace in his staring eyes and -reproaches on his lips? He was my dreaded companion in the lonely -prison-cell. He stalks before me grimly in the grand saloons of wealth -and pride, always with a look of terrible reproach and despair on his -dead, white face. I am a haunted woman. It is for this I have sought to -win back your heart. I would fain put your warm, living love and -tenderness between me and the pursuing ghost of the man whom I betrayed -to his death. I am afraid of the dark, the loneliness, the terror of my -own thoughts. Do not put me away from you, Vane. My only hope is in -you." - -They gaze at each other silently a moment. The soft wind, odorous with -the breath of honeysuckles, pinks and roses, sighing through the garden, -whispers to them of a slight form bowed behind the tree, a white face -convulsed with passionate emotion. But they neither hear nor heed its -admonition. Maud speaks again, pleadingly: - -"I cannot release you, Vane. I love you. Surely you can give me some -little tenderness and love when once I am your wife? I will make you -happy--I swear it." - -"The only woman who could make me happy rests in her ocean grave," Vane -answers, with deep solemnity and truth. - -Miss Langton regards him in wonder. - -"Yet once you scorned her," she says slowly. "How did she win you at -last, Vane?" - -He is silent a moment, as if the question has struck home to his own -heart, awakening thought and memory to life. His lips grow strangely -tender in their saddened curve. - -"How can I tell?" he says slowly. "Perhaps it was the softened sweetness -that hung about her after that night when our lives became one. Perhaps -it was her proud, sweet patience under my unkindness. Perhaps, yes, -after all! I believe it was the charm of her love that won me. Can you -realize such a thing as this, Maud, that love should win love?" - -"Yes," she answers, hopefully. "Did I not tell you just now that my love -would win you and make you happy?" - -He shakes his head impatiently - -"That could never be, Maud. You and I are better apart. I can never -forget Reine, my slighted girl-bride. She is ever in my thoughts. I -think of her as of one living, not dead. I recall her rose-leaf lips, -her dark, laughing eyes, the nameless charm that clung about her, and my -very heart aches with the intensity of its yearning to find my loved and -lost one again." - -"Thank God!" exclaimed a low, rapturous, thrilling voice almost at his -very side. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -At that heart-thrilling cry of rapture, Vane Charteris and his companion -turn around simultaneously. - -Within a few feet of them they behold Reine, the long-lost bride, Reine, -in the long, trailing sables of widowhood, yet with a face fairly -transfigured by happiness, love and triumph. - -The effect of her sudden appearance upon Maud is most startling. - -The beautiful blonde, after one terrified glance at her -strangely-restored cousin, shrieks out: - -"A ghost, a ghost!" and flies in the wildest dismay toward the house. - -Vane Charteris, half-bewildered, yet full of gladness, flies to clasp -the beautiful phantom to his heart. - -As his arms close around the palpitating figure, and he realizes that -she is truly a creature of flesh and blood, a cry of thanksgiving -escapes his lips, the tears of not unmanly emotion burst from the eyes -and rain down on the dark head, nestled closely and lovingly against his -breast. - -He holds her close and tight, raining passionate kisses on the sweet, -scarlet mouth, the blushing cheeks, the dark eye, tearful with this -sudden happiness. - -"You love me, Vane," she murmurs, softly and half-incredulously, "and -yet I thought, I feared----" - -"You feared what?" he asks, breaking in upon her shy pause. - -"That you loved Maud best," she answers. "When I came up the path and -saw you two together, I crept behind the tree and listened. If I had -learned then that she was the desire of your heart, I should have crept -away quietly to die of my sorrow, I should not have come between you and -your love. You never should have known." - -"But since you found me faithful to your memory, Reine, you will forgive -all the past, will you not, my darling?" he pleads. - -"Freely," she answers, with a smile that is all the