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diff --git a/old/67646-0.txt b/old/67646-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7527882..0000000 --- a/old/67646-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8383 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of All for Love, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh -Miller - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: All for Love - or, Her Heart's Sacrifice - -Author: Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - -Release Date: March 17, 2022 [eBook #67646] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Demian Katz, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy - of the Digital Library@Villanova University.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL FOR LOVE *** - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - -Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end. - - * * * * * - -NEW EAGLE SERIES No. 1172 - -ALL FOR LOVE - -_BY MRS. ALEX. MCVEIGH MILLER_ - -[Illustration] - - * * * * * - -POPULAR COPYRIGHTS - -New Eagle Series - -PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS - -Carefully Selected Love Stories - -Note the Authors! - -There is such a profusion of good books in this list, that it is an -impossibility to urge you to select any particular title or author’s -work. All that we can say is that any line that contains the complete -works of Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Charles Garvice, Mrs. Harriet Lewis, -May Agnes Fleming, Wenona Gilman, Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller, and other -writers of the same type, is worthy of your attention, especially when -the price has been set at 15 cents the volume. - -These books range from 256 to 320 pages. They are printed from good -type, and are readable from start to finish. - -If you are looking for clean-cut, honest value, then we state most -emphatically that you will find it in this line. - -_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_ - - 1--Queen Bess By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 2--Ruby’s Reward By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 7--Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 9--The Virginia Heiress By May Agnes Fleming - 12--Edrie’s Legacy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 17--Leslie’s Loyalty By Charles Garvice - (His Love So True) - 22--Elaine By Charles Garvice - 24--A Wasted Love By Charles Garvice - (On Love’s Altar) - 41--Her Heart’s Desire By Charles Garvice - (An Innocent Girl) - 44--That Dowdy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 50--Her Ransom By Charles Garvice - (Paid For) - 55--Thrice Wedded By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 66--Witch Hazel By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 70--Sydney By Charles Garvice - (A Wilful Young Woman) - 73--The Marquis By Charles Garvice - 77--Tina By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 79--Out of the Past By Charles Garvice - (Marjorie) - 84--Imogene By Charles Garvice - (Dumaresq’s Temptation) - 85--Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold By Charles Garvice - 88--Virgie’s Inheritance By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 95--A Wilful Maid By Charles Garvice - (Philippa) - 98--Claire By Charles Garvice - (The Mistress of Court Regna) - 99--Audrey’s Recompense By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 102--Sweet Cymbeline By Charles Garvice - (Bellmaire) - 109--Signa’s Sweetheart By Charles Garvice - (Lord Delamere’s Bride) - 111--Faithful Shirley By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 117--She Loved Him By Charles Garvice - 119--’Twixt Smile and Tear By Charles Garvice - (Dulcie) - 122--Grazia’s Mistake By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 130--A Passion Flower By Charles Garvice - (Madge) - 133--Max By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 136--The Unseen Bridegroom By May Agnes Fleming - 138--A Fatal Wooing By Laura Jean Libbey - 141--Lady Evelyn By May Agnes Fleming - 144--Dorothy’s Jewels By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 146--Magdalen’s Vow By May Agnes Fleming - 151--The Heiress of Glen Gower By May Agnes Fleming - 155--Nameless Dell By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 157--Who Wins By May Agnes Fleming - 166--The Masked Bridal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won By May Agnes Fleming - 174--His Guardian Angel By Charles Garvice - 177--A True Aristocrat By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 181--The Baronet’s Bride By May Agnes Fleming - 188--Dorothy Arnold’s Escape By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 199--Geoffrey’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 203--Only One Love By Charles Garvice - 210--Wild Oats By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 213--The Heiress of Egremont By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 215--Only a Girl’s Love By Charles Garvice - 219--Lost: A Pearle By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 222--The Lily of Mordaunt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 223--Leola Dale’s Fortune By Charles Garvice - 231--The Earl’s Heir By Charles Garvice - (Lady Norah) - 233--Nora By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 236--Her Humble Lover By Charles Garvice - (The Usurper; or, The Gipsy Peer) - 242--A Wounded Heart By Charles Garvice - (Sweet as a Rose) - 244--A Hoiden’s Conquest By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 250--A Woman’s Soul By Charles Garvice - (Doris; or, Behind the Footlights) - 255--The Little Marplot By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 257--A Martyred Love By Charles Garvice - (Iris; or, Under the Shadows) - 266--The Welfleet Mystery By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 267--Jeanne By Charles Garvice - (Barriers Between) - 268--Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake By Charles Garvice - 272--So Fair, So False By Charles Garvice - (The Beauty of the Season) - 276--So Nearly Lost By Charles Garvice - (The Springtime of Love) - 277--Brownie’s Triumph By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 280--Love’s Dilemma By Charles Garvice - (For an Earldom) - 282--The Forsaken Bride By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 283--My Lady Pride By Charles Garvice - 287--The Lady of Darracourt By Charles Garvice - (Floris) - 288--Sibyl’s Influence By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 292--For Her Only By Charles Garvice - (Diana) - 296--The Heir of Vering By Charles Garvice - 299--Little Miss Whirlwind By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 300--The Spider and the Fly By Charles Garvice - (Violet) - 303--The Queen of the Isle By May Agnes Fleming - 304--Stanch as a Woman By Charles Garvice - (A Maiden’s Sacrifice) - 305--Led by Love By Charles Garvice - Sequel to “Stanch as a Woman” - 309--The Heiress of Castle Cliffs By May Agnes Fleming - 312--Woven on Fate’s Loom, and The Snowdrift - By Charles Garvice - 315--The Dark Secret By May Agnes Fleming - 317--Ione By Laura Jean Libbey - (Adrien Le Roy) - 318--Stanch of Heart By Charles Garvice - 322--Mildred By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 326--Parted by Fate By Laura Jean Libbey - 327--He Loves Me By Charles Garvice - 328--He Loves Me Not By Charles Garvice - 330--Aikenside By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 333--Stella’s Fortune By Charles Garvice - (The Sculptor’s Wooing) - 334--Miss McDonald By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 339--His Heart’s Queen By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 340--Bad Hugh. Vol. I. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 341--Bad Hugh. Vol. II. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 344--Tresillian Court By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 345--The Scorned Wife By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 346--Guy Tresillian’s Fate By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 347--The Eyes of Love By Charles Garvice - 348--The Hearts of Youth By Charles Garvice - 351--The Churchyard Betrothal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 352--Family Pride. Vol. I. By Mary J. Holmes - 353--Family Pride. Vol. II. By Mary J. Holmes - 354--A Love Comedy By Charles Garvice - 360--The Ashes of Love By Charles Garvice - 361--A Heart Triumphant By Charles Garvice - 367--The Pride of Her Life By Charles Garvice - 368--Won By Love’s Valor By Charles Garvice - 372--A Girl in a Thousand By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 373--A Thorn Among Roses By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - Sequel to “A Girl in a Thousand” - 380--Her Double Life By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 381--The Sunshine of Love By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to “Her Double Life” - 382--Mona By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 391--Marguerite’s Heritage By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 399--Betsey’s Transformation By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 407--Esther, the Fright By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 415--Trixy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 440--Edna’s Secret Marriage By Charles Garvice - 449--The Bailiff’s Scheme By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 450--Rosamond’s Love By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to “The Bailiff’s Scheme” - 451--Helen’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 456--A Vixen’s Treachery By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 457--Adrift in the World By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to “A Vixen’s Treachery” - 458--When Love Meets Love By Charles Garvice - 464--The Old Life’s Shadows By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 465--Outside Her Eden By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to “The Old Life’s Shadows” - 474--The Belle of the Season By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 475--Love Before Pride By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to “The Belle of the Season” - 481--Wedded, Yet No Wife By May Agnes Fleming - 489--Lucy Harding By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 495--Norine’s Revenge By May Agnes Fleming - 511--The Golden Key By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 512--A Heritage of Love By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - Sequel to “The Golden Key” - 519--The Magic Cameo By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 520--The Heatherford Fortune By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - Sequel to “The Magic Cameo” - - - - -ALL FOR LOVE - - - OR, - Her Heart’s Sacrifice - - BY - MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER - - Author of “Love Conquers Pride,” “The Man She Hated,” “A - Married Flirt,” “Loyal Unto Death”--published in the NEW - EAGLE SERIES. - - [Illustration] - - STREET & SMITH CORPORATION - PUBLISHERS - 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York - - * * * * * - -Copyright, 1903 NORMAN L. MUNRO - -All for Love - -(Printed in the United States of America) - - * * * * * - -ALL FOR LOVE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. A FAMILIAR SONG. - - -From a cottage window, embowered in azure morning glories, a girl’s -sweet voice sang blithely: - - “My heart with joy would thrill if you loved me, - ’Twould give this life of mine its fill of ecstasy; - Each golden moment spent with you on wings of Joy would flee; - The sky would be a ceaseless blue if you loved me!” - -Berry Vining, the little village beauty, singing so blithely at her -window of a love that as yet she had never known, was at the crisis of -her fate, for at that very moment down the village street swept a gay -cavalcade of riders, and as the sweet voice floated out upon the air, -their glances turned upward in irrepressible admiration. - - “What odds to me how dark the night if you loved me, - For in your eyes a beacon light of love I’d see; - My future, now a dark abyss, forever changed would be, - To sunny paths of rosy bliss if you loved me!” - -She was so lovely, this little Berry Vining, with her wealth of curly -chestnut locks, framing a face so fresh and fair as the morning -glories round the window--so lovely, with her big, wondering, brown -eyes under long, shady lashes, her sea-shell tints, her perfect little -nose, and rose-red lips, and dainty chin, where dimples swarmed, -entrancingly, whenever she smiled, that no one could look at her -without admiration. - -When all those eager eyes were leveled at her window the girl drew very -hastily backward, but not until she had seen one hat lifted from a -handsome head in her honor, as the man’s eyes paid eager tribute to her -charms. - -It all passed in a moment, but not too quickly for that flashing glance -to strike fire in a romantic maiden’s heart. - -The laughing, chattering riders passed on, the handsome men, the pretty -women, and Berry hid her blushing face among the green, heart-shaped -leaves of the morning glories, and whispered to the flowers: - -“Oh, what a handsome young man! What beautiful eyes, what a loving -smile! How grandly he rode on that fine bay horse--like a young prince, -I fancy, although I never saw one--and how courteous to bow to me, -though he had never seen me before! Even proud Miss Montague, who rode -by his side, did not appear to notice me, little Berry Vining, that she -has known all her life! Oh, how I envy her the joy of being with him, -of hearing him speak, and looking into his beaming eyes! I would give -the whole world for such a splendid lover!” - -“Berry! Berry!” called an impatient voice from the foot of the stairs, -but unheeding the summons, her thoughts ran on in melodious whispers to -the soft, green leaves: - -“Oh, I love him already, I cannot help it, for when his eyes met mine a -great rapturous shudder thrilled me through my whole being and told me -I had met my fate! Oh, shall we ever meet again, I wonder! We must, we -must, or my heart will break with love and longing! It was prophetic, -that song I was singing as his eyes met mine!” and she began to hum -again tenderly: - - “What odds to me how dark the night if you loved me, - For in your eyes a beacon light of love I’d see!” - -“Berry!--Ber-en-i-ce Vi-ning!” called the impatient voice downstairs -again, and starting from her rosy dreams of love, the girl flew to -reply: - -“Well, mamma?” - -The pale, faded little mother answered complainingly: - -“Always too late! I called you to look at the riding party from -Montague’s--their summer guests--five grand couples of them, on -horseback! But you missed everything coming down so slow!” - -“Oh, no, dear mamma, for I was watching them from my window, and saw -all. How fine they looked, indeed! I wish I could be like them!” - -“If wishes were horses beggars would ride!” mocked the pale, tired -mother sourly. “Come, now, and tidy up the kitchen, for I must be off -to my day’s work. There’s no rest for the weary.” - -She snatched down a rusty black bonnet from the nail where it hung, -and hurried from the house, hastening downtown to the shop, where -she worked by the day for the pittance that supported herself and -daughter. She was a tailoress by trade, and had been reared, wedded, -and widowed in this little New Jersey town. Her eldest children had -all married, and gone to humble homes of their own; she lived alone in -the tiny cottage with her youngest girl, Berenice, or Berry, as she -was familiarly called. A boy, still younger, lived on a farm with a -relative. - -Berry, now almost nineteen, had many admirers, but none of them had -ever touched her romantic young heart, much to the regret of her -work-worn mother, who longed to see her pretty darling settled down to -married life in a comfortable home, with a good husband. - -But Berry had only laughed at her suitors, for in her girlish -thoughtlessness she did not realize her mother’s cares and anxieties. -Unconsciously to herself, perhaps, she had secret ambitions, born, it -may be, of her high sounding name Berenice, or the knowledge that she -had the gift of beauty, so potent in its spell upon mankind. - -Berry longed for higher things, and despised the humdrum lives of -her sisters with the humble mates they had chosen. Like another Maud -Muller, she longed for something better than she had known. - -So as she tucked the blue gingham apron over her spotless print gown, -and deftly tidied up the kitchen, her excited thoughts followed the gay -cavalcade of riders with eager interest and longing. - -“I believe I am as pretty as any of those proud, rich girls,” she -murmured, glancing into the little cracked mirror over the mantel, -and sighing: “Why should I have so different a fate? Why did my poor -father have to drive an humble delivery wagon all his life and die of -a malarial fever at last; and why does poor mamma have to work as a -tailoress, while Rosalind Montague has a millionaire for a father, and -a fine lady mother flaunting in silks and diamonds? In only one thing -has God made us equal, and that is beauty. I have rivaled her to-day -with her splendid lover, and who knows but it may end in raising me to -her height of wealth and pride! If he loves and marries me, how much I -can do for poor mamma and the others! They should never have to work so -hard again. Oh, I am so happy, hoping he loves me, for even if he were -poor and humble as I am, I could love him just as well.” - -“Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat!” went the knocker on the door, and her heart -leaped wildly as she flew to open it. - -There stood the red-headed lad from the florist’s with a large bunch of -splendid red roses, wet with morning dew, and exhaling the rarest spicy -fragrance. - -“American beauties, Berry Vining--for you!” he cried, thrusting -them into her eager little hands, with a significant grin on his -good-natured, freckled face. - - - - -CHAPTER II. THE ROSY EMBLEM. - - -Berry cried out in delight as she pressed the flowers to her face: - -“Oh, how sweet, how lovely! Who sent me the roses, Jimmy Dolan?” - -“Gent from up ter de hall, sure, but I dunno his name. He was goin’ -past our shop on horseback with Miss Montague, and when they turned -the corner he rid back and bought these roses and guv me a dollar ter -bring ’em ter you, Berry--leastwise he said, ‘that pretty girl in the -morning-glory cottage down the street,’ so I knowed ’twas you, and then -he said: ‘Tell her the roses came from an ardent admirer.’” - -With that Jimmy darted away, and left Berry standing with the roses -pressed to her face, lost in a dream of delight. - -“He loves me, loves me! For love is the emblem of the sweet, red rose,” -thought the romantic little maiden, trembling with pure joy. - -To her young mind the gift of the roses was like an avowal of love from -the handsome stranger, and she went happily about her simple tasks, -hoping, praying that before another day they might meet again. - -When Mrs. Vining came home that night to the simple tea Berry had -prepared, she wondered a little that the girl wore the pretty, ruffled, -white gown that had been kept sacred to Sunday toilets before. - -“Must be invited to a party--never saw your Sunday gown on before, in -the middle of the week,” she observed tentatively. - -Berry, blushing almost as red as the rose on her breast, answered -carelessly: - -“Oh, I just thought of standing at the gate to see the people going up -to the lawn fête at the hall to-night, you know.” - -“And wishing in your heart you could go, too, silly child; ain’t you, -now? Well, you’re pretty enough to be there, if that was all, Berry, -but it isn’t, more’s the pity for you, so don’t waste any regret on it, -dearie, for remember the true saying: ‘Poor folks have to have poor -ways.’” - -“I don’t think it should be the way, mamma, for I’ve often heard it -said that clothes don’t make the man--nor woman, either! For instance, -now, Miss Rosalind Montague is no better, nor prettier, than I am, if -she were stripped of her fine clothes and jewels!” - -“Fie, fie! you vain little chick, I’m surprised at your talk. Let me -hear no more of it. You must be contented in the sphere where Heaven -has placed you, Berry. Or, if you wish to better your lot, you have a -fine chance before you now.” - -“What do you mean?” gasped Berry breathlessly. - -“You have another proposal of marriage--one from a rich man!” - -“Oh, mamma!” gasped Berry joyously, her eyes beaming, her cheeks aflame. - -She could think of one--only one lover--at this moment. - -How quickly he had found out her mother, how impetuous he was, her -handsome lover--how impetuous, how adorable! - -The future stretched before her eyes in a haze of bliss--the -realization of all the golden gleams she had been weaving to-day on -the airy foundation of a bow and smile, and the gift of a bunch of red -roses! - -Silly, happy little Berry! How quickly her dream was to be shattered! - -Mrs. Vining, draining her teacup, and setting it back in its saucer, -now continued blandly: - -“To-day my employer--Widower Wilson, you know--was talking to me about -this very lawn fête that the Montagues are giving up at the hall -to-night, and he said it was to announce Miss Rosalind’s betrothal -to Senator Bonair’s handsome son, the one that rode with her this -morning, Berry. And he went on to say--what do you think, my dear?” -triumphantly. - -“I don’t know, I’m sure,” Berry answered, with a sudden paling cheek, -while she said to herself, in dismay: - -“Oh, no, no, no, he is not engaged to her--he cannot be! He loves -me--me only!