brighter because it -breaks through tears. - -"And now," he says, drawing her down to a seat beside him on the bench -beneath the tree, "now, dear, you will tell me all your story. Where -have you been through all the long months in which I mourned you as -dead?" - -Resting in his arms she tells him the story of those long months of -sorrow while she believed him dead, sobbing even now in the deep, sweet -gladness that has come to her so suddenly, over the remembrance of her -despair. - -"I knew no better until I reached the village yonder, seeking Maud," she -concludes. "There I learned the whole truth, that you lived, and were -again the betrothed of my cousin. I came here to have one secret, -farewell look at you, my husband, to go away and leave you to your love -and your happiness. But I heard all you said, and I could not give you -up to Maud's selfish claim after that." - -"I thank God that I have found you again, my precious wife. We shall -never be parted any more," he answers, earnestly. - -"You have not told me how you were saved that night after you sprang -from the life-boat in which I last saw you," the young wife says after a -little, lifting to his her shy, yet radiant eyes. - -"I floated on a plank a few hours, and was picked up by another -life-boat, that is the whole story, simply told," he replies. - -"And you did not forget me when you thought me dead--you loved me after -I was gone from you?" she says, with a note of gladness in her deep, -sweet voice. - -"I loved you before I had lost you, darling. Did you not guess the -truth, Reine?" he inquired, earnestly. - -"No," she answers, with blended wonder and delight in her beautiful, -glowing face. - -"It is true, dear," he answers. "I loved you before I became aware of it -myself. I was abominably jealous of the young lord who admired you in -England. Yet at the time I was scarcely conscious of the meaning of my -annoyance. My proposal to accompany you to America was an outgrowth of -the longing to have you all to myself. And Reine, my darling wife, you -remember that last night when the terrible trial of fire came to us, -that night I had resolved that our strange alienation should exist no -longer. I had determined to ask you, to pray you to come to your true -resting-place upon my heart. But, my bride, my wife, there will be no -more separation between us. You will share my home and my heart -henceforth." - -"You used not to like me," she says, filled with a glad surprise. "Why -did you love me at last?" - -The lover-husband looks down with a half-mischievous smile into the -dark, questioning eyes. - -"Why did I love you," he says, lightly, yet tenderly. "Shall I tell you, -little one? Well, then, I believe it was because you loved me." - -The sweet face, covered with blushes, droops from his gaze. He bends to -kiss it, then continues, less teasingly: - -"You remember how you used to gibe and tease and ridicule me, Reine, and -how I retaliated in likewise? Well, when it came to me suddenly that you -really loved me, it filled me with a certain, indefinable triumph and -pride which grew and grew upon me until when you came to England the -feeling blossomed into passion. Every time I looked at you I said to -myself: 'She loves me, that beautiful, spirited girl loves me,' and -there was such strange, thrilling sweetness in the thought that it -seemed to compel my love in return. Now, Reine, my own adored one, I -feel and know that my love for you is the one great passion of my life. -That which I felt for Maud was a mere empty fancy, born of her lily-like -beauty, and fading when I saw that her soul was not fair and angelic -like her face. Henceforth, my wife, you will embody all the beauty of -earth to me. You are 'queen, lily and rose' in one." - -She has no answer for him, her tears are falling so fast--the tender -tears of happiness, soft and cooling, like the rain of summer that falls -like a blessing. Vane kisses them away with tender solicitude. They are -the last that dim her eyes for many years. The sunshine of her future -happiness shines too bright on her life for clouds and tears to dim its -glory. - - * * * * * - -After awhile, Miss Langton, who has been silently reconnoitering from an -upper window, comes out to them. - -"You see I was not a ghost after all," Reine exclaims, advancing to meet -her. "Will you not bid me welcome, Cousin Maud?" - -"You are an imposter!" Miss Langton answers, angrily, recoiling from the -white, extended hand. "I will never acknowledge you as a cousin of -mine!" - -"For shame, Maud!" Vane Charteris cries out, warmly, drawing his young -wife to his side. "This is my wife, and you know it!" - -"I have your own assurance that your wife was drowned before your eyes -on the night of the burning of the _Hesperus_," Maud answers, icily. - -"That was a mistake, Maud. I only dived beneath the water and came up -again out of his range of vision," Reine explains, eagerly. - -But Vane checks her gently. - -"Do not trouble yourself to explain to her, my darling," he says. "It -matters very little to us whether she recognizes you or not. We can be -happy without her favor." - -"Happy! oh, I dare say," Maud laughs, hysterically. "No doubt you, Mr. -Charteris, will be exceedingly happy in a squalid cottage, with a -sharp-tongued little vixen for your companion. Permit me to remind you -of the o'er-true adage that 'When poverty comes in the door, love flies -out of the window.'" - -Something in the blue fire of the eyes he bends upon her makes her quail -momentarily. He answers with chill brevity: - -"Fortunately I may take my wife to a palace, not a cottage, so we need -run no such risks as you apprehend, Miss Langton. To convince you, will -you look at this?" - -He draws a folded paper from his breast and holds it open before her -startled eyes. - -"You see," he says, icily, "it is the will with which Mr. Langton -threatened you the night you jilted me. I am a lawyer, you remember. I -drew this up for him at his own request. It is signed by competent and -available witnesses. It is perfectly legal, and I can prove it so in any -court in the land. It bequeathes Mr. Langton's whole fortune equally -between my wife and myself, cutting you off without a shilling." - -Maud stares at the terrible legal-looking document with frightened eyes -and a corpse-like pallor. - -"You--you are deceiving me," she says, faintly. "If it is really true, -why have you kept the will so long and allowed me to usurp the -property?" - -"Through pity and kindness for you," he answers, with cold contempt. "As -long as Reine was supposed dead, no one suffered from the fraud but -myself, and I was content to be poor that you might have the wealth your -soul coveted. But now my wife's claims must be considered above all -others." - -"I would sooner die than be poor!" Maud weeps, wildly. - -And Reine, taking the legal document between her white fingers, turns -her shining eyes on her husband. - -"Could you be happy with me, Vane, if we had really to live in a cottage -and work hard for each other?" she asks, earnestly. - -"Yes, Reine, I am quite sure I could," he answers, as earnestly. - -"Then may I do as I like with this paper?" she inquires. - -"You must not defraud yourself, dear," he says, startled. - -She laughs--her old, ringing, joyous laugh, with a new tone of -tenderness in its musical cadence. - -"I do not intend to," she answers. "_You_ are everything to me, Vane; -Maud may have all the rest." - -With the words, the white paper flutters in her whiter fingers, there is -a sound of tearing paper, and the old millionaire's will flutters in a -heap of snowy fragments on the soft, green grass. - -Then Reine laughs in pretty, childish exultation. - -"You are the heiress still, Maud," she says, gayly. "I have only Vane. -From first to last, he is all I have cared for or wanted." - -There is a moment's stunned silence, then the ice around Maud's selfish, -worldly heart melts in the sunshine of this warm and loving nature. She -is conquered by this heavenly forgiveness and love. - -"Reine, Reine," she cries, in hoarse, half-choking accents, "forgive me -for my cruel and wicked denial of you. I know you now. No other woman -but Reine Charteris could be so forgiving, so generous, so -self-sacrificing." - -"You have beggared yourself," Vane says to his wife, a little vexed. - -"I have you," she answers, with a glance so radiant and loving that he -cannot but forgive her folly. - -So there is peace between the three--a peace that is never more broken, -for Maud's heart has gone out to her cousin in a