--and he will surely come and tell me so!” - -“He said, my dear, that he was hoping to have a lawn fête, too, very -soon, to announce his engagement to the sweetest and prettiest girl in -New Market, if she would have him, and he wanted her mother to ask her -to-night if she would. Now can you guess?” smiling broadly. - -“N-no, mamma!” faltered Berry. - -“Why, then, you are very stupid, indeed, to-night, and I never found -you so before! Well, then, it’s you, child, you, poor little Berry -Vining, he wants to marry, when he might aspire almost to the highest. -What a match for you, dearie! Aren’t you proud and glad?” - -Berry, stamping her little foot, cried out petulantly: - -“Mamma, you must surely be going crazy! The idea of marrying old -Wilson, indeed! Older than my own father, for he began as errand boy in -Wilson’s shop, and then old Wilson must have been white-headed!” - -“He was not, you pert minx, he was only a young married man, not more -than ten years over your father’s age! But what does that matter, when -he’s a widower now, worth a hundred thousand dollars, and willing to -stoop to marry a poor girl whose father drove his delivery wagon, and -whose mother works by the day in the shop to take care of you!” - -“I wouldn’t marry the old blear-eyed miser if every hair of his head -were gold and strung with diamonds, but you may take him yourself, -mamma, if you want him so badly in the family!” cried Berry, with -mocking laughter. - -“I only wish he would give me the chance, since you are such a fool!” -angrily replied the disappointed mother, who craved the ease and -comfort for her old age that Mr. Wilson’s money would give to herself -and pretty, thoughtless Berenice. - -She flung herself down on the kitchen lounge for her usual evening nap -after tea, and her daughter, still laughing at the ridiculous suit of -her aged wooer, hastened outdoors to the front gate to watch every -passer-by with a throbbing heart, in the eager hope of his coming--his, -her lover, for she would call him that in spite of a hundred Rosalinds! -It was false what they said of his betrothal to the proud, rich beauty, -with her flax-gold hair and bluebell eyes. She could never believe it, -never, after all that had passed to-day--the bow, the flashing glance -of love, the gift of the roses. Presently he would be coming to tell -her that he loved her, and her alone. - -It was one of those moonlight nights in early September, that seem like -June. The full moon shone in a cloudless sky, sown thick with stars; -the air was warm and fragrant, and seemed to pulsate with love. Every -girl remembers how on such a night she has hung over the front gate, -gowned in white, with a rose in her hair, waiting and watching for a -lover dearer to her heart than all the world beside! - -Berenice did not watch long in vain, for it was a true presentiment -that told her the idol of her heart was coming. - -Men and women passed and repassed for almost an hour, but at last her -heart leaped with subtle ecstasy, for one paused and stood in front of -her, gazing down with a smile into her starry eyes. - -“Ah, Miss Vining, good evening!” cried a musical voice. “You see, I -have found out your name. Mine is Charley Bonair. Do you remember me?” - - - - -CHAPTER III. SWEETHEARTS. - - -Remember him? ah! - -Berry could have laughed aloud at the tender question. - -She knew that she could never forget his glance and smile of this -morning her whole life long. - -Yet, with her pretty head poised, coquettishly, on one side, and her -eyes half veiled under their shady lashes, she faltered demurely: - -“I--I--believe you are the same gentleman that passed with Miss -Montague this morning, and bowed to me.” - -“Yes, you are right,” he answered, with a soft laugh, as he leaned his -elbows on the gate with his face very close to her, while he continued -tenderly: - -“And from the first moment I saw your lovely face I could not get you -out of my mind. I asked Miss Montague who was that pretty young girl, -and she frowned at me, and said: ‘There’s not a pretty face that can -escape you, Charley; but that is only little Berry Vining, the daughter -of a poor tailoress, not in our set at all, so don’t ask for an -introduction.’” - -Berry’s cheeks grew hot, and her heart thumped with anger as she said -to herself: - -“I’ll pay you out for that, my proud lady, by taking him away from you!” - -Handsome Charley Bonair continued wheedlingly: - -“As I couldn’t get properly introduced to you, I thought I’d present -myself. I see you are wearing some of my roses.” - -“Thank you so much for them; I love roses dearly,” murmured Berry, in -shy bliss, her head in such a whirl under his laughing, ardent glance, -that she hardly knew whether she was standing on her head or on her -feet. - -In his black evening suit, and a white carnation in his buttonhole, he -was superbly handsome, and carried with him that subtle aroma of wealth -and position so alluring to a poor girl brought for the first time in -contact with uppertendom. It was as if a being from another sphere, -a distant star, had fallen at her feet, stooping to lift her to his -dazzling height. - -Trembling with mingled pride and love and joy, she looked up at him -with her heart in her eyes, her tender secret plain as day to him, -almost too easy a conquest to the blasé young man of the world. - -But he continued to smile very tenderly at her, and venturing to clasp -her little hand as it clung to the top of the fence, he said: - -“I am due at the Montagues’ lawn fête presently, but will you come -with me for a little spin in my run-about first? It is just around the -corner, and this is the finest night I ever saw for a moonlight drive.” - -“Oh, I shall be delighted--but--but--I must ask mamma first,” declared -the happy girl. - -“Oh, no, for explanations would delay our drive, since I must soon be -back to the hall. We will be home before she knows we are gone. Only -a two-mile spin, dear little girl,” pleaded the tempter, pressing her -little hand. - -She thought: - -“Mamma is asleep by now, and it would be a pity to arouse her from her -nap. Surely there’s no harm in going, as I shall be back before she -misses me! And I shall so like to have this triumph over proud Miss -Montague, who tried to belittle me in his dear eyes.” - -He saw that she was yielding, and, unlatching the gate, quickly drew -her outside, placing her small, trembling hand on his arm, and leading -her to the waiting trap. - -A moment more, and he was lifting her into the elegant little trap, -drawn by a magnificent blooded bay horse, whose silver-mounted harness -glittered in the moonlight. Seating himself by her side, he took up -the reins, and away they went through the town and out upon the broad -country road, where the air, with the salty tang from the sea, was -fresh and sweet and exhilarating. - -“Almost seems like eloping, does it not?” laughed Charley Bonair. “What -if it were so, dear little girl?” - -Berry caught her breath with a startled gasp, a dizzy suspicion running -through her mind. - -Did he mean it? - -Was it an elopement sure enough? Was he taking her away to marry her, -now, to-night? - -What would Rosalind Montague say? - -She never dreamed of resisting if such were his will. - -Poor little Berry was under the intoxicating spell of a maiden’s first -love, and it did not seem to her as if her splendid hero could do -anything wrong. - -The bay horse flew over the smooth road, the fresh air blew in their -faces, lifting the soft curls from Berry’s white brow, and she felt -like one in Elysium. She was dwelling in a new and beautiful world, the -golden land of love. - -Yet, when her companion gently attempted to slip an arm about her -waist, she decisively repulsed him. - -“No, no; you must not make so free--we are almost strangers,” she -exclaimed, blushing warmly. - -“Strangers! Why I love you, little girl! Cannot you love me a little in -return?” he pleaded. - -Berry was about to answer him yes, taking this for a proposal of -marriage, when she suddenly remembered the gossip about his betrothal -to Rosalind, and drawing back, she faltered tremulously: - -“But--but--they say that you are engaged to marry Miss Montague!” - -“Bah! What has that to do with your being my sweetheart, I wonder; she -need not know about it,” laughed Charley Bonair, leaning as close to -her as she would permit, for she was recoiling in perplexity, murmuring: - -“But is it true?” - -“Why, yes, little one, I’m to marry her some day, I suppose! Deuced -pretty girl, you know, and in ‘my set,’ and all that--very proper, of -course. But I mean to have as many sweethearts as I like, before and -after the wedding, if you please!” - -If he had thrust a knife in her tender heart Berry could not have -moaned more piteously, for all at once he seemed to her a monster -instead of an adorable Prince Charming. With that heartbreaking little -moan, she cried plaintively: - -“Oh, take me home, take me home quickly! Please, please, please!” - -And though the moon and stars still gleamed on as brightly as before, -it seemed to her tortured mind as though the whole sky were veiled in -inky darkness, and her dream of love and happiness had faded as before -a chilling wintry blast. - -He had told her he was indeed to marry Rosalind, but that he should -continue to have as many sweethearts as he pleased! He dared even think -she would consent to be one of them! - -She began to tremble like a wind-blown leaf, and as he only laughed in -answer to her pleading, she added wildly: - -“You are cruel; you are wicked, to be making love to me when you are -to marry another! I will have no more to do with you, so there, there, -there!” and tearing the roses from her breast and hair, Berry flung -them in his face with the passionate fury of “the woman scorned.” - -“You dear little vixen!” he exclaimed, boisterously, without turning -back. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. LEGITIMATE GAME. - - -To the gay young gallant, Berry’s anger only made her more charming. -She had seemed too easy a prize before, for he had read her heart very -quickly by the light of former experiences. - -A millionaire senator’s only son, and not many years older than Berry, -he looked upon this poor young girl who had fallen in love with him so -easily as only legitimate game if he could win her heart. - -Like a flash, it came to him with her bitter words that she could not -be so lightly won, that she was proud and pure as she was fair. - -The realization of this fact only made her more interesting. Now he -swore to himself he would not relinquish the pursuit. There would be -more zest in it thus. - -So he only laughed at her entreaties to turn back, only laughed as the -roses pelted his face and stung him with their thorns, only urged the -bay to a greater speed, until Berry, her brief anger passed, suddenly -crouched in her seat, sobbing forlornly, in woe and grief: - -“Oh, why did I come? What made me so foolish? Hadn’t I always been -told that rich young men had little use for poor girls, only to rob -them of their happiness! Oh, Heaven, spare me from this wretch, and -send me safely back to poor mamma!” - -“Oh, come now, little darling, don’t be so foolish,” coaxed Charley -Bonair. “Don’t you know I wouldn’t harm one hair of that pretty little -head! Why, I only brought you out for a pleasant drive, and presently -I’ll take you home safe to your mamma. Maybe I was rather mistaken in -you at first, and thought you would be my little sweetheart for the -asking. But I surely know better now, and I own I respect you more for -it. Come, come, little girl, let us be friends again! Haven’t I been -honest with you? Don’t I own my engagement to Rosalind, although ’pon -honor, I almost like you better. But I couldn’t marry you, darling, -even if I were free of Rosalind, for my proud, rich father and sisters -would never forgive us the mésalliance; and my father would withdraw my -allowance, and we should be poor as church mice; see?” - -He had spoken gayly, but earnestly, and Berry, who had ceased her -sobbing to listen to him, faltered, softly: - -“If I loved any one very much I could be happy with him, even if we had -not a cent in the world!” - -The bashful avowal half sobered his gayety, and he exclaimed: - -“Do you mean that for me, little one? That you could love me penniless, -could marry me if the old dad cut me off with a shilling, and be happy -with me on bread and cheese and kisses?” - -“Yes, I could,” declared Berry ardently, forgetting in the passion of -pure, first love all her ambitious dreams for the future. In a moment -his arm slipped around her waist, and he drew her to him, crying -recklessly: - -“I’ll take you at your words, sweetheart; I’ll marry you to-morrow.” - -“How dare you kiss me?” Berry cried, fighting him off with her weak, -white hands. “Take your arm from my waist! You cannot deceive me with -false vows. You are going to marry Rosalind Montague, who has your -promise.” - -“Bad promises are better broken than kept. I’ll marry you, my little -darling, and tell Rosalind to find another husband!” Bonair answered, -with another reckless laugh, still speeding his horse onward, though -they were miles and miles away from home by this time, out in the open -country, where houses were few and far between. - -“I will not listen to your false promises. Oh, take me home, if you -have the least regard for me! I did wrong to come, I know, but take me -back before mamma misses me!” entreated Berry, clutching his arm with -hysterical energy, tears raining down her pallid cheeks. - -All at once she had lost faith in him, and his kisses had frightened -her with their fervor, as she realized by the light of the words he had -spoken the vast distance between their positions: he, the millionaire -senator’s son; she, the daughter of the poor tailoress. No, no, he -could never stoop to her, she could never drag him down--he was for -Rosalind, his equal. As for her, life was over--she loved him so she -could never love another, but she must die of her despair. - -But Charley Bonair kept on laughing at her wild entreaties. - -“Not yet--not yet!” he cried hilariously, while he urged the bay on, -and still onward under the silvery moonlight. “Listen, Berry, I have a -clever plan to humiliate Rosalind and cause her to break the engagement -so that I may marry you: I shall take you back to the lawn fête, and -dance with you there as my guest, with Rosalind and my haughty sisters. -Oh, how angry they will be! If they order you to leave I shall defy -them, and we will dance on and on, and Rosalind will be furious, vowing -she will never speak to me again. How do you like my plan? Will you -come with me back to the hall now?” - -“Oh, never, never!” cried Berry, shrinking in horror from his -sensational proposition, frightened, eager to escape. - -“You shall!” laughed Bonair abruptly, turning his horse’s head to -return. - -“I will not!” she shrieked indignantly, and rose to her feet, reckless -with despair. The next moment, to his horror, she sprang over the -wheel, out into the rocky road, before he could lift a hand to prevent -her. - - - - -CHAPTER V. THE TURNING POINT. - - -As long as he lived, Charley Bonair would never forget that tragic -moment. - -All at once, the fumes of wine passed from his brain, and left him -sober and horrified, the heart sinking like lead in his breast. - -It flashed over his mind that Berry’s wild leap for liberty, made just -as he turned the vehicle around, could hardly fail to result in her -instant death on the rough and rocky road. - -A loud groan escaped his blanched lips, and he drew the frightened -horse swiftly back upon its haunches that he might spring out to go to -her assistance. - -But the spirited animal, frightened out of all reason by Berry’s leap, -and his master’s wild cry of alarm, now spurned control, and darted -forward at headlong speed, dragging the lines from Bonair’s hands, so -that the light trap rocked so wildly from side to side he could barely -keep his seat by clinging to the edges. - -He felt himself rushing to instant death, and in his horror over -Berry’s fate, he did not greatly care, though the instinct of -self-preservation made him shout aloud while he clung desperately to -the swaying vehicle that, after a mile or so of this tremendous rush, -became shattered into pieces, mercifully enough for him, because he -suddenly fell through the wreck to the ground, miraculously unharmed. -The maddened horse still rushed forward with furious leaps, trying to -rid himself of the fettering shafts that clung and hindered his flight. - -He lay prostrate in the dust several moments, bruised, battered, and -shaken, but, luckily, with no bones broken, so that presently he stood -upright again, the only living thing in sight upon the lonesome road. - -The moon and stars shone down upon him coldly, and the night winds -seemed to reproach him in subtle whispers. - -“Where is she, the girl who trusted you, whose tender faith you -shattered with your reckless words?” it seemed to say. - -With a groan he looked backward, then retraced his steps with -difficulty, he was so shaken up from the shock and the fall. - -But he knew that he must find her, dead or alive, must restore her to -her home, for which she had pleaded pitifully. - -There was a great ache, deep down in his heart, a passionate repentance -for his folly, a dawning love greater than any he had ever known in his -wild career. - -“If Heaven would listen to such a sinner, I’d pray to find her, living -and unhurt,” he thought wildly. “Surely if my unworthy life could be -spared, hers should be! Dear, little, innocent Berry!” - -Toiling wearily and anxiously along the road, he regained the spot -where Berry had sprung to her fate. With a wild heart-throb he saw her -white figure lying prone on the ground. - -“Not dead! oh, not dead!” he prayed wildly, as he bent over the -prostrate form. - -Still and white, and seemingly lifeless, she lay, poor little girl; but -placing his hand above her heart, he felt a faint, irregular flutter -that assured him of life. - -He looked wildly about for assistance, his pale face transfigured with -joy. - -“Berry, dear little Berry, speak to me,” he cried fondly; but there was -no reply. - -The dark lashes did not lift from the pallid cheeks, the sweet lips did -not open to answer his pleading cry, the little hand he clasped seemed -already cold with approaching death. - -“Oh, if some one would happen along! If I only had a vehicle!” he -groaned, sweeping his glance up and down the lonely road for a sign -of life anywhere. But there was neither man nor house in sight, only -unbroken vistas of trees lining the dreary road, and in the distance -the prolonged baying of a hound that sent an evil shudder along his -veins. - -They were at least five miles from town, and he remembered with -sickening self-reproach how he had promised Berry that it should be so -short a drive, not over two miles at the longest. - -“My accursed selfishness and vanity caused it all! If she dies, her -death lies at my door,” was the thought that beat upon his bewildered -brain. - -Every moment of unconsciousness brought her death nearer and nearer; -he realized it with cruel force. “Ah, Heaven, what should I do?” he -cried, kneeling over her there in the dusty road, marveling even in his -remorse and grief at the fairness of her pallid face. - -There was only one thing to do--he must carry her back to town in his -arms, since there was no other way. - -Like Richard the Third, he could have cried out: “My kingdom for a -horse!” - -Realizing all the bitterness of his plight, he bent down and took -Berry’s limp figure in his arms and started out to trudge the distance -back to town. - -Ordinarily this would have been no great feat, for Charley Bonair was -an athlete of renown among his fellows. But he had got such a severe -shaking up himself, besides partially spraining his ankle, that he was -not very fit for the burden he now started out to carry. - -He trembled under the weight of Berry, and the perspiration ran down -his face in streams, while he had to hide his lips to suppress groans -of agony, as the weak ankle now and then twisted under him so that he -could barely proceed. - -But he set his teeth, grimly, vowing: - -“I shall take her home if I die for it. It is the only atonement I can -make for my sin. How dared I think I could flirt with this pure, sweet -little darling!” - -He thought with wonder of her exquisite innocence and ignorance, of how -surely she had believed at first that he really wished to marry her -when she was so far beneath him in the social scale. - -“I shall never forget her pride and anger when I showed her my real -nature,” he thought ruefully. “Ah, what a strong sense of honor! How it -put me to the blush! She is too good for me, sweet little Berry! It is -better to marry Rosalind, who knows all my faults, doubtless, and is -not very saintly herself.” - -Suddenly he paused in distress, and looked about him. - -The moon had gone under a dark cloud, the air had turned chill, a -flurry of rain beat down upon him, groping in thick darkness with that -dead weight in his arms. It was one of the sudden changes in September -weather, capricious as April. - -“We must get under shelter, somehow, somewhere!” he thought, looking -toward the trees, then a cry of joy shrilled over his lips. - -Among the trees he saw a light flare up like a precious jewel in the -gloom. It came from the windows of a house. - -He staggered toward it, drenched with rain, agonized at every step with -his sprained ankle, and his mind in a tumult. How he gained the porch -he scarcely knew, but he saw that it was a sort of tavern. - -He stumbled on the steps and fell prone with his lovely burden. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. THE BOOK OF FATE. - - -“Hello! What is this? Looks romantic!” cried a gay, female voice, as -the owner ran forward, followed by several curious people, who united -in concern for the drenched and hapless strangers thus cast upon their -care. - -With lively ejaculations of wonder, they got the pair into a large, -shabby sitting room, where a troupe of stage people were making merry. - -The most warm-hearted people on earth, they began, without any -questions, to relieve their guests. Presently Bonair was able to -explain reservedly: - -“I was driving out with that young lady, a friend of mine, when my -horse became frightened and ran away, throwing us both out. The -accident happened about a mile back, and I carried the young girl in my -arms, hoping to find a doctor somewhere.” - -“There is one in the house and he has already gone to her assistance,” -they told him. - -“Tell him to save her life at whatever cost. I would give my own life -to save that girl,” he cried anxiously, causing a sympathetic smile all -around. - -No one blamed him, for one look at Berry’s lovely face seemed to them -sufficient excuse for the greatest devotion. - -Meanwhile they found Bonair needing attention, also, for his injured -foot was rapidly swelling and causing pain. The doctor came in -presently and gave it the necessary attention, saying that his patient -was reviving, and would presently be herself again, he hoped. There -were some superficial bruises, but he hoped there was no internal -injury. - -“Thank Heaven!” cried Bonair fervently, pressing a roll of bills into -the physician’s hand, while he added: - -“If a covered vehicle can be had, I would like to take the young girl -home to her mother, who may be uneasy at her delay.” - -“But, my dear sir, that will be most imprudent; I should not like my -patient to be moved until to-morrow. As for you, you might send word to -her mother to come here.” - -The young fellow shrank a little. He wondered how Mrs. Vining would -take the news. He would doubtless get a sound berating from the old -woman. - -“But I have fully deserved it, and I will take my punishment like -a man,” he thought grimly, and ordered the vehicle to be got ready -quickly. - -“There is a terrible storm raging--it is equinoctial weather, you -know. Better wait till it clears up,” they said. - -“No, I will not wait, if a man can be found to drive me. That poor -mother will be very anxious,” he answered firmly. - -In the teeth of the driving storm they set forth, but Charley Bonair -never reached his destination. - -The driver, a sulky-looking fellow, who had observed Bonair’s display -of money at the inn, as well as his diamond ring, assaulted and robbed -his passenger on the way to town, and left him for dead upon the -highway. - -When found the next morning, there was indeed but little life left in -him--not enough to recognize any one, or to remember aught that had -happened. Life became a blank to him for many days. - -The return of his horse to the stable with the fragments of the trap -clinging to the harness told what had happened to him, and no one -suspected that a beautiful young girl had been his companion on that -mad ride. - -He could not speak and tell the story, for he lay ill and unconscious -many days, and none guessed that the strange and continued -disappearance of Berry Vining lay at his door. - -The mother herself had found a plausible reason for her daughter’s -absence. - -She believed that Berry had fled in anger over their quarrel that -night, dreading lest she should be coerced into a marriage with the -merchant tailor. - -“We had a quarrel, and I believe she ran away in a fret. No, I don’t -think she has committed suicide. Berry wasn’t that kind of a girl,” -she said, adding hopefully, “she has maybe gone and got a situation in -a store in New York, and will write to me when she gets over her mad -spell.” - -The neighbors accepted this view of the matter, and no one could -gainsay it. Mrs. Vining’s misfortunes with her children were an old -story! She was always bewailing the disappearance of her handsome son -by a former marriage: a son who had deserted her and gone none knew -where. - -Berry did not return, and no tidings came of her, but the deserted -mother kept on at her work in patient sadness, hoping and praying for -the welfare of her headstrong child, though too poor to make a search -for the truant. - -Thus the hand of Fate abruptly closed the first chapter in the -acquaintance of Charley Bonair and the pretty village maid. - -For when he recovered memory and consciousness far into October, they -told him weeks had elapsed since he had been thrown from his trap and -nearly killed, and that only the most skillful nursing had saved his -life. - -No one could answer the mute question in his eyes, for the secret of -that night had never transpired, though he wondered how it had been so, -saying to himself that Berry was a girl in a thousand to have held her -tongue over such an accident. - -“It is better so,” he said to himself, in keen relief, yet he resolved -he would write her a note of thanks, which he hastily did, only to get -it returned with the information that Miss Vining was gone away. - -When cautious inquiries brought out the reputed facts of her -disappearance, he was dazed with wonder. He made a secret trip to the -old inn, but he found it closed and uninhabited. - -It was a very bad moment that came just then to handsome, reckless -Charley Bonair. - -He was terrified at the mysterious disappearance of the winsome little -beauty. He asked himself in an agony what had been her fate, cursing -himself for having left her at the inn that night. - -“What did I know of those people there? How dared I leave her -unprotected among them? Judging from the fellow that robbed and nearly -murdered me that night, the whole gang must have been rough and -dangerous. Ah, little one, what has been your cruel fate?” he groaned -to himself, tormented by the mystery that was so hard to fathom, -because he dared not make any public hue and cry through fear of -betraying Berry’s wild ride with him that, if known, must inevitably -compromise her in every one’s eyes, despite her innocence. - -The upshot of it all was that he went, privately, to a detective, and -saying nothing of his real purpose, employed him to find out where the -people had gone who kept the inn. - -The owner of the house was found, and reported that the tenant, an old -man, had died of apoplexy a month before. His servants were scattered -and could not be found. - -The identity of the theatrical troupe was next inquired into, and soon -learned to be the Janice James Company. They could not be traced now, -only in so far as that they had disbanded and scattered, some joining -other companies, others going back to their homes, so that Bonair’s -next move through the detective was to offer a reward through the -personal columns of the New York papers for information regarding any -member of the troupe. But weeks elapsed without bringing any reply. - -Not even to the detective did Bonair confide his real motive for his -quest. A new respect and tenderness for the girl he had tried to trifle -with filled his mind, and made him as tenacious of her good name as if -she had been his sister or his wife. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. A SUSPECTED RIVAL. - - -“You may laugh at me for a superstitious girl, mamma,” declared -beautiful Rosalind Montague, “but I shall always believe that -postponements in love are ill-omened. Ever since the night of the lawn -fête, when my lover failed to appear, and the fête was broken up by the -sudden rainstorm that drenched all our pretty gowns, I have seen that -something has gone wrong between Charley’s heart and mine. Do you know, -mamma, he has never loved me the same, since his long illness?” - -“Just your fancy, dear. To me it seems that he is yet ill and nervous -after his terrible experience with his runaway horse that night. I -have seen him start and turn pale when no one was speaking, as if from -ghastly thoughts.” - -“That is true, mamma, perfectly true, and he shudders sometimes when I -barely touch his hand, and he is cold as ice to me, mamma, cold as ice. -He seldom comes here, only when I send for him, and he never alludes -to our engagement. Do you believe that his illness can have dazed his -brain, that he can have forgotten?” - -“It may be so--who can tell?” cried the proud old lady in velvet and -diamonds. “I would sound him gently on the subject, Rosalind.” - -“But, mamma, I should not know what to say, how to begin,” exclaimed -the girl, with a slight blush. - -“Oh, that is easy enough, dear--all roads lead to Rome! Ask him if -he has any preference where to spend the honeymoon, or how long he -is willing to wait until the wedding--or if he does not think your -engagement ring is a little too loose--anything!” - -“Thank you, mamma, I’ll stir him up somehow, for at present he is a -very unsatisfactory lover. It almost looks as if I have a rival!” - -“Oh, nonsense, dear, who could rival beautiful Rosalind Montague, the -belle of her set, who won the millionaire’s son from a whole bevy of -conspiring mammas and daughters!” - -Rosalind smiled complacently at the flattery, and glanced at her -reflection in the tall pier glass--a fair reflection, indeed, of a -stately blonde with masses of flax-golden hair and large, blue eyes -that could soften with love or flash with anger till they looked like -points of blue steel. This delicate beauty, appropriately gowned in -rich attire, had indeed made Rosalind the belle of her set, “the rose -that all were praising.” - -It was the most natural thing in the world for Charley Bonair to fall -victim to her charms, even if his pretty sisters, her schoolmates, had -not conspired to bring it about, artfully throwing them together, ably -abetted by Rosalind and her scheming mamma. - -He was one of the greatest catches in fashionable society--the only son -of the millionaire senator, and although Madam Rumor said ungracious -things of him--that he was dissipated, profligate, libertine--what of -that? He would inherit several of his father’s millions, and could -cover his wife with diamonds if he wished, so one must overlook the -spots on the sun! Rosalind knew that she could not get a perfect -husband. - -To do the pretty Bonair girls justice, they were eager for the match, -because they believed that marriage would reform their brother. And who -so suitable a bride as Rosalind, their school friend, well-born, well -dowered, beautiful, queenly, and secretly adoring the handsome prodigal! - -So, among them all, they set a snare for Charley, and tripped him up. -His battered heart succumbed easily. Rosalind had scored a triumph -over all the beauties! Both families were charmed, and looked eagerly -forward to the wedding day. - -Right here was where Charley failed in loverlike duty, for he neglected -to ask his betrothed to set the wedding day, apparently quite -satisfied to make it a long engagement. - -Mrs. Montague was not altogether pleased at his lukewarmness. To offset -it, she planned the lawn fête to announce the betrothal. When the fact -became public property, he must name the day. - -We have seen how fate stepped in between and foiled their plans, -and how the ominous shadow of that night’s disappointment hung over -Rosalind’s ambitious hopes. - -“What has put this notion of a rival in your head, dear girl?” -continued the mother curiously. - -Rosalind hesitated a moment, and a cold, angry glitter shone in her -eyes, as she whispered: - -“Mamma, of course I know the hard things that are said of Charley--that -he is fond of cards, women, and wine. Well, I happen to know that the -very day of our fête, even by my very side, my lover was attracted by a -new beauty, and could not hide his admiration.” - -“A new beauty--who?” demanded Mrs. Montague uneasily. - -“You will be startled, mamma, but you will see that I am not jealous -without a cause. Listen,” and Rosalind poured out the story of the -morning ride when Charley Bonair had bowed to and admired little Berry -Vining. - -“He said, to my very face, that she was the prettiest girl he ever saw, -but I told him how poor and humble she was, and ridiculed his fancy. I -found out afterward that he rode back from my side to the florist’s, -and sent her a great bunch of red roses. Was not that enough to make -any engaged girl angry and jealous, mamma?” - -“I must admit you are quite right, darling. Oh, what wretches men are!” - -“Yes, indeed, and naturally after that I was jealous and suspicious. -When he did not come that night I was almost wild, wondering if I was -deserted already for the little village beauty. I did not sleep that -night for anger and grief, though I was too proud to tell you until -now, when I can no longer bear my trouble alone, because I am haunted -always by two torturing questions.” - -“What are they, my love?” - -“One is this, mamma: ‘What became of that girl when she disappeared so -suddenly from home that night? And--did Charley Bonair know anything of -her flight?’” - -“You suspect him of treachery?” - -“Have I not cause? How strangely she fled from home! How lame were her -old mother’s guesses at the truth! No girl could be forced to marry a -rich old man against her will. Then again, mamma, how strange that -Charley should be taking a ride miles out into the country that night, -when he was overdue at our fête, where he was to be the guest of honor.” - -“You talk like a detective, Rosalind.” - -“Oh, mamma, do not ridicule me,” the girl clasped her white hands, -imploringly. “Think how much I love him, how much I have at stake! I -have puzzled out all this in torturing nights when I could not sleep -for jealous pain.” - -The proud woman of the world looked at her beautiful daughter, and a -deep sigh escaped her lips. Stifling it with a sarcastic smile, she -answered: - -“It is the way of the world, my dear; men are wicked, and women are -weak. It may be as you suspect, that he had a fancy for the girl, but -you need not worry over that; you are the one he will marry, and he -will tire of her and put her aside before your wedding day.” - -“But, mamma, I hate her! I would gladly see her dead, the little hussy! -How dare she accept his love, knowing, as all the town knows, that he -belongs to me! And who would have believed such a thing of little Berry -Vining, who seemed such a good, innocent little thing!” - -“Those good little girls like Berry are just the ones to be deceived -and ruined by designing men, child. But put it out of your thoughts, -love, do. We cannot alter the world nor mankind, and all I can say to -you is that it’s better not to brood over imaginary troubles. Bonair -shall marry you, darling, never fear.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. LOVED AND HATED. - - -“Time put his sickles in among the days,” and the weeks slipped away -and brought winter weather. - -But long before the first snow, Charley Bonair had gone away from -New Market, ostensibly for a yachting trip with some of his bachelor -friends, leaving Rosalind piqued and angry. - -For when she had asked him point-blank how long he wanted to wait -before the wedding, he had answered debonairly, that she might take all -the time she wanted. He guessed that both were young enough to wait -a while. Anyhow, he wanted to have this bachelor trip with the boys -before he thrust his neck into the matrimonial noose! - -Rosalind, secretly furious at his indifference, was on the point of -telling him to go and stay forever, but she bit the tip of her rosy -tongue, keeping back the sharp retort, and half sobbed instead: - -“Oh, Charley, I shall miss you so!” - -“I should hate to think that you were lonely, dear, but I don’t believe -you will be, for Lucile and Marie intend to have you with them in -California for the winter months, after Christmas. Will you go?” - -“Gladly, if you will promise to join us there when you come back.” - -“It’s a bargain,” he answered, laughing, but none of her entreaties -could prevail on him to fix the date of his return. - -He did not really know, he said. It would depend on the other fellows. -Meanwhile she was to enjoy herself in her own way; he would not find -fault nor get jealous! - -When he had gone away, she loved and hated him by turns, and she was -more than ever sure that Berry Vining had stolen his heart. - -“Oh, if I could find her, and were quite, quite sure of her guilt, I -would wreak a bitter vengeance,” she murmured angrily, to the silent -walls of her luxurious chamber. - -She would have given anything to know the whereabouts of the girl she -believed to be her rival. - -It nearly maddened her to think that Charley might be seeing her daily, -basking in her smiles, laughing with her, perhaps, over the deferred -wedding. Her hatred of the young girl grew each day, until it became a -passion for revenge. - -“My day will come! Let her look to herself, that day!” she vowed -bitterly. - -She went one day to the cottage on pretense of getting a cloth suit -pressed, and with pretended sympathy, asked Mrs. Vining if she had ever -had any news of the missing girl. - -Mrs. Vining wept as she declared that she had never heard any news of -her daughter. - -“She may be dead and buried for aught I know to the contrary, Miss -Montague.” - -“Perhaps she has eloped with a lover,” cried Rosalind, but the old -woman frowned, and answered quickly: - -“My girl was as pure and high-minded as the richest young lady in the -land, miss, and she would never stoop to disgrace.” - -“I hope it may prove so, indeed!” exclaimed Rosalind, from the depths -of her jealous heart, and she went away, promising to send her maid -with the tailor gown to be pressed. - -The little cottage with the morning-glory vines all dead, looked dreary -and deserted, and poverty-stricken; but poor as it was, the good widow -could barely pay the rent. Rosalind could not help but think, as she -walked away, that it was a poor setting for the lovely girl who had -fled away from it rather than exchange it for the gilded misery of a -loveless marriage, such as her mother had proposed. - -One thing she had told Mrs. Vining earnestly: - -“If you hear from your daughter, be sure and let me know, and I will -make it worth your while. I take a deep interest in little Berry, you -know.” - -Aye, the interest of the hawk in the dove, proud beauty! The mother -curtsied in gratitude, and thanked her for her kindness. - -And just before Christmas she was startled to receive a note from the -tailoress, saying she had heard from her little girl at last. She had -run away to be an actress, because life in New Jersey was too dull and -lonely. She had sent her mother a little money and a pretty picture -of herself, and begged her not to be angry, but she was touring in -California now, and it would be a long time before she came home again. - -“In California--Charley’s own State. It looks suspicious,” muttered -Rosalind, and she went over to the cottage to visit Mrs. Vining again. - -But she did not find out anything more, for the letter had been -mailed on a train, and Berry failed, perhaps by design, to tell her -destination, adding in a postscript: - - “I don’t ask you to write me, because I am always ‘on the go,’ but I - have means you do not guess, of sometimes hearing of your welfare.” - -“It is through him,” Rosalind thought bitterly, but she concealed her -agitation, and congratulated the widow, prettily, on having heard from -her daughter. Then promising to send her a handsome Christmas gift, she -took leave. - -Charley Bonair would have given thousands of dollars to know even what -Rosalind had heard about Berry; for he had begun to mourn her as dead, -and remorse stung like a serpent in his heart. - -Always remembering that the man from the inn, who had robbed and tried -to murder him, belonged to those people, he had decided they must all -be cut-throats and robbers, and that Berry had most likely met her -death at their hands. - -With a heavy heart he landed from the yacht at San Francisco, deciding -he would join his family there, and little dreaming the surprise -awaiting him. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. BLUE EYES AND BROWN. - - -Senator Bonair’s palatial home in the magnificent city of San Francisco -was ablaze with light and gayety that night. - -Though the millionaire owner himself was absent, in attendance on the -session of Congress at Washington, his two handsome daughters, with -their aunt, who chaperoned them since the death of their mother, had -preferred remaining at home this winter, and were entertaining a house -party. On this night they were giving a grand ball, and neither time -nor money had been spared to make it a great success. - -To make it more notable, the dancing was to be preceded by a theatrical -treat, a play given by actors employed for the occasion. The private -theater of the mansion had been refitted for the event, and a superb -orchestra engaged. - -To add to the pleasure of the evening, the manager assured his -employers that an entirely new play would be given--one written by a -member of his own company, a lovely young girl, who would herself play -the leading part in her clever production, “A Wayside Flower.” - -All the invited guests were on the qui vive, for the entertainments of -the Bonairs always surpassed any other given in the city, and hundreds -of hearts of gay young girls and happy swains fluttered in anticipation. - -As the time approached for the curtain to rise, not a seat in the small -theater was vacant. Exquisite ball gowns and jewels gleamed everywhere, -while the bright eyes of their wearers flashed upon their black-coated -companions with swift coquetry. - -Conspicuous among all, in a gown of white lace over azure satin, with -rare pearls clasping her slender throat, and binding her thick waves of -flax-gold hair, was Rosalind Montague, the honored guest of the house, -the betrothed of the senator’s only son. - -Rosalind had never looked more beautiful, and one who was gazing at her -from an obscure seat, an uninvited, unexpected guest, could not help -but acknowledge it in his heart with a thrill of pride. - -“Poor Rosy, I don’t see why I cannot love her better! She will make -a bride to be proud of when I conclude to settle down and become a -benedict.” - -Why was it, as he gazed at her brilliant blue eyes and sunny hair, that -dark brown eyes and curly chestnut locks came between him and Rosalind -so persistently? Why would not memory down, when it was torture to -remember! - -She never could be his, the little brown-eyed cottage maiden, who had -scorned him for his light love, and flung his roses back into his face. -How the thorns had stung, as well as the lash of her little tongue, -as she had berated him so soundly. Then when she had flung herself so -desperately from his vehicle to almost certain death, could he ever -forget that tragic hour? He stifled a groan, and shrank back farther -into the shade of the tall palm near the door, where he had slipped -into an irregular seat not in the rows. Oh, Heaven, what had been the -mystery of her fate? Since he could not fathom it, why could he not -forget? He must forget, he vowed, passionately to himself, for by -and by, when he became Rosalind’s husband, it would be a sin to his -blue-eyed bride for those haunting brown orbs to come between. - -When he landed first in the city a whim had made him go first to a -hotel, where, hearing of the entertainment going on at home, he had -gotten himself into evening dress and arrived at the last moment, when -his sisters, already in the box with Rosalind and other guests, were -waiting, momently, for the curtain to rise on the first act in the -play. It would not do to interrupt them now. Greetings must wait. - -Anyhow, they were not missing him. Several men were in the box with -them, giving attention and receiving it. He remembered he had told -Rosalind he should not care how much she flirted, and she was taking -him at his word. - -The blue eyes as they looked upward to the dark-eyed man bending so -eagerly to them, were very tender and languishing, and many a lover -might have been jealous, but Charley Bonair was not conscious of a -pang. Although he felt a certain pride and sense of proprietorship in -her beauty, he did not mind the other fellow’s palpable admiration. - -The chief thing that worried him now was that he was haunted by other -eyes--brown eyes, soft with love, brown eyes, flashing with anger, -always brown eyes! “Eyes it were wiser by far to forget.” - -Again he stifled a long-drawn sigh, and glanced at the curtain, for the -blare of the orchestra had begun, and presently the play would be on. -He remembered just then to look at the elegant program the usher had -thrust into his hand. - -He had barely time to see that the play was entitled “A Wayside -Flower,” when the orchestra ceased, and the curtain rolled up, showing -the first scene. - -He caught his breath with a gasp, and rubbed his eyes with a bewildered -hand, then looked again to see if his vision had played him false. - - - - -CHAPTER X. A TRAGEDY OF LOVE. - - -One easily guesses that “A Wayside Flower” was the story of a young -girl--beautiful, but poor. - -The rich hero’s fancy turned from his betrothed, the proud beauty, his -equal in wealth and station, to the simple village maiden. - -With all the arts of love he wooed her for his own. - -When the maiden, pure as snow, turned in grief and anger from the -proffer of the heart without the hand, he deceived her by a mock -marriage, swearing her to keep the secret. - -In the distant village, where they spent their blissful honeymoon, -she somehow discovered through a letter he had dropped that he was -betrothed to another, and the wedding day set. - -Undreaming of treachery, yet grieved for her hapless rival’s sorrow, -_Daisy_ reproached her young husband for his flirtations, and insisted -on his writing at once to the young girl to break off as gently as -possible the engagement he could never now fulfill. - -Carelessly assenting, _Chester_ wrote the letter under _Daisy’s_ eyes, -sealed and addressed it, and pretended to have her post it to make -sure. - -But he had cunningly slipped quite another sort of letter into the -envelope, and destroyed the one she had seen him write. - -By and by came the time when he must leave her alone and return to his -home, lest his rich father disinherit him on finding out the truth of -his marriage to the village beauty. - -He never returned. - -For a while came letters filled with love and devotion, and always -inclosing money for the little wife. - -Weary months slipped away, and brought the winter snows. The deserted -bride fell ill, and besought her husband to return to her side. - -Blank silence fell. No more letters, no more money. - -In the simple cottage where she boarded, the people began to hint at -desertion. The villainous son showed her loverlike attentions. - -When _Daisy_ repulsed him in anger he showed her a letter from her -husband that broke her heart. - -_Chester_ had written to the villain that the girl was not his wife. He -had deceived her by a mock marriage. Now he was weary of her, and would -see her no more. In fact, he was about to go abroad for years, and if -he, the villain, would marry the girl, he would pay him handsomely to -keep the whole thing quiet. - -For the sake of her beauty and the bribe he was offered, this poor -apology for manhood was ready to make _Daisy_ an honest wife, but when -she refused him with biting scorn he made his weak mother thrust her -into the street, homeless and penniless in the winter’s snow. - -_Daisy_ pawned her simple jewels and journeyed back to her deserted -home and widowed mother, praying only to die under the roof that had -sheltered her childhood and girlhood. - -Then she heard that there was to be a grand wedding up at the hall that -night. Her false lover was about to wed the beautiful heiress, his -social equal, his chosen mate. - -Poor little _Daisy_ had been plucked as carelessly as a wayside flower, -and thrown aside to die. - -The poor old mother, half crazed by her daughter’s shame and despair, -cried bitterly: - -“You have only yourself to blame, girl! I brought you up to shun rich -young men; I told you they had no use for poor girls but to wreck -their lives. You would not believe what I told you, you laughed at -my warnings, and fled with the villain that ruined you. Now you have -returned to drag out a wretched existence under the ban of scorn, while -he goes scot-free and weds another!” - -The wretched _Daisy_ knew that it was all true. She shut herself into -her room, and brooded over her trouble till her brain went wild. - -In the evening she came down to her mother, calm with the calmness of a -great despair. - -“I have thought it all over, dear mother,” she said gently. “I did -wrong to come back to you in my trouble; because you warned me and -I would not listen. So I have no right to stay here and cloud your -life with my shame and sorrow. I am going away forever. Good-by, dear -mother. Say that you forgive me before I die!” - -“What do you mean, child? Where are you going? What is this wild talk -of dying? Come back, _Daisy_; mother will forgive you,” cried the -poor mother, but _Daisy_ had fled through the door out into the cold -moonlight, shining on a world that was white with snow. - -“I must follow and bring her back. I scolded her too harshly,” the -mother cried, snatching her bonnet and hastening after her child. - -But her poor, rheumatic limbs could not keep pace with _Daisy’s_ flying -feet. She could not overtake her in time to prevent the tragedy. - -The bridal cortège was moving out from the gates of the hall, and some -little children belonging to the tenant were throwing flowers in front -of the bridal carriage as it started toward the church where the -fashionable throng was waiting. - -The clear moonlight and lamplight showed _Chester’s_ face plain as day, -as he sat by the side of the bride. - -With a cry of reproach and despair that shrilled to heaven, _Daisy_ -darted into the road, and flung herself under the horses’ feet. - -But _Chester_, sitting there, pale and handsome, on his way to his -wedding, had seen that lovely face upraised to heaven as she darted -forward, had heard that terrible cry, and it pierced his false heart -like an arrow. - -He gave an answering cry, and tearing open the carriage door, as the -vehicle swayed under the driver’s frantic efforts to throw the horses -back on their haunches, he sprang out and strove to tear _Daisy_ from -under their desperate hoofs. - -The maddened animals dragged the reins from the driver’s hands, and -their steel-clad hoofs came down with a dull thud upon _Chester’s_ and -_Daisy’s_ bodies as they writhed on the ground. - -It all passed more quickly than one could describe it, and almost -before the people in the next carriage knew that anything was happening -the ill-fated pair were drawn from their terrible position, crushed and -dying. - -The frightened bride, reckless of her white gown and slippers, sprang -out into the snow. - -“Oh, what has happened?” she cried, in wild alarm. - -Then she saw _Chester_ prone upon the ground, with blood streaming from -a cut in his head down over his pallid face, while he held to his heart -the slight figure of an unconscious girl. The bride knew the pale face -instantly. It was the little cottage maiden, who had eloped with a -mysterious lover whose identity no one knew. - -“Oh, _Chester_, what does this mean? What has happened to you?” -demanded the bride wildly, and turning his heavy eyes on her face, he -groaned: - -“_Geraldine_, I have sacrificed my life to save this poor girl!” - -“Why did you do it? What is she to you?” fiercely. - -Like an arrow from a bow straight to her heart came his answer: - -“The truth is cruel to you, _Geraldine_, but I feel that I am dying, so -I must make a full confession. I deceived this poor girl with a mock -marriage, then deserted her, returning to make you my lawful bride. -Realizing her despair, she has returned and chosen to die beneath my -horses’ feet. I have given my life vainly in the effort to save poor -little _Daisy_.” - -_Geraldine_ realized that people were crowding round about her, that -the white face of the “best man” was close to hers, his arms shielding -her from falling to the ground, but she kept her eyes glued on that -pale, dying face, and her ears strained not to lose a sound of that -weak, dying voice. - -“_Geraldine_,” he faltered on, “I meant to marry you for wealth and -position, but in my heart I loved _Daisy_ best. I was not worthy of -your love, but I pray you to forgive me, and to see that I am buried by -the side of the girl who was my wife in the sight of Heaven.” - -He had thought little _Daisy_ dead, but suddenly her dim eyes flared -open and rested adoringly on his face. Her dulled hearing had caught -words that made her ineffably happy. - -“Darling!” he muttered brokenly. - -The best man stifled _Geraldine’s_ cry of rage with a daring hand upon -her lips. - -“Forgive him, dear, you shall not miss him,” he whispered tenderly. -“Do you remember how we loved each other before that lovers’ quarrel, -when he came between? Now you know he was unworthy, let us begin again, -dear. Tell him you forgive and will do his will.” - -_Geraldine_ trembled at the warm touch of his hand, and bending over -_Chester_, gave the promise he asked. - -“I forgive you; you shall rest side by side,” she faltered, not a -minute too soon, for in another moment the lovers were both dead, -clasped in each other’s arms. - -The first scene in “A Wayside Flower” showed the heroine singing a love -song at a window wreathed in morning glories, and as Bonair gazed in -wondering agitation, he saw that the singer’s face was that of little -Berry Vining! - - - - -CHAPTER XI. THE CURTAIN FALLS. - - -Clever little Berry had taken the one romantic chapter out of her own -life’s history and made a romance out of it, such as her sad heart and -simple experience prompted--a trite little story enough, save for its -tragic ending. - -And as she had considerable histrionic ability, she was able to take -the leading part with much credit to herself, winning enthusiastic -applause from her audience. - -She could not have acted so cleverly had she known under whose roof she -was, and what eyes were gazing on her lovely face as she entered with -whole-souled spirit into her part. - -Charley Bonair stood apart to Berry in a little world of his own. She -scarcely connected him with the millionaire senator of California, -and his lovely sisters she had never seen. It was only the home of -a stranger to her, this palatial house where she had come with her -company to act for the pleasure of the ball guests. - -Life had been a whirl to Berry Vining since the night when she had -been carried senseless into the company of actors, who, charmed by her -exquisite beauty, had easily persuaded her to join them on the road. -Gifted with much natural dramatic talent, she had quickly “caught on” -to the art, and now earned a subsistence by her work. In this arduous -life, too, she could more easily put from her the memory of her -shattered love dream, so brief, so bitter-sweet. - -Yet in quiet moments it returned to vex her soul, so that she wove the -beginning into a story of love and sorrow that grew and grew until her -morbid fancy shaped it into a tragic romance. - -Meanwhile the death of the leading lady gave Berry her position, and -she had a chance to act her romance on the boards of the Bonairs’ -private theater. - -It was easy to put her heart in it so wholly that the audience seemed -to her like so many lay figures, and she dreamed not that Charley -Bonair’s eyes watched her, eagerly, from far back at the door, where -an artificial palm half hid him from sight, while from a prominent box -Rosalind Montague gazed in startled wonder, almost as if Berry had -risen from the dead. - -For it must be the little village beauty, the coincidence was too -striking to admit of a doubt. - -There sat the girl singing at the vine-wreathed window, just as on -that September morning, when the gay cavalcade of riders went past, -and Charley Bonair had turned her curly little head with his flashing -glance and bow--singing, too, the same sweet lay of love and longing: - - “My heart with joy would thrill if you loved me, - ’Twould give this life of mine its fill of ecstasy; - Each golden moment spent with you on wings of Joy would flee; - The sky would be a ceaseless blue if you loved me.” - -The gift of the roses followed next, and as Rosalind saw the fair girl -in her white gown kissing the flowers, and fastening them in her hair -and breast, she trembled with anger and jealousy. - -“The little minx! She has dared make a play out of her silly flirtation -with Charley,” she thought; “she dares even to play it in his own home, -hoping to meet his eyes again, but, thank Heaven, he is far enough away -from here, he will never know.” - -If a look could have killed pretty Berry, she must surely have fallen -dead upon the boards, so deadly was the hatred with which Rosalind -watched her, for she thought: - -“It is just as I suspected between Charley and her, the little hussy! -He eloped with her, and, perhaps, was with her until he went on that -yachting trip to shake off her fetters. It is doubtful if there was -even any pretense of a marriage between them. No doubt she was eager -enough to go without a wedding ring, thinking of the money she could -cajole out of her rich lover. Oh, I see just how it is now! She is -very clever, this Berry Vining--she came here trying to win him back, -thinking he may have got home again! Oh, how glad I am he is still -away, for he would easily fall into her toils if he were here, the weak -fool, carried away by every pretty face! How well she acts! I never -dreamed it was in that cottage girl, such cleverness in writing a play, -and then acting it. She is indeed a rival to be dreaded, and I must do -something to get rid of her, that is clear. Even if Charley tired of -her once, he would love her again in this pretty play that shows her -off to so great advantage! Oh, what wretches men are, as mamma says! -How they make a girl’s heart ache with jealousy over their fickle love! -If I did not love him myself, I would not care so much, but he’s all -the world to me, my Charley! What shall I do to get rid of her before -he returns to the city? If mamma were here she would tell me not to -mind, that it could never come to aught but a light love. But I do -mind; I will not endure his unfaithfulness! If I thought no one could -even find me out, I believe I could almost strike her dead before me, I -hate her with such intense fury!” - -“Rosy, how strange you look! You are pale, and your eyes gleam with -blue fire. The poor girl’s trouble seems to be getting onto your -nerves! But she is really a very clever actress, and enters well into -the part,” exclaimed Marie Bonair, with a suddenness that made her -start and tremble. - -But she rallied herself, and murmured back: - -“It’s really quite thrilling, and I almost forgot where I was, dear. -This was the third act, wasn’t it?” - -“Yes, and I’m almost sorry; I have been so interested. Every one else -is, too. See how eagerly they keep their eyes on the stage. Our play -was a great success. Well, we will soon come to the banquet, and then -the dancing. Do you know that we have spread an elegant collation for -the actors, too, in the small dining room?” - -“How very nice of you, Marie!” murmured Rosalind, but to herself she -added viciously: - -“I wish I could poison that girl’s wine undetected! I wish some of the -stage properties would get on fire and destroy her beauty, anyway. Oh, -anything that could happen to that girl would be welcome to me, so that -he never saw her face again.” - -The fell spirit of murder had entered the jealous girl’s heart! - -The curtain rose again on the fourth act, and although the introduction -of horses on the stage was a very difficult feat, still it was quite -well done. The lovers died, gracefully, in each other’s arms, and -the widowed bride clung fondly to the attentive best man. In the -vernacular of one of the troupe, the play had been a “howling success.” -The company was called back to receive the plaudits of the spectators, -and the audience rose at the leading lady with enthusiasm, pelting the -little beauty with flowers and jewels. - -But one man far back in the theater, hurried away with his hat before -his face. - -“I hope no one has recognized me, for I really am not fit to join my -people to-night. I must get away and collect my thoughts,” muttered -Charley Bonair. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. A PHANTOM AT DAWN. - - -“An Indian seeress in an alcove off the western corridor will tell -everybody’s fortune.” - -The whisper ran from lip to lip at the banquet table, where the players -were being feasted and wined by the hospitable Bonairs. - -The gay, impressionable people of the troupe were charmed with the -idea, and when they left the table they went en masse to the alcove, -chaperoned by the housekeeper, who under orders from her mistress was -doing the honors. - -As they were admitted one by one to the alcove, the others, waiting in -the magnificent corridor lined with tall palms, statues, and pictures, -strolled about, peering into rooms and admiring the splendor of the -palace where they were for the moment sojourners. - -The housekeeper, a portly, loquacious woman, kept by Berry’s side, -having conceived a liking for the lovely actress. - -“Would you like to see the folks dancing in the grand ballroom for a -minute or two? Come, then, I’ll give you a peep,” she said, leading the -willing girl quietly away from the others. - -The next thing they were out of doors, going along a quiet alleyway -bordered with fragrant blossoming trees, and the sound of dance music -came to them in a wild blare of melody. - -“Here now, look in at this window,” whispered the woman. - -Berry looked, and gasped: - -“It must be fairyland!” - -“’Tis grand, ain’t it, now?” replied the housekeeper. She watched -Berry’s dazed eyes taking in the immense room with its costly fitting, -tropical decorations, and dazzling lights under which moved a hundred -couples in each other’s arms, to the tilt of the intoxicating waltz -music, and smiled at the young girl’s wonder. - -“These Bonairs, you see, miss,” she explained, “are the richest folks -in California--what you call multi-millionaires--more money than they -know what to do with! I’ve been housekeeper to them these twenty-five -years. I came when they were first married. I was here when the -senator’s three children were born, and when his good wife died, and I -expect to be here till I die. Have you ever seen any of the Bonairs?” - -“Oh, no, never!” Berry answered absently, and the woman clacked on: - -“Then I’ll point them out to you if they come in sight. See that fat -lady, with the velvet gown and diamonds, and the white pompadour? That -is old Madam Fortescue, the senator’s widowed sister, who chaperoned -his two daughters, Misses Marie and Lucile, great beauties, both of -them, and both engaged to marry rich New Yorkers. I think they mean to -have a double wedding in the fall. It will be a great affair, you know. -Their brother, Mr. Charley, is engaged, too, to a New York belle and -beauty, and she’s here now, the guest of the house--Miss Montague! Why, -what’s the matter, miss? You startled so!” - -“Oh, nothing, don’t mind me! Go on, please!” Berry managed to -articulate, feeling as if the earth had heaved beneath her feet. - -The truth had burst upon her so suddenly that only by the greatest -effort could she keep her self-possession. - -With the utterance of Miss Montague’s name everything became clear. - -She was under the roof of Charley Bonair! - -She clung with both hands to the window ledge to hold herself steady, -and listened with a dull roar in her ears, while the woman continued: - -“Mr. Charley, now, he’s away on a long yachting trip, and dear knows -when he will be back. They do say he is sowing an awful crop of wild -oats, poor boy, but he’s good at heart, so he is. A dearer boy when he -was growing up, I never saw! And that fond of pets, why he has a fine -zoölogical collection on these grounds here. You wouldn’t believe it, -maybe, but he’s even got two bear pits, miss, and in one of them the -bear has two new cubs. She’s that savage over them, she would tear you -to pieces if you touched one of them! And birds and smaller animals, -now, you’d be surprised at the number. If you like to come here -to-morrow, I’ll take pleasure in showing you around. The little bear -cubs, my but they are cute! And to hear Zilla, their mother, growling -over them, it’s a wonder!--makes cold chills run over one, sure enough!” - -“They are running over me now!” gasped Berry, clutching the woman’s -hand with one that was as cold as ice. “I--I must go. Please take me -back to my friends; they will be going back without me!” - -“Oh, plenty of time, miss--you must stay till you get your fortune -told, sure.” - -“Really, I don’t care. I mean, I’d rather not,” faltered Berry, -trembling all over with a sudden nervous premonition of evil that shook -her like an ague. - -“Ah, don’t be scared at the old fortune teller, dear miss, she may -tell you something pretty,” urged the good-natured woman, guiding the -trembling girl back to the corridor and the alcove, where the last one -was coming out, and the merry troupe were chattering like magpies. - -“Oh, come, Miss Vane, she is waiting for you,” the gay girls cried, -pushing her in, and pulling to the curtains behind her. - -The horrible old Indian seeress enthroned among draperies of Eastern -tapestries, worth their weight in gold, and hideous in theatrical red -light, clutched the girl’s white hand, and peering at the rosy palm, -began to mutter a sibilant jargon of fateful words. - -And presently the actress, Vera Vane, who had risen from the ashes -of Berenice Vining, flung aside the draperies and rushed from her -presence, pale as a phantom at dawn. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. AN ILL-FATED GIRL. - - -The merry actors and actresses all began to chaff Berry on her pale -face and frightened eyes. - -“She is actually scared!” “What did the old hag tell you, dear?” “She -gave all of us fine fortunes!” they chimed in together. But Berry put -them aside with a trembling hand, and sank, half fainting, into the -nearest seat. - -Mrs. Hopson, the housekeeper, came to her rescue. - -“Don’t pester the poor child till she gets over her scare. Land sakes, -miss, don’t take that nonsense to heart, please. Them old Indian squaws -don’t know the future any better than you do!” she said kindly, but -Berry did not hear the well-meant words. She had fainted. - -When she came to herself she was lying on a cot in Mrs. Hopson’s room, -and all the others were gone. - -“You were so long coming around I told them I’d keep you all night, or -send you back in a carriage when you felt better,” she explained. - -“Oh, you are very kind. I--I think that I will go presently, when I am -a little stronger. But do not let me, dear Mrs. Hopson, keep you from -your duties. I can lie here alone, please,” faltered Berry eagerly. - -“Very good, my dear miss, for I have many things to see to to-night, -and I’ll be very glad to have you for my guest till morning,” returned -the good woman, pressing a glass of wine on the young girl, and then -going out with a promise to be back in an hour. - -Left alone, Berry lifted her head and glanced eagerly at the clock. - -“Midnight--it lacks half an hour to it yet. Oh, must I keep that -strange tryst or not? Am I indeed menaced by so terrible a fate, and -can this old Indian really prevent the doom by the loan of so singular -a charm as she offers? It seems very foolish, but I have heard my dear -mother and her cronies often reiterate the same thing--that a person -born with a caul over the face--that is to say, a thin membrane of skin -that may be dried and preserved--is the fortunate possessor of a charm -against drowning--that such a charm may be bought or loaned, and always -proves a safeguard. How very strange; but there are many things we -cannot understand! And what was it the old fortune teller said of me? I -was fated to die a terrible death by water in twenty-four hours, unless -I could procure such a charm. She possessed one herself that she would -lend me for one week, when the risk would be over, but she must first -go home and procure it, and she would meet me in the grounds on the -northern walk going to the private zoo at the stroke of twelve. Shall -I go? Is it worth while living when one is alone in the world as I am, -for all my kindred now living are uncongenial to me, and there can -never be any love story for poor, deceived Berry, who gave her heart -too easily at first, but can never take it back again?” - -With a bursting sob, the girl pushed back the heavy locks from her -forehead, murmuring on: - -“Can it be true, as that old hag assured me, that my dear, dear mother -is dead? But she read my palm like an open book. I can see her yet -peering into my palm, hear her cracked, sepulchral voice mouthing such -dreadful words: ‘Little girl, your rosy palm has all the secrets of -your life clearly written there. You have drunk deep of the cup of -love, but the dregs were bitter; you looked above you for a lover, but -you had a beautiful rival, a high-born lady, who held his heart and his -hand. Hopeless of ever winning your heart’s idol, and destined by your -mother to a marriage for money, you deserted your home, and fled far -away with new friends. Is it not so?’” - -“You have spoken the truth,” sobbed hapless Berry. “Oh, I did not dream -you could find all that in the palm of my hand. But now you have told -me of the past, read me the story of my future. Tell me what awaits -the most ill-fated girl in the world.” - -“You may well say ill-fated,” croaked the hag, still clutching the -little white hand, and peering into its lines as one reads an open -book; “I read horror upon horror here, and--it is better not to know.” - -“Yes, tell me all,” cried Berry recklessly; “go on, go on!” - -With a heartless chuckle the seeress muttered: - -“Before I touch on the impending tragedy of your future I must return -to the past. The old mother who loved you so dearly, whom you deserted -so cruelly in her old age--that old mother lies dead!” - -“Oh, no, no, no!” sobbed Berry, sinking to her knees in despair. - -“It is true,” croaked the sibyl. “She lies dead, and her last word was -a curse upon your wicked head.” - -“Not wicked; oh, no--only weak and suffering,” moaned the girl. “Oh, -mother, now I have indeed nothing to live for, nothing to love.” - -“That is just as well, girl, for fate hangs heavy over your head,” -croaked the hag. - -“What fate could be more cruel than mine?” sobbed Berry wildly. - -The old Indian wagged her turbaned head, muttering low: - -“Death is the most cruel fate of all when it overtakes the young, the -beautiful, the loving. It is death that menaces you, girl--death in a -horrible form by drowning!” - -“Why should I tremble at death? I have nothing but toil and sorrow in -my life,” cried Berry wearily, with the tears running down her face. - -Again the woman peered into her hand, replying: - -“The doom is not a certainty, only a risk. It may be averted, and if -you escape it, there will come a wondrous change in your life. There -will be years of love and happiness and wealth before you.” - -“You are sure, quite sure?” the girl cried piteously. - -“It is written, and nothing can alter it,” cried the seeress, and Berry -thought of some words she had read in a book of Eastern verses: - - The moving finger writes; and having writ, - Moves on: nor all your piety, nor wit - Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, - Nor all your tears wash out a word of it. - -She knelt there sobbing piteously, as a beaten child, and that cracked -voice went on, and on: - -“I can save your life, girl, and I will do it, because you are so young -and so fair that I pity you. If you will meet me on the stroke of -twelve down in the Bonair grounds in the northern walk leading to the -private zoo, I will lend you for a week a charm against drowning--for -nothing, because I pity you so. When the week is ended the danger will -be past, and a long and happy life lies before you. Is it worth the -trouble? Will you come?” - -“I--I--yes, I will come!” faltered Berry wildly; then she fled from the -hag’s presence, followed by a low, exultant laugh, and in the hall she -fainted with the horror of all she had heard, believing that the woman -must indeed be gifted with supernatural powers. - -Now that she was alone, it all rushed wildly over her, and she knew -that she must go to receive the mysterious charm that could avert her -impending doom of death. - -“I can go and be back again before the kind housekeeper returns,” she -thought, slipping out of the room and stealing like a shadow along the -dim corridors till she reached a door that led out upon the beautiful -grounds into the calm, sweet night. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. COTTAGE AND CASTLE. - - -The beautiful California night, sweet and balmy, although it was -March--how like a dream of beauty lay the grounds about Bonair, with -their thick shrubberies and fragrant flowers! - -Yet Berry, unused to nocturnal wanderings alone, would have been -frightened only for the wild excitement that dominated every other -emotion. - -The full moon rode queenly in the cloudless sky, and shone like -silver on the lovely scene--on tall groups of statuary, gleaming -whitely against clumps of tropical shrubbery, on arbors twined with -roses, on tinkling fountains, on tall, white clumps of lilies and -beds of hyacinths, scenting the air with sweetness. All that wealth -and taste could devise in this land so favored by nature, was here in -lavish measure adorning the many acres of ground that surrounded the -picturesque pile of magnificent buildings called Bonair. - -And simple Berenice Vining, to whom all this was so new and amazing, -caught her breath with a gasp, remembering that Charley Bonair was heir -to it all--the only son of the proud multimillionaire. - -She felt for the first time the vast difference between her and the -man who had made careless love to her for twenty-four hours--love that -was not great enough to bridge the gulf between the lowly cottage and -the lofty castle, so that she might walk across it to his arms. - -Her thoughts flew to the old home, to the humble cottage, with the -morning glories climbing all over it in blue and white and roseate -glory, and a yearning came to her for her little room again, with its -cheap white ruffled curtains at the window, and the simple adornings so -dear to a young girl’s heart. - -Her heart rose in her throat, and she had to pause and lean her head -against a tree, while she sobbed in hysterical distress: - -“Oh, mamma, mamma!” - -Remorse throbbed at her bosom’s core. She had done wrong to forsake the -dear old mother whose heart had been broken by her desertion. - -“Alas, why was I not there to pray for her forgiveness? She was all I -had to love me on earth! Those older brothers and sisters, they never -cared for Berry. They always scolded and berated me because I was -mamma’s pet; they said I was a spoiled child. None of them will ever -care to see me again!” - -She sobbed on brokenly, without noticing that the clock in the high -tower had solemnly tolled out the midnight hour, when she was to meet -the fortune teller and receive the charm that was to ward off her -impending cruel doom. - -She did not even notice, in her perturbation, the delicate odor of -a fine cigar blending with the scent of the flowers close by, and -she would have darted away in alarm had she dreamed that a young man -was sitting on a rustic seat in a clump of shrubbery just back of -her--so close indeed that she might have caught the sound of his quick -breathing only that it was drowned by the tinkle of the fountain that, -throwing its spray high in the air, fell back again like the low patter -of rain upon the broad leaves of the lily-bordered pool. - -But as for him, he had caught every word she uttered, and he knew every -tone of the sweet voice, too, though he could not see her face as she -clung there with her cheek against the rough bark of the tree. - -It was Charley Bonair, sick at heart and troubled, who had hidden -himself there in the solitude of the beautiful night to puzzle over the -problem of his destiny. - -He thought he had worked it all out before in the moonlight nights on -the yacht, before he had landed from it at San Francisco. But that was -when he had believed that Berenice Vining was surely dead, and that -nothing remained but his duty to Rosalind. - -Now it all rose again like a ghost that would not down--the struggle -between his heart and his duty, for they did not agree. - -His troth plight held him to Rosalind, his love belonged to Berry. - -But the pure little cottage maiden would not accept the heart without -the hand. - -Now that he knew she still lived, his heart was in a tumult between -love and pride and duty. - -He did not wish to make a mésalliance. His pride clung to Rosalind, the -heiress, and he felt he owed her all respect and duty. - -But his code of morals was so lax that if he could have possessed Berry -without a wedding ring, he would have been loyal to her, even while -wedding her rival, and found a measure of happiness in the double life. - -But so certain was he of the little maiden’s stainless purity, that he -knew it would be useless to reveal himself to her, although sobbing -there in touch of his hand. - -At the first sign of his presence he knew that she would fly from him -in alarm and consternation. - -He had come home determined to be good, and delight all his relatives -by asking Rosalind to name the wedding day. He had decided that since -Berry must surely be dead he could jog along quite comfortably with -the blond beauty. Since neither one professed to be greatly in love, -there would be plenty of ways for such rich people to keep out of each -other’s way. - -All at once now he went back to his old resolve. - -“I must marry Rosalind and be done with it. There would be no end of a -bother with my folks, and probably disinheritance, if I cut the whole -thing and married little Berry. Besides, Rose is a good girl, after -all, and it would be a shame to break her heart.” - -Just as he came to this eminently virtuous resolution, and was softly -rising to sneak away from the temptation of folding the sobbing Berry -to his heart, there came an unlooked-for incident. - -The sound of muffled footsteps suddenly paused by the tree, and a -hoarse voice muttered impatiently: - -“Why did you fail to keep the tryst, girl? It is long since the -midnight bell tolled, and I grew weary of waiting.” - -Berry gave such a convulsive start backward that the blossoming shrubs -behind her were shaken, and dropped a shower of sweet flower petals to -the ground. - -“I--I--oh, I was so wretched thinking of my dear mother dead and my -lost home, and the sorrows of my life, that I forgot everything else,” -faltered the poor girl, with a dazed air. “What was it, please, you -wanted of me?” - -Charley Bonair was not going to leave just now, oh, no! He would stay -and see what lark the girl was up to, anyway. Perhaps time had changed -her, and she was not the good little angel of the past! Somehow he felt -himself grow jealous at the thought, even while the quick thought came -she might now be more to him. - -Why did he feel all at once that he hated little Berry? Was it that she -had destroyed his faith? - - I deemed her the one thing undefiled - By the air we breathe, in a world of sin; - The truest, the tenderest, purest child, - A man ever trusted in. - -What was this reproach for a tryst she had failed to keep? He would -listen, he would learn her sin. - -He leaned forward on his tiptoes, and got a good peep through the -rose branches at Berry and her interlocutor. The latter looked like -an old Indian squaw, picturesque draped in an old red blanket, with a -feathered headdress over her seamy, swarthy face. - -“Ah, a woman!” the young fellow thought to himself in keen relief, that -made his heart throb tumultuously. - -He heard the coarse, guttural voice replying cajolingly: - -“Have you forgot so soon, girl, the charm I promised when I told your -fortune, that was to avert a threatening doom, and bring to you wealth -and happiness?” - -Berry gave a little cry of remembrance and pleading: - -“Oh, I remember it all now. Forgive me that I forgot. Oh, I was so sad, -so sorrowful, I could think of nothing but the tale you told me of the -death of my old mother. Oh, is it really, really true?” - -The agony of those upraised eyes was enough to pierce a heart of stone, -but the old crone answered malevolently: - -“It is true as that the moon and stars shine in the heavens to-night. -She thought that you had fled with a rich young man, who meant to ruin -you, and she cursed you for your sin and her disgrace.” - -“Oh, but I am innocent and pure as the day I was born! I pray Heaven -that in death she knows the truth!” moaned the poor girl wildly. - -“We have no time for all this rant! It is time for honest folks to -be in their beds!” rejoined the Indian impatiently. Charley Bonair -started, asking himself: - -“Now, where have I heard that voice before, and that old saw in the -same tone? It is strangely familiar, somehow, with a difference that -baffles one!” - -He heard Berry murmur again sobbingly: - -“Forgive me, I did not mean any harm. Have you brought the charm with -you?” - -Then indeed Charley Bonair could scarcely keep from betraying himself -by laughing outright. - -“I left it around the path there in my bundle. Come with me and you -shall have it.” - -“I thank you,” Berry answered, simply and sweetly, and moved away by -her side, a slim, white, girlish figure by the tall, grotesque figure -of the other. - -Bonair started to follow, then drew quickly back. - -“It is none of my business to go spying on the dear, silly little -girl,” he decided. “She must be in love with some other fellow now, -by her anxiety over the old fortune teller, who knows no more of her -future than the man in the moon. I’d better go back to the house and -announce myself, and done with it! Hello, I’ll finish my cigar and drop -around to my zoo, and see Zilla first. They wrote me she had two cubs -and was savage as a lioness!” - -He sauntered along in the moonlight when the cigar was lighted; but -suddenly his repose was shaken by a terrible sound--loud, piercing -shrieks coming from the direction of the zoo. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. STRANGE MYSTERIES. - - -“The shrieks are coming from the bear pit! What if some one had -fallen in there!” cried Bonair, turning suddenly cold as ice with -apprehension, and starting at a wild run in the direction of the sounds. - -As the housekeeper had told Berry, her young master had been fond of -animal pets from boyhood, and had quite a choice collection of his own -at the southern end of the park, where they were taken care of by a man -and his wife. - -In this miniature zoo there was an aviary, some prairie dogs, a monkey -house, and some larger animals, including bears of different species. -Zilla, the black bear, was his favorite. He had got her himself several -years ago while deer hunting in the mountains of West Virginia. A -handsome fawn, a black bear cub, and some smaller animals, were the -trophies he carried home, and he had duly christened the cub Zilla, -and petted her so much that she loved him with a doglike devotion. In -his last letter from his sister Marie, she had told him that Zilla was -now the proud parent of twins, and had become fierce as a lioness in -defense of her young. - -He had just started for the bear pit, idly wondering if Zilla would -know him again after his absence of almost a year, when those frenzied -shrieks of some one in deadly peril made him fly to the rescue in -breathless haste, his heart sinking with a terrible dread. - -Suppose it were little Berry herself that had unwittingly stumbled and -fallen into the bear pit? - -Oh, horrors! One blow of Zilla’s big paw would be sufficient to kill -the lovely brown-eyed maid. In the twinkling of an eye, she would be -dead! - -There was one chance in a hundred for her life. - -If he could get there before the fatal blow was given, if he could -spring down into the pit, and arrest Zilla’s furious onslaught by the -sound of his voice--the voice of the beloved master! - -But would she remember him still? Would she yield obedience to his -command in her new character of motherhood, filled with the instinct -of protection to her young? If she would not, then woe unto any poor -wretch who had fallen into her angry clutches! - -With these thoughts in his mind he flew toward the zoo, with a wild -prayer in his heart to be in time, just in time! - -Every moment was an eternity, and his feet seemed to drag beneath him. -He had never realized the value of a moment of time before. - -But now life itself seemed to hang upon his haste. - -Fortunately the distance was short, so that he covered it in a space -of time less than five minutes--five minutes that might have been -fatal, alas, for ere now the wild shrieks had died into silence more -terrifying still--portentous silence in which the victim might have -died. - -At last! At last! After an eternity of time it seemed to him--he -reached the scene of his suspicions. - -He was right, for from the pit came terrible sounds, while all the -varied denizens of the zoo, having been startled from sleep by the -screams of fear, were making hideous din in their several voices, the -uproar creating a sort of babel of the scene. - -Over all shone the full moon in a cloudless sky, making everything -almost as clear as day. - -Bonair flung himself face downward, peering into Zilla’s abode. - -Down there was something white that could dimly be seen on the ground, -while Zilla crouched over it, hitting pounding blows with her big paws. -The other three bears who shared the pit were not taking any part, -only walking about on their hind legs, expressing dismay and wonder by -dismal and prolonged growling. - -“Oh, Heaven, have pity!” Bonair cried wildly, and leaped into the pit. - -He fell flat on his face, and Zilla’s attention was quickly attracted -so that the lifted paw, big, hairy, ponderous, fell nerveless as she -turned desperately on the new intruder upon her domain. - -Before he could struggle up to his feet, breathless from his race and -the shock of his fall, the black bear dealt him a blow hard enough -to knock the life out of him if he had not been nerved by a terrible -anxiety that almost made him proof against her force. He got up feebly -and clutched at her, muttering through a mouthful of blood: - -“Zilla! Zilla!” - -The name proved his salvation, for the huge black animal was opening -her arms to crush him to her in a grip that meant death, but she paused -in sudden indecision. - -“Zilla! Zilla!” the man cried again hoarsely, entreatingly, his heart -leaping to his throat in panting gasps. - -A stifled moan smote his ear, but it did not come from Zilla, but from -the still white something on the ground, and at the sound the bear -turned toward it again with a ferocious growl. - -But the great uplifted hairy paw did not fall, for with lightning -swiftness, Bonair sprang forward, his fist shot out with terrible -force and struck the animal just between the eyes, so that she lurched -backward. - -“Zilla, you devil, if you have hurt her, I will kill you!” he shouted, -as he flung himself between them. - -Madam Bruin, who had seen stars for a moment as his fist struck her -face, now regained her feet, standing erect and menacing, but without -making direct attack. She seemed dazed, stupefied, and a sort of shiver -shook her huge black body. - -As the moon shone down on the strange scene, she got her first look at -the intruder, and she began to tremble more and more with the rush of -instinctive memory. Bonair saw already that the battle was won. - -“Oh, Zilla, you know me at last,” he cried, in blended relief and -exultation, and added: - -“Down, down, wretched beast, at my feet!” - -Oh, wondrous change. - -It did not seem possible that the maddened, murderous, plunging beast -of a moment ago could be transformed like this into a tender, loving -animal that groveled on the ground and licked the master’s hand with a -quivering red tongue like a dog’s. But the transformation was wrought. - -There she lay prostrate at Bonair’s command, conquered, humble, loving, -her huge black body quivering all over, her whole attitude one of -complete submission. - -“Lie still, now,” her master commanded, roughly stroking her head, -even while he turned in an agony of anxiety to that figure huddled on -the ground the other side of him. He stooped down to examine it, and -as he did so Zilla’s fury returned. She growled and half rose, but his -restraining hand thrust her fiercely back. - -“Must I slay you, beast?” he demanded, with a blow that forced her -to be quiescent, while he made a further examination of the white -something that after one moan had given no further sign of life. - -Alas, his fearful heart had told him right. - -It was she, Berenice Vining, the little maid who had stirred his heart -to love’s joy and pain as no other woman had ever done before! Little -Berry of the starry eyes and pure heart. - -Gowned in simple white and seemingly lifeless, she lay, and he turned -to find some implement to slay Zilla, in the rush of furious vengeance. - -But the bear had slunk from him to the corner where her darlings whined -in their soft nest, and he tripped and fell in his agitation--not in a -pool of blood, but upon a soft mass of wool--the thick red blanket he -had seen on the Indian fortune teller when she had come to drag Berry -away to this hideous doom. - -He comprehended that the woman had thrust Berry down to this awful -death, and that in the life-and-death struggle, she had dragged down -with her the scarlet blanket. - -But why, why, why, had the old hag thirsted for this beautiful, -innocent young life? was the question that struck him like a blow in -the face. - -He knelt down by her in anguish; he put his hand beneath her face and -turned it to the light. - -Fortunately there was no mark or bruise upon it to mar its lifeless -beauty, but the lids lay heavy and dark on the white cheek, and the -heart, when he laid his hand over it, had no pulsation. He had come too -late. Zilla’s blows had battered out the life from the beautiful body! - -Charley Bonair groaned in anguish. - -“Dead! Dead! Poor little darling; sweet, pure child! How could so -slight a form survive those thudding blows I heard as I dropped into -the pit? They shall die for this, the old hag who flung her down to -her fate, and the murderous Zilla, who finished her work! Now there is -nothing left but to take her out of this accursed hole back to my home, -my last dead love, my little Berry, whom fate placed beyond my reach. -Ah,” the tone changed to one of horror, as a bullet whizzed suddenly -down into the pit past his cheek and buried itself in his shoulder. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. A TIMELY RESCUE. - - -How closely joy and sorrow tread on each other’s heels, how nearly they -touch each other! - -Up at the splendid Bonair palace the music and dancing went on apace, -Lucile and Marie being all in ignorance of their brother’s proximity -and peril. - -His presence in the theater had been unobserved, and none dreamed of -his return. - -The splendid fête went on, and the music of the orchestra and the -sounds of flying feet drowned the shrieks of mortal peril that arose -from the bear pit. - -It seemed as if Charley Bonair and Berenice Vining, both victims of -some mysterious enemy, must perish for want of a helping hand in this -hour of terrible danger. - -It must have ended thus in speedy death, had not the tumult of the bear -pit been overheard at the small cottage near by, where the zoo keeper -and his wife made their home. - -The woman, a lighter sleeper than the man, had been half aroused by the -sound of Berenice’s piercing shrieks. - -She raised her head from the pillow and listened intently for a moment, -and cold chills of terror ran down her spine at the agony of those -fearful cries, as of one in mortal peril. - -“Oh, surely there’s murder being done somewhere very close,” she -groaned aloud, and now thoroughly aroused, proceeded to shake her -husband awake. - -“Wake up, wake up, Sam Cline; don’t lay there snoring like a pig, when -somebody’s getting killed, sure! Wake, wake, wake!” she exclaimed, and -to expedite the awakening, she sprinkled his face with cold water, -which soon had the desired effect. - -“What’s broke loose Mandy, hey?” he exclaimed, in bewilderment, and she -answered: - -“Sam, there’s been the most terrible screams coming up about the zoo, -and now I can hear everything there roused up and making the most -fearful din--enough to split your ears open. Listen, don’t you hear it -yourself?” - -“I’d be stone-deaf sure if I didn’t hear all that racket! Suthin’ -dreadful must ’a’ happened, sure! I’d better dress and go up and see!” -he answered, hurrying into his clothing. - -“I’ll go with you,” declared Mandy, throwing on a wrapper, and -thrusting her bare feet into slippers, without more ado, they rushed in -the direction of the zoo, getting near enough when the shot was fired -down into the bear pit to see a tall, white figure running away in -breathless haste. - -“Somebody’s trying to kill the bears, sure! I wonder what for, now!” -gasped Mandy, almost breathless with her speed. - -“Run! run! let’s catch her, the wretch!” panted Sam Cline, but the -white figure, having the advance of them, seemed to fly like the wind, -and quickly disappeared from sight. - -Meanwhile as they rushed on, amid the babel of varied animal sounds, -they came to the bear pit, and their further pursuit of the criminal -was arrested by hearing a human groan, mingled with the hoarse, -frightened growls of the brutes below. - -How it all ended, Sam Cline related in his own words somewhat later, -when he carried the news up to Bonair, calling Mrs. Fortescue out for -the purpose. - -“Land sakes, ma’am, a terrible thing has happened down to the bear -pit,” he began excitedly. “Mandy and me was woke up by awful screams -from down to the zoo, and then all the birds and beasts got scared, -and sech a racket was never heard before, I reckon!--leastwise in the -hour of midnight, when everything is s’posed to be still and asleep. -Well, wife and I rushed out as fast as we could to the scene, and next -thing, zip--bang! went off a pistol right in front of Zilla’s pit, and -we saw a woman all in white running away like mad! We gave chase, but -she had the start of us too far, and disappeared in the shrubbery jest -as we got to the pit, and heard a terrible groaning that made us stop -to investigate.” He paused for breath in his rapid narration, and the -handsome old woman shuddered with prescient dread. - -“Go on, go on!” - -Sam Cline cleared his throat, and continued: - -“We peered down into the bear pit--and, oh, what a sight was there, -ma’am! All the bears in an uproar with fright and excitement, and in -the midst of it all two people, a man and a woman, as we could see by -her white dress. Well, we called to the bears, and they quieted down, -knowing our voices so well, and then, I swear to gracious! I nearly -jumped out of my skin with surprise, for a voice called out to me that -I know as well as I know my own, and said, with a groan: - -“‘Sam Cline, for Heaven’s sake, open the door and let us out of this -den.’” - -“A voice you knew?” repeated Mrs. Fortescue questioningly, but the man -hurried on, in a voice broken by excitement: - -“You may be sure that Mandy and I obeyed him fast enough, ma’am, and -found out when we got in the pit that the man had been shot in the -shoulder, and that the woman with him was apparently dead.” - -“This is terrible!” shuddered Mrs. Fortescue. - -“I should say so, indeed, ma’am,” answered Sam Cline, continuing. “The -man told me he heard screams from the pit, and running to it, saw the -woman being beaten to death by Zilla. He jumped down to her rescue, -but just as he got the bear subdued, somebody fired down at him, and -the ball went through his shoulder. He sank down with the pain, and -grew weak with the blood spurting from the wound, just as we discovered -him. Well, to make my story short, I tore off my shirt and bandaged -his wound, Mandy fighting off the bears that went wild at smelling -the blood. Then I took the dead woman in my arms, and Mandy led the -half-swooning man, and so we got them to my cottage, and I telephoned -for a doctor as soon as I could, and next thing, I posted up here to -break the news to you and the young ladies about their brother.” - -“Their brother!” exclaimed the old lady wonderingly, and he answered -quickly: - -“Yes, ma’am, their own brother, Mr. Charley Bonair, shot through the -shoulder, and so upset by all he went through in the pit, that as soon -as we got him in my house he fell down by the couch, where I laid the -dead woman, and swooned with excitement, so I just left Mandy to -revive him while I telephoned the doctor to come, and posted off up -here.” - -Mrs. Fortescue, pale and trembling, cried faintly: - -“Are you sure you have not made a mistake, Sam Cline? My nephew is not -even in San Francisco!” - -“He landed from the yacht early yesterday evening, ma’am--he told me -so--but he had not spoken to his sisters yet. He was in the grounds, -coming home, I suppose, when he heard the shrieks from the pit, and ran -to the lady’s assistance,” explained Sam Cline quickly. - -“And the lady? Did you know her, Sam?” - -“Not her name, ma’am, but her face. She was that pretty little actress -that played in the theater here last night. I knew her again as soon as -I clapped eyes on her face, but I don’t know as I ever heard her name.” - -“This is wonderful, mysterious!” cried the lady. “Oh, what shall I do? -It seems too bad to break up the ball with this shocking news, but -there seems nothing else to do.” - -Sam Cline hesitated, then said humbly: - -“If I might make so bold as to advise you, ma’am, I’d say let the ball -go on, because it won’t last much longer, anyway, I guess, and see Mr. -Bonair yourself before you alarm his sisters.” - -“I believe you are right, Sam; I hate to stir up a panic in the -ballroom if I can avoid it. Wait outside for me till I get a wrap, and -I will go with you to the cottage and see Charley.” - -If she had cherished the least doubt of it being her nephew, she soon -had proof of it on reaching the keeper’s cottage, for Mrs. Cline had -succeeded in reviving the patient, and he lay pale and nervous on a -narrow cot in the same room where they had placed the seemingly dead -actress upon a neat white bed. - -“Charley, dear, this is terrible!” the lady cried, sinking down on her -knees and kissing his pallid brow, damp with the dew of pain. - -He took the kiss impatiently, crying fervently: - -“Aunt Florence, do not think about me! I’m all right, sure!--see about -that poor girl over there, please! Is she really dead, or only in a -very deep swoon? By Heaven, if Zilla has killed her, I’ll put the brute -to torture, I’ll burn her at the stake!” - -He ended with a groan of commingled fury and stifled pain, and just -then there came a loud rap upon the door. The physician had fortunately -arrived. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. BITTER RIVALRY. - - -He had his hands full certainly, with his two patients, for Charley -Bonair insisted that he should examine the young lady first to see -if there were the least hope of her recovery from the swoon or -unconsciousness that seemed to them all so terribly like death itself. - -When Madam Fortescue returned from the cottage two hours later, -the grand ball was ending--the “dear five hundred friends” tearing -themselves away. - -With commendable self-possession she received their adieus, and waited -till her weary nieces had got into their dressing gowns before she -called them together and imparted her important news. - -Lucile and Marie were sadly frightened, and tears flowed fast from -their beautiful eyes. - -“Poor, dear brother, we must go to him at once,” they cried, but Madam -Fortescue forbade it. - -“No, the physician wished him to rest quietly to-night in the care of -Sam Cline, but you both will be allowed to see him to-morrow. The wound -is not necessarily dangerous, but it is better for him to remain a day -or two at the cottage before he comes home.” - -“And the pretty little actress--Miss Vane. Do you say that she -revived?” cried Marie. - -“She has shown signs of life, that is all. The poor young girl’s body -is a mass of bruises. He did not find any broken bones, however, and -says she owes her escape from that to the thick red blanket of the -murderous old squaw that fell down on her, and formed with its folds a -cushion against the fury of Zilla’s blows.” - -The two young girls shuddered with horror over the story. They recalled -the bright beauty of the sparkling young actress with keen admiration, -and realized the difference now with heartfelt sorrow. - -“She must have a good nurse and every possible attention to restore her -life. We will charge ourselves with all the expenses, poor girl,” they -exclaimed. - -And then they fell to wondering about the criminal. Who was she--how -had she happened to be at Bonair? - -The young girls declared solemnly that they had not employed any -fortune teller, had not known of her presence in the house. It was a -decided mystery. - -“Perhaps the housekeeper may know something about it,” suggested the -aunt. - -Mrs. Hopson was summoned and cleared up the little mystery. - -She told how Miss Montague had called her out while the banquet was -in progress, saying that an old Indian fortune teller had called and -offered her services to aid in the evening’s entertainment. - -Miss Montague was so pleased with the idea that she had engaged the old -woman at her own expense to remain two hours and amuse the theatrical -company after the banquet. She had asked Mrs. Hopson to prepare the -little alcove for the seeress, and to apprise the members of the -company of the treat in store for them. Mrs. Hopson had consented to -the plan, and Rosalind had left her, after cautioning the housekeeper -to say nothing to her mistresses of the little plot, saying she wished -to defray all the cost herself. - -Mrs. Hopson went on and told of the fright the young actress had -received on hearing the story of her future from the old seeress, and -of how she had taken her to her own apartments to spend the night, but -returned to find her missing. - -“It irked me to find her gone, but I never thought of danger to the -sweet, pretty young girl,” she declared, adding: - -“Now it seems to me that there was some deep-laid plot to injure the -young actress. That old Indian woman was very likely a disguised enemy -that sought her life. Failing to frighten the girl to death with her -terrible prophecies, she got her out of the house some way and pushed -her into the pit to meet her death from the angry black bear. When -she saw that rescue was likely, she made one last desperate attempt -at murder by shooting down among the bears. Oh, the vile wretch, she -should be torn limb from limb! No punishment is too great for such a -fiend!” - -“Yet, I doubt if she will ever be apprehended. She has had ample time -to escape and cover up all traces of her identity,” sighed Madam -Fortescue, wishing from her heart that the wretch might be brought to -justice. - -“Oh, how grieved, how dismayed Rosalind will be to hear all this,” -cried Lucile, with tears. “Only think, when she was generously planning -such a pleasure for those people out of her own purse, she was vilely -imposed on by a murderous wretch who nearly destroyed two lives. Why, -if dear Charley should die, dear Rosalind would feel like a murderess, -although she did not even know that he was in the city.” - -“But where was Rosalind all the evening? It seems to me now that I -do not remember seeing her at all in the ballroom,” exclaimed Madam -Fortescue. - -“Why, poor Rosie had a little chapter of accidents that spoiled her -whole evening,” answered Marie. “In the first place, she became -suddenly ill, soon after the dancing began, and had to retire to her -room to lie down a while. It was one of those terrible headaches, you -know, that will only get better in a dark, quiet place, so she said -we must leave her alone, as she should lock her door and must not be -disturbed. Well, something after midnight she returned to the ballroom, -and was better, but looking so pale and ill yet that I was surprised -to see her dancing again. But pretty soon she came to me all angry and -nervous, and I could not blame her at all. Some one had torn a great -rent in her white lace gown, and she had to retire, and she said she -would not appear again, because she was too tired to change her gown. -Poor thing, I hope she will sleep off her sickness by to-morrow, so -that she can go with us to see Charley.” - -“It will give her a terrible turn to hear of all the mischief that old -fortune teller did, but it cannot be helped now,” remarked Mrs. Hopson. - -Then they all separated for the night, or rather morning, since it -lacked but a few short hours to daylight. - -As Miss Montague was the latest of all arising, and took her coffee in -her own room, it was very late afternoon before the two sisters came in -and told her their startling news. - -She was quite as much dismayed as they expected, and when she heard -that it was her betrothed, Charley Bonair himself, who had been wounded -in the pit, Rosalind fainted away in dead earnest. When she revived she -was almost hysterical. - -“Do not tell me he is dead, my love, my Charley, or my heart will -break!” she moaned in anguish. - -When they told her he would get well, that they had been down to the -cottage already to see him, and that he was resting easily, she smiled -again. - -“Oh, I am so glad, so happy, that he is spared to us! But, dear girls, -will you not bring him home now, at once? I wish to see him so much! -Did he ask for me? Did he send me any message?” - -The sisters were so sorry for her that they hated to tell her the -truth, that Charley had not even called her name. - -But after confessing it they hastened to make excuses for their -brother, saying he was so ill and feverish it was no wonder he had -temporarily forgotten everything but his own sufferings. - -Rosalind accepted their explanation with outward complacence, but the -hot fires of jealousy seethed madly in her heart. - -To herself she said bitterly: - -“He did not ask for me, because he does not care, he thinks only of -her, the little witch who stole his fickle heart from me! How strange, -how very strange, that he should have been on the spot to save her -life! He must have known she would be here, and followed to bask in the -light of her eyes. Oh, how I hate her! Why does she not die, why should -she live to balk me of my happiness, for the whole world is too narrow -for my rival and me!” - -In her angry thoughts she almost forgot the presence of the sisters, -and they were startled by the lowering frown upon her face, realizing -that she was bitterly disappointed at getting no message from Charley. - -They hastened to tell her that the physician would not permit him to -leave his bed yet, but that they would accompany her at any time to see -her lover, assuring her that he would be charmed with the visit. - -Rosalind believed quite otherwise, but she kept back the bitter words -between her lips, resolving to go, indeed, to visit him, and to hurry -up their marriage if she could, before the pretty actress got well. - -Of the poor girl hovering between life and death, and all unconscious -of her surroundings, she said not a word in pity, and when she was -asked about the Indian seeress who had wrought such woe, she declared -that she had never seen her before that night, and knew nothing of her -whereabouts. - -“Oh, I hope none of you will blame me for what she did!” Rosalind cried -artlessly. “I am not to blame, for I only thought to give pleasure. The -woman came to me as I leaned out of a window, and proffered her wish, -and I immediately granted it. How was I to know that at heart she was a -fiend?” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. A FRIEND IN NEED. - - -Rosalind’s sorrow, so prettily acted, had its due effect. Her friends -quickly acquitted her of all blame, and hastened to soothe her ruffled -feelings by praising the good intentions that had prompted her terrible -mistake. - -The Bonairs hated anything like notoriety, and they tried very hard to -keep the sensational events of that night out of the newspapers. - -But their efforts failed of success, and the reporters reaped a rich -harvest. - -When the manager of Berry’s company came the next day to inquire -for his missing star, he was astounded to learn through the voluble -housekeeper of the tragedy of the previous night. - -He went quite white, and trembled with the shock, and as he was rather -young and very handsome, Mrs. Hopson surmised that he must be the young -girl’s lover, and pitied him very much. - -He cried out hoarsely: - -“Barely alive, you say, with but one chance in a hundred for her life? -Oh, how terrible! I can scarcely credit it, unless I see her with my -own eyes!” - -He went from the mansion to the cottage, and Mrs. Cline permitted him -to see the poor, unconscious girl upon the bed, breathing so faintly -that it seemed as if every pulsation must be her last. - -“Dying, poor girl, dying! And I loved her, oh, I loved her better than -my life!” the man cried, sinking on his knees by the bed, and pressing -his lips to the cold little hand that lay outside the cover. - -“Then you were going to marry the poor young lady?” asked Mrs. Cline. - -“No, for she had rejected my suit, telling me she had loved once and -her faith had been destroyed forever. She was very unhappy, I know, -over her broken lovedream, but I still hoped on, believing that in -time she might forget her false lover and turn to me. In all our -leading parts I was cast as her lover, and I threw my whole soul into -everything, hoping to win her at last. Alas! all is over, and her sweet -life has fallen beneath the machinations of a cowardly enemy,” the man -moaned, staggering up to his feet, with a look of despair that touched -the woman’s heart. - -“I am so sorry for you, sir,” she murmured, putting the corner of her -white apron to her eyes, that were wet with tears. - -He thanked her with a look, and added: - -“While she lives, Mrs. Cline, see that she receives the best of -attention, and look to me to settle all expenses to--the last!” his -voice breaking over the word. - -“Oh, sir, the Bonairs have already pledged themselves to pay -everything. A trained nurse is coming within the hour, and the -physician will be in frequently,” she replied. - -“May I see Mr. Bonair? Will you take my card to him?” asked the manager. - -She assented, and he was kept waiting some time, while she related to -Charley Bonair every word he had uttered, faithfully describing the -emotion he had displayed. - -Charley Bonair was lying on his couch very pale and restless, and he -grew almost ghastly as the tale ran on. - -“That will do, you may bring him in,” he said, at last. - -The next moment: - -“Ah, Mr. Bonair, will you pardon this intrusion?” - -“You are welcome, Mr. Weston. Pray be seated,” Charley answered -quietly, gazing hard at his handsome rival. - -Truly he was handsome and manly, with that dark, flashing eye that -so easily wins its way to a woman’s heart. Charley Bonair wondered -jealously that Berry had been able to withstand its fascination. - -“Dear little one, surely she loved me well,” he thought, with a twinge -of the bitterest remorse and pain. - -The manager had somewhat recovered his self-possession that had wavered -in the presence of his dying love. He did not give way as before Mrs. -Cline, but conversed easily and with a sorrowful dignity that impressed -the hearer, against his wishes, with profound respect. - -“A dangerous rival, and perhaps more worthy of her than I am,” Bonair -said to himself, with a sweeping self-contempt new and withering. - -If she lived, poor little Berry, who could tell but that such devotion -might win her at last?