love never to be -recalled. She even offers to divide the fortune so generously bestowed -on her, but Vane and Reine decline the compromise. They have each other, -and as each laughingly declares, "that is the world and all." They try -"love in a cottage" for a year, and declare it a perfect success. - -One of the world's great bards has written: "The secret of genius is -dogged persistence." Vane Charteris, toiling early and late in his dusty -office for his little wife, finds it true. The laurels he would never -have won in ease and indolence, begin to circle his brow with a chaplet -that is the pride of his young wife's heart. - -Yet he goes home one evening with a sigh instead of a smile for the -dark-eyed wife who meets him in the homely little parlor, made -beautiful only by her beautiful presence. - -"Reine, how lovely you are," he murmurs, bending to kiss the upturned -lips. "Ah!" with a discontented sigh, "if I only had jewels and laces, -satins and velvets to adorn that glorious beauty." - -"What is it, dear?" she asks, trying to smooth the frown from his brow -with her dainty forefinger. - -"It is only this, dear: Invitations are pouring in upon us which we -cannot accept because we are too poor to enter into that circle where we -rightfully belong by reason of my talent and your beauty. Darling, how I -hate to seclude you from the gaze of men because I am too poor to adorn -you like the rest. What shall we do?" - -"Do? Why, we must go into the world and shine with the rest," she -answers, promptly and gayly. - -"We are too poor," he replies, gloomily. - -"We are worth a million of dollars," Mrs. Charteris answers, calmly, -with her dainty head perched sidewise like a bird's. - -"Reine!" - -"Vane!" - -"Whatever do you mean?" he inquires. - -"I mean," contritely, "that Mrs. Odell divided her fortune between Dr. -Franks and me, and I have kept the secret, like a naughty girl, just for -the pleasure of having you work for me. You see, Vane, you were -careless, indolent, ease-loving. You never would have made a name if you -had not an object to work for. Now, dear, will you forgive me for -keeping the secret a whole year?" - -"I forgive you and thank you, too," he answers, earnestly. "You have -made a man of me, little wife." - -"Yes, indeed," she says, with a pretty, happy triumph "And now, Vane, we -will share the fortune and all the pleasures it can give together. My -dear friend left me all her jewels, too. Only think," gayly, "how I -shall shine in them." - -In society they meet Maud, and--actually--Doctor Franks, who has also -returned to America. Putting aside his own regret, he rejoices heartily -in Reine's happiness. Maud's blue eyes heal the wound that Reine's dark -eyes made, and a year later the pair are happily married, the selfish -woman having developed into a nobler creature under Reine's lovely -example. - -The current of Reine's life glides on smoothly and brightly under the -blue and sunny sky of love. At times the old, gay, teasing nature -bubbles up to the surface; at times Mr. Charteris calls her "vixen and -scold," but never in spite or vexation, only in the gay and careless -_badinage_ in which it pleases them sometimes to indulge, as when under -the green trees of Langton Villa, where the separate streams of their -lives first met and mingled into one. - - -[THE END.] - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Most Popular American Novelist - - -Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - -writes exclusively for Street & Smith. Her stories are among the leading -attractions of their famous EAGLE SERIES. The following is a complete -list of this favorite author's works now published at =10 Cents= by -Street & Smith, who are the sole authorized publishers of her latest -works, and the only house issuing her complete list of novels. - -List of titles: - - Audrey's Recompense Eagle, No. 99, 10c. - Dorothy Arnold's Escape " " 188, " - Dorothy's Jewels " " 144, " - Edrie's Legacy " " 12, " - Faithful Shirley " " 111, " - Grazia's Mistake " " 122, " - Masked Bridal, The " " 166, " - Max " " 133, " - Nameless Dell " " 155, " - Queen Bess " " 1, " - Ruby's Reward " " 2, " - That Dowdy " " 44, " - Thrice Wedded " " 55, " - Tina " " 77, " - True Aristocrat, A " " 177, " - Two Keys " " 7, " - Virgie's Inheritance " " 88, " - Witch Hazel " " 66, " - - -Street & Smith, Publishers, New York - - - - -Mrs. Sheldon's Works - -In Cloth, at 35 Cents - - Geoffrey's Victory _Rose Series_, No. 1 - Queen Bess " " No. 4 - Trixy " " No. 11 - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Sheldon's Works - -In Paper, at 25 Cents - - Brownie's Triumph _Princess Series_, No. 5, 25c. - Earle Wayne's Nobility " " " 20, " - Forsaken Bride " " " 16, " - His Heart's Queen " " " 4, " - Lost, a Pearle " " " 7, " - Mona " " " 10, " - Stella Rosevelt " " " 2, " - Sybil's Influence " " " 13, " - A Wedded by Fate " " " 1, " - Wild Oats " " " 8, " - -For sale by all newsdealers, or sent by mail, postpaid, by the -publishers, at the stated price. - - -STREET & SMITH, Publishers, New York - - - - - EAGLE SERIES - - A weekly publication devoted to good literature. - By subscription $5 per year. Dec. 10, 1900. - Entered as second-class matter at N.Y. post-office. - - NO. 198 - - -Ainslee's Magazine _Awarded_ GRAND PRIZE _at the_ Paris Exposition - -United States Commission to the Paris Exposition of 1900 - - PARIS - 20 AVENUE RAPP - - _Aug., 31, 1900._ - - AINSLEE'S MAGAZINE, - _STREET & SMITH_, - New York City, U. S. A. - -I have the honor to inform you that, in accordance with the official -announcement of awards at the Paris Exposition of 1900, * * * you are -entitled to the award of Grand Prize. - - _A. S. CAPEHART,_ - _Director of Liberal Arts and Chemical Industries._ - -Ainslee's is the only 10-cent magazine in the _Gold Medal Class_. This -splendid compliment speaks volumes for the literary and artistic -excellence of the magazine. - - -STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, New York - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - -Added table of contents. - -Underscores are used to represent _italics_, equals signs for =bold=. - -Some missing punctuation added in series lists. - -Archaic spellings (e.g. hight, woful) retained from original. - -Some inconsistent spacing retained (e.g. "a while" vs. "awhile"). - -Some inconsistent spelling retained (e.g. "glamor" vs. "glamour"). - -Some inconsistent hyphenation retained (e.g. "master-passion" vs. -"master passion"). - - -_Guy Kenmore's Wife_ - -This story was originally serialized in the _New York Family Story -Paper_ under the title _Irene Brooke; or Her Mother's Secret_ in 1883. - -Page 9, changed "gittering" to "glittering." - -Page 12, changed "addressed" to "addresses" for tense consistency. - -Page 28, changed "chagrim" to "chagrin." - -Page 30, changed "verry" to "very." - -Page 45, merged last paragraph of this page with first paragraph of -following page. - -Page 46, italicized "protege" for consistency. - -Page 47, added missing close quote after "we are about the same size." - -Page 53, removed unnecessary close quote at end of Chapter XXI. - -Page 55, added missing period after "the gateway of the sky." - -Page 58, changed "mutinuous" to "mutinous." - -Page 64, italicized "robe de nuit" and "eau de cologne" for consistency. - -Page 68, added missing close quote after "extremely small." - -Page 69, changed "fized" to "fixed" and "favarite" to "favorite." - -Page 73, added missing close quote after "her worshiped face." - -Page 79, changed "easy" to "ease" in "charming ease and grace." - -Page 80, added missing period after "astonishment and delight." - -Page 83, added missing quote before "I see you are not disposed" and -changed ? to ! in "They would not hear of such a thing!" - -Page 84, changed "Mr Rivington" to "Mr. Revington" and "Julius -Rivington" to "Julius Revington." - -Page 91, changed "surprice" to "surprise." - -Page 92, changed "guaged" to "gauged." - -Page 95, added missing comma in "...marry, Mr. Kenmore?" - -Page 97, changed comma to period after "toilet table." - -Page 99, changed "far" to "for" in "for your wrongs and mine." - -Page 101, changed "repeat" to "repeated" in "Bozzaotra repeated Elaine's -invitation." - -Page 107, changed "seperate" to "separate." - -Page 108, changed "Beooke's" to "Brooke's." - -Page 110, added missing close quote after "shield her memory." - - -_The Rose and the Lily_ - -This story was originally serialized in the _New York Family Story -Paper_ in 1882. - -Some apparently erroneous tense changes have been