--but he groaned aloud at the thought. - -“Your pardon. A twinge of pain in that confounded shoulder,” he -explained. - -“Permit me to praise your acting last night,” he added. “It was superb, -and, in fact, your company is an admirable one.” - -“I thank you, but we are almost ruined now by this terrible happening. -No woman in my company is capable of taking the leading part at short -notice. I shall arrange to pay the company a week’s salary in advance, -and disband for an indefinite time.” - -“You must permit me to assist in the financial part; I feel it my duty, -and will make it my pleasure. I cannot forget that the disaster came -to you through your appearance at my home last night,” the wounded man -said cordially. - -But the manager declined the offer with a proud, though gentle, -dignity, winning more and more Bonair’s respect. - -“I thank you, sir, but I must decline your offer, since I am amply able -to meet these expenses,” he said, adding after a moment’s hesitation: - -“Whatever you may choose to spend in tracing Miss Vane’s cowardly -murderer will be well spent.” - -“No expense will be spared for that,” Bonair promised, growing so -pale again that the visitor felt he was staying too long, and took a -courteous and sympathetic leave. - -It was a nine days’ wonder in the papers, and the reporters “worked -the story for all it was worth.” Meanwhile the Weston Company became -so interesting to the general public that the next cleverest actress -studied Berry’s part, and the new play, “A Wayside Flower,” ran -successfully for weeks upon the boards of a popular theater. - -All this time Berry was lingering between life and death from the -terrible pounding Zilla had given her in the bear pit, but at last the -wavering balance began to incline toward life, gladdening many anxious -hearts, but filling one, alas, with malignant hate. - -For Rosalind’s jealous hatred waxed hotter every day, and could she -have found a chance to be alone in that sick room for five minutes, it -is hard to say what might have happened. - -But a young princess could not have been guarded with more loving care -than the poor little actress, and it was all through Charley Bonair -that this was so. - -He employed two competent nurses for the sick room, and one or the -other was ordered to remain always in the girl’s apartment. - -“We must remember always that she has a cruel and unscrupulous enemy -thirsting for her young life,” he said. “That enemy may be hovering -about, watching for an opportunity to complete her murderous work. She -must be foiled in her terrible designs,” he said firmly, and Rosalind, -who heard the words, turned aside to hide a cruel sneer that parted her -crimson lips. - -She was disappointed in all her crafty little schemes for entrapping -him into marriage before Berry recovered. It was plainer to her than -ever that she had lost every hold she had upon him, and she dreaded -every day that he would ask for a release from his engagement. - -Rosalind said to herself that when that happened she was afraid she -would go mad of her anger and despair. - -A jilted bride! How could she bear the stigma, how turn aside the jeers -of her little carping world? - -“I cannot, I will not release him if he dares plead to me. I will hold -him to his promise, and he dare not back down!” she vowed bitterly. - -Charley Bonair’s convalescence was so slow that every one became -uneasy, not dreaming that he played a deceitful part in order to remain -as long as he could beneath the same roof with Berry. Besides, as he -said to himself, he could hold Rosalind off better that way. Though she -came every day with his sisters to visit him, he frequently pretended -to be too ill or nervous to receive them till at last his doctor -rallied him soundly. - -“What game is it you are playing, Bonair? You were well enough two -weeks ago.” - -Before Bonair left at last, the nurses permitted him to sit a half hour -in Berry’s room watching her as she slept, with the dark silken lashes -prone upon her snowy cheek, and the breath just stirring the white -folds of her breast. - -The sight went to his heart, stirring it with profound emotion, so that -he said to himself: - -“How can I dream of ever wedding any but this beautiful creature, my -soul’s true mate? She must be mine alone; I must break with Rosalind!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. THE OLD LOVE. - - -“I must break with Rosalind! I can wed no other than sweet little -Berry, my soul’s true mate!” Bonair cried passionately, again to his -own heart, when he was back in his palatial home, leaving Berry at the -lowly cottage of the zoo keeper. - -All the puerile questions of wealth and position that had held them -apart became dross in his eyes, swept away in the torrent of a love -that would no longer brook opposition to its restless force. - -Perhaps jealousy of Berry’s handsome lover, young Weston, added fuel to -the fire of his love, but it began to burn with a consuming flame that -destroyed everything in its path. A gifted poet has fitly portrayed the -state of his mind: - - When the court of the mind is ruled by reason, - I know it is wiser for us to part; - But love is a spy who is plotting treason, - In league with that warm, red rebel, the heart. - They whisper to me that the king is cruel, - That his reign is wicked, his law a sin, - And every word they utter is fuel - To the flame that smolders within. - -His dread of Rosalind’s grief and anger seemed to vanish before the new -force of his passion for Berry, and he said to himself grimly that he -must have it out with Rosalind, and be done with it. It was best to “be -off with the old love” before he was “on with the new.” - -The opportunity came soon. - -His sister Marie privately lectured him on his indifference to his -betrothed. - -“How can you be so cruel to poor Rose? You treat her like a stranger.” - -“Has she complained of me?” he asked evasively. - -“How can she help it? The dear girl is miserable at heart, although she -bears up bravely. You know every one is caviling because the wedding -day is not set. Why don’t you settle it once for all, Charley, dear?” - -Her coaxing arms were round his neck, her bright eyes beaming into his, -and he sighed: - -“Girls are always dead set on weddings! I don’t see why! I think them -great bores myself!” - -“Then why don’t you get yours over and be done with it?” persisted the -girl. - -“Oh, I am not in any hurry to lose my bachelor freedom, sis; I fancy -Rose would henpeck me dreadfully,” yawning. - -“She would not, I’m sure--that is if you behave yourself, sir! Of -course you would have to give up some of your bad habits if you were -a married man--flirting, for instance--and--and--drinking! You are a -little too fond of the winecup, aren’t you, now?” - -“Yes--if you say so,” he replied nonchalantly, taking his lecture -coolly, and adding: “I wonder if Rose is going to write out a list of -musts and must nots for me to sign on the wedding day; do you know?” - -“Oh, nonsense! Go and ask her if you want to know! She’s in the library -now, half crying because a girl asked her if her wedding would be soon, -otherwise she wanted her to make one of a house party at her home this -fall. Don’t you see how embarrassing the uncertainty is, Charley?” - -“Yes, I see. We must have an understanding about it,” he replied, with -a sudden gravity that emboldened her to add: - -“Only yesterday Rosalind refused a proposal that was exceptional, in -every way, and when she told me of it she half sighed: ‘He’s very nice, -and if I had not been engaged to Charley, I might have said yes.’” - -“It isn’t too late to call him back. I’ll tell her she may do so!” he -exclaimed eagerly. - -Marie pinched his ear and laughed: - -“Getting jealous, are you, old boy? Well, you see, there are others who -admire Rose beside yourself.” - -“Yes, I see,” he replied, getting up carelessly, and moving to the door. - -“You’re going to Rosalind?” she asked hopefully. - -“Yes, I will not delay speaking to her any longer,” he replied, going -out as he spoke, and getting a glass of wine to steady himself, for he -owned to himself he was a little bit nervous, thinking uneasily. - -“She’ll make no end of a scene, of course--maybe call me a cur and all -that. The sooner it’s over, the better.” - -Fortified with several glasses of wine, he wended his way to the -library. - -Rosalind was there, sure enough, exquisitely gowned in some soft green -fabric, with loads of lace trimming, that was very becoming to her -blond type and she reclined rather pensively in a large leather chair. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. FATE WILLED OTHERWISE. - - -“Ah, Charley, it is you. I am so glad, for you were just now in my -thoughts!” cried Rosalind, beaming up at him with a tender smile. - -Charley throwing himself down carelessly into the opposite chair, -returned lightly: - -“Very complimentary, I am sure, for I fancied you were thinking of the -other fellow.” - -She wrinkled her brows at him. - -“The other fellow?” - -“Yes, you know, Rosalind--the one who was so nice you would have -accepted his proposal if you hadn’t been engaged to me.” - -“So Marie told you that nonsense, Charley! Ha! ha! Of course it was -only a jest!” laughed Rosalind, looking up at him with arch blue eyes, -full of tenderness. - -Charley Bonair did not return the fond glance, he looked at her with -serious gravity, unmoved by all her coquettish beauty and rich attire. -He answered frankly: - -“I am sorry to hear that it was a jest. I hoped it was truth.” - -“Charley!” - -“Yes, I hoped it was true,” he reiterated gravely, “because I came in -here to tell you it was not too late to call him back.” - -“Oh, Charley!” reproachfully. - -“Honor bright,” he answered, still without smiling, and adding -nervously, “oh, Rosalind, can’t you see that he would be a better match -for you than I, because he loves you, while I--I, in spite of myself, -have grown cold, careless, indifferent to you!” - -“Cruel! Cruel!” sobbed the girl, behind her jeweled fingers. - -“Yes, I know it, dear, but I cannot help it. I tried to be true to you, -but fate willed otherwise, and I’ve struggled too long! I give it up -for useless now. Despise me if you will, I deserve it, I know, and I -don’t blame you. But, Rosalind, if you held me to my promise I couldn’t -make you happy. I should hate you, instead of loving you. There, the -bitter truth is out! Will you set me free?” - -“It might not be as easy for me as for you, Charley. I am not so -fickle-minded, perhaps, but I suppose I have a right to ask you one -question!” - -“Oh, yes, go on,” he said. - -“It is only this, Charley, dear: Has your heart only wandered from me, -or is there--some one else?” - -His handsome face flushed a little under her sorrowful glances, but he -answered bravely: - -“Forgive me for hurting you, Rosalind, but I will not deceive. Yes, you -have guessed the truth. There is some one else!” - -Rosalind sighed heavily: - -“It is worse than I thought. Indifference might be cured if I had no -rival, but this is hopeless. Oh, Charley, who is she, the girl who has -won your love from me? Her name?” - -“Rosalind, I would rather not tell you yet.” - -“That is unfair to me, Charley, very unfair!” bitterly. “Surely I have -a deep interest in my successful rival. Does she love you?” - -“I hope so.” - -“Then you have not asked her yet?” - -“I waited for my release from you.” - -“Oh, then, you will ask her now, at once! Is she near at hand, Charley, -or perhaps I should say, Mr. Bonair, now?” - -“Call me Charley always if you will, and let us be true friends, my -dear girl, instead of lovers,” he pleaded, with outstretched hands. - -Rosalind placed her cold little hand eagerly in his, and answered: - -“This is very sudden, and very hard on me, Charley, because I have -loved you dearly for a year, and looked forward with joy to a life -spent by your side. Before I promise to release you, grant me one -favor.” - -“Name it, Rosalind.” - -“You have not asked your new love yet, and you are not sure she will -love you in return?” - -“I am reasonably sure,” he said, with the confidence of a sanguine mind. - -“How long will it be before you can have your answer?” - -“A week--perhaps two,” he replied, suddenly remembering that Berry was -yet precariously ill. - -“Then this is what I ask you, Charley, dear--yes, still dear, despite -the wound in my heart. Keep our secret until you have your new love’s -acceptance of your suit. Let us remain to the world lovers still, until -you are plighted to another. Then I will release you from your vow.” - -“It shall be as you say,” he answered, so grateful for her promise of -release, that he did not think it mattered going on with the farce of -an engagement a while longer. - -“If it will make it any less painful for you, Rose, you can say you -jilted me, you know. I shouldn’t mind at all!” - -“Thank you--I will think it over,” she answered dejectedly, and the -last glimpse he had of her was just as she hid her face in her hands -again and sat silent, like a statue of despair. - -He went immediately down to the keeper’s cottage, as he did every day, -for news of Berry, and his heart leaped with joy when Mrs. Cline told -him there was a marked change for the better, and the invalid had begun -to take notice and to try to talk a little. - -“When the doctor came this morning he was so pleased with the -improvement, he said she was quite sure to get well now,” she said. - -“Thank Heaven!” he cried fervently, and after a momentary hesitation, -he added earnestly: - -“Mrs. Cline, do me one favor, and I will never forget it. If that -fellow, Weston, comes to see her again, do not admit him to see the -patient. Tell him she is improving, but can see no one.” - -“I’ll do as you say, sir, but Lor’ bless you, some of them actor folks -comes here every day to ask about her.” - -“But remember, I wish to be the first one admitted to her presence when -she is able to see any one,” he replied. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. THE HAPPY MEETING. - - -But April had succeeded March before Berry was fairly convalescent. - -A long and weary month she had lain upon that bed of pain before life -struggled back for certain into her weary, battered frame, and the -light of memory shone again in her big, pathetic brown eyes. - -Then she began to get well very fast, and to betray a great curiosity -over everything, asking questions that the doctor said might be freely -answered. - -So before she was permitted to see any one but her nurses, she knew -all there was to tell--that Charley Bonair, the millionaire senator’s -only son, had rescued her from Bruin’s clutches at the peril of his own -life, and that the mysterious assailant had put a ball in his shoulder -as he bent over her in the pit. - -“Do not tell me he was killed,” sobbed Berry. - -Mrs. Cline laughed reassuringly. - -“Not a bit of it, my dear young lady, although Heaven only knows what -might have happened only for Sam and me coming up just then and scaring -off the vile woman that sought your death, for she might have shot -again and again. But we chased her away, and opened the door of the -pit, and found the bears in an awful uproar, and there’s no telling -what might have happened next, only that we got you both out as quick -as possible and brought you to our house. Laws, Mr. Bonair only had a -bullet in his shoulder, and the doctor soon got it out, but he stayed -here two weeks, afraid to be moved home, and even now he comes down -every day to ask after you, always bringing fresh flowers to decorate -your room. A mighty good heart has Mr. Charley.” - -Berry lay gazing at the fragrant flowers on the table, a dreamy light -in her great brown eyes, a faint flush staining her pallid cheeks. - -She was thinking how strange and sad it was that their paths had -crossed again so tragically--hers and handsome, wicked Charley Bonair’s. - -She called him wicked, because she remembered vividly the night of -their moonlight ride, when he had asked her for her heart without her -hand--oh, the shame of it--promising she should be his sweetheart even -if he married Rosalind! Back over Berry’s mind, in a flood tide of -grief, rushed the memory of his burning kiss, and her wild words when -she had flung his roses back into his face, wounding him with their -thorns, then leaped in a passion of wounded love and pride out of the -trap into the road, where, striking her head on a rock, she had become -unconscious for hours. - -When she had yielded to the persuasions of the theatrical people to -become one of themselves, she had done it with the resolve to place -the whole width of the world, if possible, between herself and Charley -Bonair, praying never to see his face again. - -Now the work of almost a year was undone by the cruelest chance in the -world. - -Alas, what strange fate had sent her unconsciously to his home, beneath -his very roof, when the cruel wound had seared over, and she was -learning to forget! - -It was the very irony of fate that she should owe her life to him, to -Charley Bonair, the proud, handsome profligate! - -“Oh,” she cried to herself, in bitterness of soul, “I had rather have -perished than owed my life to him!” And suddenly she burst into the -most piteous sobbing Mrs. Cline had ever heard. It was just as though -her poor heart were broken, thought the sympathetic soul. - -“Ah, dear, dear, what a fool I was, blabbing out everything at once! -Now you will get worse for the excitement, and I shall be to blame!” -she cried out piteously. - -“No, no, I--I--will be calm!” cried Berry, subduing her sobs by a -violent effort, as she put out her hand, so frail and white. - -“I am better now; I will not give way again. Tell me more.” - -“Not to-day, miss--not till I see that my gabbling has no ill effect on -you,” Mrs. Cline replied uneasily. But just then there was a light tap -on the door that opened into the hall, and when she went to it, there -was Bonair, asking anxiously: - -“How is our little patient to-day, Mrs. Cline?” - -How the musical voice thrilled Berry’s heart, stirring it to subtle -rapture! Alas, she did not hate him, after all; she was turning faint -and dizzy just with the happiness of hearing him speak again! His -faintest whisper made her heart rejoice! - -The voice ceased, and she heard Mrs. Cline saying: - -“She is getting better fast, sir, but I fear I have talked to her too -much to-day, telling her about the night you rescued her, and just now -she had a hard fit of crying from excitement.” - -“Oh, hush!” cried out Berry imploringly, but the sound of her voice -went to his heart, made him reckless; he pushed past Mrs. Cline into -the room, crying: - -“Oh, let me have just one peep at her, please!” - -Mrs. Cline, dazed and undecided, shut the door and stood with her back -against it, staring as Charley Bonair dropped down on his knees, fixing -adoring eyes on the sick girl’s pallid, frightened face. - -“Don’t be angry, little love! My own sweetheart, found once more, and -never to be lost again! For I am free now, darling, and I will marry -you to-morrow if you will have me for your husband!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. THEIR PLIGHTED VOWS. - - -It was enough to blow out the faint spark of Berry’s life, the sudden -shock of seeing her lover, and hearing those startling words from his -lips, but, happily, “joy never kills.” - -Now at the sight of his handsome face that she had never expected -to see again in life, above all at the sound of his musical voice, -uttering words she had not dared to fancy on his lips, such a wave of -rapturous emotion thrilled Berry from head to foot, that she could -not utter a sound. Her only response to her lover’s ardent words was -a sudden rain of blissful tears that relieved the tension of her -surcharged heart. - -With his own soft handkerchief Charley Bonair wiped away those shining -drops, murmuring fond words, quite heedless of the gaping Mrs. Cline, -who looked and listened, thinking to herself: - -“Well, I never! Has the man gone clean daft, promising to marry this -poor little actress, when the folks up at the mansion say that he’s -engaged to that grand, rich New York heiress, Miss Montague!” - -As she had known him from his boyhood, and did not stand at all in awe -of him, she cried, in righteous indignation: - -“For shame, Mr. Charley, trying to flirt with that poor little sick -girl, that don’t know you as well as I do, or she would not listen to -your foolishness! Get out of here, now, do, before you scare my patient -into fits!” - -At this the happy young fellow, remembering her presence for the -first time, got up deliberately from his knees, where he was kneeling -by Berry, and marching to Mrs. Cline, took her, playfully, by the -shoulders, and put her outside the door, saying gayly: - -“You don’t understand a word of this, of course, but I will explain it -all to your satisfaction if you will stay out here till I get an answer -to my proposal, will you?” pleadingly. - -“I--I--yes, I suppose I must, if you order me to, Mr. Charley, but I -don’t know what the doctor, and the nurse, and Miss Montague, too, will -say to all this goings on, sir, especially if the poor young girl gets -a relapse from excitement,” she complained. - -“She will not get a relapse. Happiness never killed anybody!” cried the -young man, beaming happily upon her, as he shut her outside, and went -back to the blushing, trembling little girl. - -“My darling, please forgive me for taking you by storm this way, but -I never had any patience in my life, and how could I have now, when I -have the sweetest story in the world to tell you? Listen, Berry, my -dearest: I have loved you and you alone, since the first moment I saw -your lovely face shining down on me from the cottage window framed in -morning-glory vines. From that moment your face has been the star of -my life’s horizon, and your sweet love song has haunted many a dream. -But I was betrothed to another, a proud, rich girl, my equal in birth -and position, so at first I did not think of breaking my vow. Then you -faded from my life, and I feared you were dead until I saw you on the -boards of the theater that night, in my own home, a very queen of love -and beauty. I knew you again in a moment. My little Berry could not -hide from me under the pseudonym of Vera Vane.” - -Berry’s soft cheeks dimpled into a smile at that, and taking her small -hand, he held it tightly clasped in a warm, sweet pressure, while he -continued: - -“That very night I had come home from a long yachting trip, trying to -forget you, and had made up my mind to settle down and make everybody -but myself happy by marrying Rosalind. But my presence was as yet -unknown to my people, and when I saw you again, Berry, and knew that -you lived, more sweet and lovely than ever, I could not bear the -thought of my betrothed. I stole away when the play was over and went -out into the grounds to brood over my trouble. While I smoked a cigar, -hidden on a seat in some shrubberies, you came by and stopped and -talked to yourself until the old fortune teller came to upbraid you for -not keeping your engagement promptly. Do you remember it, Berry?” - -“Ah, yes, yes--and you were there close by?” she breathed, in wonder. - -“Yes, almost close enough to touch you: I was tempted, indeed, to rush -to you and clasp you to my heart, but I had not forgotten the night I -kissed you when you flung my roses in my face and scratched me with the -sharp thorns; I did not care to risk such vixenish resentment again, -although that kiss, believe me, was worth all I suffered for it.” - -She listened, eagerly, to every word, flushing and paling, delicately -as a rose, her large, dilated brown eyes drinking in every tender word. -Charley Bonair thought, in spite of her thinness, that she was as -lovely as a dream. Suffering had only refined her beauty. - -She had scarcely a word to say; she only listened, drinking in his -voice like heavenly music, and he, gazing at her and stroking her -little hand, went on with his explanations, saying: - -“I heard all you and the old woman were saying, and was vastly amazed -at your credulity in believing her silly yarns. Well, soon after you -left, I started down to see Zilla, and heard your cries of terror, so -by hurrying my pace I was able to get there in time to save you from -being quite killed by the angry brute. I suppose Mrs. Cline has told -you everything that happened afterward, as far as she knew.” - -She murmured yes, and he added joyously: - -“What she did not know, was that as soon as I found out you would live, -I resolved to break my engagement with Rosalind, if you would forgive -the past and have me. I have carried out my intentions, and am free to -offer you my heart and my name. Can you love me, little girl, in spite -of my glaring faults, and take me in hand to reform me?” - -His tender eyes shone love into hers, and he looked as though he -meditated kissing her at any moment. Berry felt dizzy all at once, with -a strange feeling, as if she were floating in air on rosy clouds of -bliss. - -“Oh, Berry, why don’t you speak? Are you angry with me still? Will you -not forgive and love me?” cried her ardent lover, with dawning anxiety, -for he felt her little hand growing chill and fluttering like a bird -in his clasp. - -She half sobbed: - -“Oh, oh, I am almost afraid!” - -“Afraid, my darling--of what, pray?” - -“To--marry--you, Mr. Bonair! Because you are all so rich and -grand--your people, you know, and they might not care for you to marry -simple little me, instead of the proud heiress, Rosalind!” she panted -questioningly, while blushes came and went deliciously on her thin -cheeks. - -Charley Bonair looked sober for a moment, then laughed again. - -“Ah! now I am up against the real thing!” he exclaimed. “It is quite -true, Berry, darling, that they may object a little at first, but when -they see how sweet and charming you are, dad and my pretty sisters will -surely come around and love you almost as well as I do. Of course they -would make no end of a bother if I asked their leave first, but I don’t -mean to do it, you see! We’ll get married first, my angel, and announce -it afterward. I can take the Clines into the secret, and we could be -married here to-morrow, in this room, if you will consent, Berry.” - -“Oh, I am afraid, afraid!” she moaned nervously. - -“Listen to me, Berry. Are you afraid that dad will cut us off with a -shilling if I marry you? Do you object to being a poor man’s bride?” -her lover demanded, rather sternly, in his impatience. - -“Oh, no, no! Mr. Bonair--I----” - -“Call me, Charley,” he interrupted imploringly. - -“Charley, then! I’ve always been poor, you know, and I shouldn’t mind -it all with you, dear, if--if--you are sure you will never repent and -be sorry I married you.” - -“You will marry me, then, darling?” He bent and took the kiss he was -longing for. “Bless you, dear, your Charley will never repent he won -such a prize! It may be you that will be sorry, for I have got a hard -name, you know, and need reforming,” he said truthfully. - -“I will love you so, my Charley, it will make a better man of you!” -she cried tenderly, giving way to the rapture of her happy love at -last. Then, as a light tap sounded on the door: “Oh, dear, we were -quite forgetting poor Mrs. Cline, dearest. Do let her in, and explain -everything, or she will think this interview very improper.