retained from the -Eagle Library edition; it is possible that these errors did not exist in -the original story paper appearance. Errors have been corrected (and -noted below) where the original story paper issues were available for -consultation. - -Page 2, changed "smiled" to "smiles." - -Page 11, changed "Langdon" to "Langton." - -Page 12, added close quote after "cheated Reine Langton of fortune." - -Page 24, added missing close quote after "return from him." - -Page 40, removed unnecessary quote after "alone!" - -Page 51, changed "swifty" to "swiftly." - -Page 53, changed "thaat" to "that." - -Page 54, removed unnecessary quote before "Mr. Langton, taking one." - -Page 61, changed "handerchief" to "handkerchief." - -Page 63, changed "were present" to "are present." (Inconsistent tense -was not present in original story paper appearance). - -Page 64, changed "prefer his request" to "proffer his request." - -Page 67, added missing period in "Mr. Charteris." - -Page 70, changed "Reinie" to "Reine." - -Page 71, changed "Renie's" to "Reine's." - -Page 74, added "to" to "If anything should happen to you." - -Page 79, changed "atttentively" to "attentively." - -Page 80, added missing quote after "keep it for me." - -Page 86, changed "has been" to "had been" for proper tense (corrected to -match original story paper appearance). - -Page 89, changed "beatiful" to "beautiful" and "stuned" to "stunned." - -Page 90, changed "medieum" to "medium." - -Page 91, changed "unconcious" to "unconscious." - -Page 93, changed "CHAPTER XXII" to "CHAPTER XXIII." - -Page 94, changed "the the" to "the" before "tiny saloon." - -Page 95, removed stray quote before "Mrs. Odell, who has sunk wearily -into a chair." - -Page 96, changed "a minutes' silence" to "a minute's silence." - -Page 100, changed "begining" to "beginning." - -Page 101, changed "Renie" to "Reine" and added missing close quote after -"my dear." - -Page 106, changed ? to . in "I was cruel and ungrateful to talk of -leaving you." - -Page 111, changed double quotes to single quotes around "little wilful -thorns." - -Page 116, changed ? to ! in "For shame, Maud!" - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Guy Kenmore's Wife and The Rose and -the Lily, by Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GUY KENMORE'S WIFE, ROSE AND LILY *** - -***** This file should be named 43037-8.txt or 43037-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/0/3/43037/ - -Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy -of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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McVeigh Miller. @@ -123,48 +123,7 @@ img {border: 0;} </style> </head> <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Guy Kenmore's Wife and The Rose and the Lily, by -Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Guy Kenmore's Wife and The Rose and the Lily - -Author: Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller - -Release Date: June 26, 2013 [EBook #43037] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GUY KENMORE'S WIFE, ROSE AND LILY *** - - - - -Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy -of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43037 ***</div> <h1>CONTENTS</h1> @@ -12610,7 +12569,7 @@ or I shall not be able to stir from this to-morrow."</p> <p>"<i>Au revoir</i>," he says. "I will call again to-morrow."</p> <p>He goes back to the Haven of Rest with the poets, -æsthetes and such people, lounging on the balconies. +æsthetes and such people, lounging on the balconies. That name is a misnomer. It appears to him a haven of unrest. He wanders away to the shell-strewn beach, and smokes like a chimney while he reviews the situation.</p> @@ -16639,383 +16598,6 @@ talk of leaving you."</p> <p>Page 116, changed ? to ! in "For shame, Maud!"</p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Guy Kenmore's Wife and The Rose and -the Lily, by Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GUY KENMORE'S WIFE, ROSE AND LILY *** - -***** This file should be named 43037-h.htm or 43037-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/0/3/43037/ - -Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy -of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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