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. ALL FOR LOVE. - - -Charley Bonair was a man of action. - -Having resolved to marry Berenice Vining, he knew that he would have to -encounter strong family opposition, and foreboded that every possible -means would be adopted to prevent the marriage. - -Therefore he decided to forestall family interference by marrying the -young girl first, and trying to reconcile his relatives afterward. - -His sanguine disposition made him believe that this would be an easy -task. And even if it failed he felt quite independent, even in the face -of possible disinheritance. - -His dead mother had left her own handsome fortune to be divided between -her three children on the coming of age of Marie, the youngest. - -Charley thought he and his love could get along very well on his -portion, especially as Berenice was used to poverty and would not -really know how to be extravagant. - -He made up his mind to have the ceremony quietly to-morrow and he would -then feel surer. - -He took Mrs. Cline partially into his confidence, telling her -that he and Berenice had been lovers before and parted through a -misunderstanding that he had now explained away. - -The next thing he had to do--the hardest of all--was to acquaint -Rosalind with the fact of his acceptance by her rival. - -He felt keenly how unwelcome the news must be to the girl who had loved -him and hoped to be his bride, but he assured himself that she would -soon be consoled by the attentions of other lovers. - -“I am not much of a prize for any girl, if it were not for father’s -money, anyway. She will soon forget me,” he thought, with unwonted -seriousness, for at the thought of wedding little Berry, all the -follies of his youth rose up blackly before his mind’s eye, with a -poignant sense of regret. - -As he strolled slowly backward to the mansion, in the late afternoon -amid the sweet sights and sounds and perfume of spring at her -loveliest, he caught himself wondering “if the old man would ‘cut up -very rough’ over the mésalliance he was going to make,” and if his -dainty sisters would turn up their pretty noses at his humble bride. - -“It is very likely they may, but if so I must face the music and accept -my fate. One thing is certain. I would not give up my bonnie bride for -the whole Bonair fortune, although I should like a generous slice of it -for my bride’s sake as well as my own. Heigh-ho, he may cut me off with -a shilling, though, and then I shall only get the modest portion from -my mother. Without that we should have to live on bread and cheese and -kisses, my love and I.” He threw back his handsome head with a happy -laugh, and went his way, whistling a plaintive Irish air that seemed to -chime with his mood: - - “My fortunes are not what for your sake I could wish them to be; - My wealth consists of but a heart that beats alone for thee; - And when I ask you to be mine, - As I shall surely do, - This is the song I shall sing to you: - - “My heart for your heart - Is all I can give; - My love for your love - As long as we live; - My smile for your smile, - Until life is o’er; - These give me, sweetheart, - I ask nothing more.” - -With a heart elate with love and joy and triumph, he entered the house -and sought Rosalind, but she was nowhere to be seen. - -He sent up a servant to her room to ask for an interview, eager to have -the painful task over that he might give himself up wholly to the -happiness that sent his pulses bounding joyously along his veins. - -The servant came back quickly to say that Miss Montague was in bed with -a sick headache, and had desired not to be disturbed. - -With that he began to feel a little remorseful, saying to himself: - -“Poor Rose! no doubt she has wept herself into a headache over losing -me. I wish she had not loved so well! It makes me feel badly because I -know I don’t deserve one of her tears.” - -He was interrupted here by a visit from the detective who came, as he -had done several times before, to report that he had made no headway -with the case. - -“The old Indian seeress has covered up her tracks completely. I cannot -get the slightest clew to her whereabouts or her identity, and I almost -believe that some disguised person played the part of fortune teller, -and may be laughing in secret at our fruitless search,” he exclaimed. - -While the young man stared at him in startled wonder, he added: - -“I have made up my mind that we can do nothing more until Miss Vane, -the actress, is able to speak for herself. Doubtless she might tell us -something that would furnish a clew. What do you think?” - -“It may be so, but I doubt it. She is fast regaining strength, and I -hope may soon be interviewed on the subject, although the physician -interdicts such conversation now,” Charley answered. - -“In that case I will wait before I take any further steps. If she -cannot furnish any further clew it will be useless for me to go on, as -the murderer or murderess, as the case may be, is securely entrenched -behind a disguise we cannot penetrate,” reluctantly owned the detective. - -Charley Bonair, after a moment’s meditation, agreed with him that it -must be so. - -“One more question,” said the baffled sleuth: “Do you know of any -malignant enemy Miss Vane can have?” - -In his masculine obtuseness, Charley quickly answered: - -“No, I do not know that she has an enemy in the world.” - -The detective mused a moment, then exclaimed: - -“Sometimes love can be as cruel as hate. I wonder if the beautiful -young girl had a rejected lover?” - -He started when he was answered in the affirmative. - -“Ah, perhaps I am getting on the right track now! Where is this man? -Who is he?” - -“He is the manager of the company in which Miss Vane was the leading -lady. His name is Willis Weston, and he may be seen every night on the -boards of the Olympia Theater.” - -“Ah-h, then I have seen him already! A clever actor and a handsome man, -on or off the stage. Perhaps this may give me a clew. I shall look -into his past, and in the meantime, sir, as soon as the young lady can -safely give me an interview, please let me know, for surely she may be -able to throw some light on the darkness of this mysterious case.” - -He bowed himself out, and Charley was about to leave the room also when -he was startled by the appearance of Miss Montague’s maid, Suzette. She -curtsied, and said: - -“My mistress begins to feel a little better, sir, and would be pleased -to see you for a while in her boudoir.” - -“I will come at once,” he replied, following the maid in his eagerness -to be off with the old love, but saying to himself humorously: - -“What fools men are, anyway! They would be lots better off if they left -the women alone and remained bachelors all their lives, but instead of -that they must always be getting into hot water over the pretty dears. -We are weak as children, where woman is concerned, that’s the truth. -Now, I wonder what is up with Rosalind? I pray Heaven she does not -treat me to a fit of hysterics.” - -Suzette opened a door into a shaded rose-hung boudoir, and disappeared. - -He stepped across the threshold and was alone with Rosalind. - -The slighted beauty lay gracefully posing among the silken pillows of -an Oriental couch. - -She wore a negligee robe of soft white lansdowne, embroidered in blue -flowers that matched the striking hue of her beautiful eyes. The golden -lengths of her thick hair flowed unconfined over her shoulders, and her -face, even to her lips, wore a bluish pallor of illness and suffering. - -At Charley’s entrance a melancholy smile curved her lips, and she -extended her white hand, glittering with diamonds, murmuring: - -“Dear Charley, I was really too ill to receive you. See to what a -plight your falsity has brought me. But I hoped against hope you had -relented, and wished everything to be as before, so I sent for you. Ah, -tell me, dear, is it true?” - -Charley’s heart quickly sank like a stone in his breast, for he saw -that his presentiment was right; hysterics were impending, sure enough! - -He felt like swearing, but he controlled the impulse and stood gazing -at her, speechlessly, while she raved on: - -“Oh, Charley, dearest, I’ve thought it all over until my brain is -almost wild, and I’ve decided that I cannot, will not give you up to my -rival! I have the first, best claim, and I will yield it to no other. -Ah, say that you will love me still, that you will be true to your -vows!” - -“Here is a pretty pickle!” groaned the young man to himself, in a sort -of consternation at the situation, his generous heart touched by her -display of emotion, for her beauty and her sorrow were very striking, -almost theatrical. - -But he pulled himself together, and said gently, with an abashed air in -his self-reproach: - -“Don’t say another word, please, Rosalind; you are only making matters -worse. It is too late!” - -“Too late!” she almost shrieked, and he answered seriously: - -“Yes, forever, too late. I’ve proposed to the other girl, and have been -accepted.” - -A cry of rage burst from Rosalind’s lips, and her blue eyes blazed with -the fire of jealous hate. - -She sat erect suddenly and shook her small, jeweled fist close to his -face. - -“Coward! Traitor! You have turned my love to hate, and you shall pay -dear for the slight you have put upon me!” - -“Do you threaten me with a suit for breach of promise?” he demanded -laughingly. - -“Worse than that, far worse!” she answered fiercely, adding: “I know -who my secret rival is already--that miserable little actress that used -to be Berry Vining, and I will have my revenge on you both! Now go!” - -Charley obeyed her with alacrity! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. THE NEXT DAY. - - -Miss Montague’s headache lasted till the afternoon of the next day, -and she denied herself to every one but her maid, keeping quiet, as -she said, to overcome the attack, but in reality plotting schemes for -revenge on her successful rival. - -Her seclusion ended, she appeared at luncheon, exquisitely gowned, and -with a becoming pallor that witnessed her recent sufferings. - -But all the ladies at the table were pale, for that matter, and they -had pink eyelids, as if from recent weeping, while in their demeanor to -Rosalind was mingled overweening pity and sympathetic tenderness for -her illness. - -So she condescended graciously: - -“Don’t let’s talk of it any more. I’m better now.” - -But it seemed to her, presently, that there was something else in the -air, and, glancing at a vacant chair, she exclaimed: - -“Why doesn’t Charley come to luncheon? Is he sick? Is that why all of -you look so tearful?” - -With that one of the girls choked back a sob and answered bitterly: - -“He isn’t sick, oh, no; much worse! He has gone crazy!” - -“Hush, dearie!” admonished Madam Fortescue, glancing significantly at -the servant in waiting, while she added, to Rosalind, kindly and with -dignity: - -“The news of Charley’s escapade will keep till we have finished -luncheon.” - -After that no one had much appetite, and the four soon adjourned to a -private room where Rosalind said brusquely: - -“If there’s anything to tell, let me hear it quickly--I never could -bear suspense.” - -As they hesitated, with great eyes of sorrow and sympathy, she -continued: - -“Why do you all look at me so strangely and pityingly? Has Charley done -something very bad indeed?” - -“He has gone crazy!” again answered Marie angrily, mopping her wet eyes -with her lace handkerchief. - -“It will break your heart!” sobbed Lucile, adding: - -“Dear Rosalind, please do not be angry with us when you hear it. We are -not to blame, and we will love you all the more for the grief he has -caused you.” - -“My dear girls, you will drive poor Rosalind wild. Let me tell her the -cruel truth at once,” exclaimed Madam Fortescue, and taking the girl’s -hand, tenderly, in hers, she said tearfully: - -“I grieve to tell you that my nephew, Charley Bonair, has to-day capped -the climax of his follies by making a clandestine marriage with the -sick actress whom he saved from the bear pit the night of the ball.” - -“Oh, heavens!” gasped Rosalind, in very genuine horror and indignation, -for she had not expected the climax so soon. - -She sat gazing at the speaker with a pale, stricken face, while she -went on bitterly: - -“It seems Charley had known the girl before that night. He met her -first in the town where you live before she went upon the stage, and -fell in love with her then, so he says. But she had some sort of a -strange disappearance, then, and he believed her dead until coming -home, unexpectedly, the night of our grand ball, he saw her on the -stage and knew her at once for the missing girl. He was so agitated -between his duty to you and his love for her that he did not make his -presence known to us, but went out into the grounds to overcome his -agitation. There he had the good fortune, as he calls it, of saving her -life. The romance of this incident increased his love to recklessness -so that he threw pride and duty to the winds and proposed to the girl -yesterday. She accepted the offer, and this morning he procured a -minister, and they were married, with the Clines as witnesses.” - -Lucile chimed in furiously: - -“He had the impudence to come and tell us all about it when the thing -was irrevocably done, and to beg us to accept that nobody for a sister!” - -Rosalind would never be paler than now, as she sat and listened, -speechless with rage, at Charley’s escapade. - -Where were all the clever plans she had made for circumventing him now? -All shattered to pieces by this action of the ardent lover, who had -cleverly forestalled everything by his hasty wedding. - -“We will never accept her for a sister--never! We will never forgive -him for the slight to you whom we loved already as a sister!” sobbed -Marie, and at this juncture Rosalind thought it was time to fall back, -half fainting, in her seat, but not to go entirely unconscious until -she had heard all there was to tell. - -They ran to chafe her face and hands and to drop tender little kisses -on her brow, until she seemed to revive, and murmured faintly: - -“I am better now. Go on, tell me everything.” - -“Of course, we overwhelmed him with bitter reproaches,” declared -Marie, “and we told him we wanted nothing more to do with him, or with -the low nobody he has married.” - -“And he said--what?” demanded Rosalind. - -“He pleaded for her at first, and then when he saw we were not to be -placated, he grew angry, too, and left the house, saying he would -rather have his little bride’s love than ours. So as soon as he left we -telegraphed father, in Washington, to come home at once and see if he -could do anything to break up the match, for Charley had suddenly lost -his mind and married a low actress that we could never receive in the -family, to say nothing of the slight he had put upon you!” - -“Cruel! cruel! Oh, my heart will break! I can never hold up my head -again for very shame; me, Rosalind Montague, to be jilted for a -creature like that--the daughter of the New Market tailoress, a woman -that worked by the day in a shop!” groaned Rosalind hysterically. - -“Then you know the girl?” asked Madam Fortescue. - -“Yes, she grew up in abject poverty there in New Market. Her father -drove a delivery wagon--till he died--for the tailor his wife sewed -for, and there were a host of children, and this girl, the youngest, -who grew up idle and rather pretty so that she cared for nothing but -flirting and flaunting about, never soiling her hands with honest work. -I knew that Charley flirted with her a little, but mamma advised me not -to find fault with him, saying it wouldn’t amount to anything. Soon -after she disappeared from the town and I never saw her again until -that night of the play. I was almost sure that Vera Vane was little -frisky, flirting Berry Vining, the little schemer, that has cut me out -of my lover!” - -They hastened to caress her again, assuring her of their warm sympathy, -and adding their unalterable determination never to accept the scheming -little actress for a sister. Charley could never be their brother -again, either; they would punish him by treating him as a stranger. - -“If he had told you that he loved her best and wanted his freedom, it -would not have seemed quite so wicked, but when he told us he had done -so, we did not believe him, as you would have told us if such were the -case,” added Mrs. Fortescue. - -“Oh, how could he be totally false? He has never breathed one word of -all this to me. If he had I should have freely confided in all of you. -You know I have made no secret of my troubles,” sighed Rosalind. - -“Only wait till papa comes and he will find a way, I’m sure, to break -the marriage and bring poor Charley back to his senses,” declared -Marie, between tears and anger. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. A FAIR BRIDE. - - -Charley Bonair had indeed gone away from his sisters in an angry mood, -stung by their reproaches and embittered by their sharp abuse of his -wife, the scheming nobody, as they did not scruple to call her to his -face. - -He also, in the fullness of his happiness, had sent off a telegram to -his father before he had carried his news up to Bonair, and it ran very -simply: - -“Rosalind and I broke off recently, and I have to-day married another -girl who has the truest heart and fairest face in the world, so that I -confidently hope for your forgiveness and your blessing.” - -Charley thought this was a masterly stroke, the prompt confession -of his mésalliance, and hoped much from it, little dreaming of the -malicious message that followed it from his sisters, entreating -Senator Bonair to return home and do something or other to Charley in -punishment for the disgrace he had brought on the family, marrying -a scheming little actress, an out-and-out nobody, and jilting his -beautiful promised bride. - -In their anger, the sisters did not care to recall the praises they -had bestowed on Berry for her beauty and her clever acting, nor the -pity they had felt for her after the accident that so nearly ended her -life. Her unparalleled impudence in marrying Charley because he asked -her and because she loved him blotted out everything else in her favor. - -But Charley, returning to the cottage, basked in the smiles of his -charming bride, and resolutely put dull care behind him. - -It is wonderful what miracles love can work in a day! - -Berenice, who had been convalescing slowly and listlessly because her -sad heart took but little interest in life, had changed in a night and -day to a lovely, hopeful creature whose brown eyes glowed with love -and joy, while her thin cheeks had put on the roses of nature under -Charley’s fond, eager glance, that was to her like the sun shining upon -a flower, unfolding it to glorious bloom. - -The happy excitement had loaned her such fictitious strength that the -nurse had permitted her to sit up in a chair for the wedding, and Mrs. -Cline had gone to a shop and bought for her a simple white robe with -white laces and ribbons to make it look bridelike. - -Thus attired, and with her little hand in Charley’s she had murmured -timidly, after the minister, the sweet words of the service that made -her the sweetest and happiest of brides. - -When it was all over they had all gone out quietly and left them alone -for a blissful half hour. - -Charley knelt down by his bonnie bride and clasped her to his heart. - -“My queen!” he murmured, kissing her hands, her face and hair in an -ecstasy of triumphant love. - -She drooped against his breast, very tired, but very happy. - -“Oh, I do not know how to realize my bliss!” she murmured. “I am really -your wife, Charley, your own wife, and you are my husband! Ah, it does -not seem possible! I loved you in vain so long, I almost fear I am -dreaming.” - -“It is no dream, but the sweetest reality in the world--to me!” he -cried ardently, stopping the words on her lips with kisses. And so they -went on, until Mrs. Cline returned and said: - -“Now, my dear sir, you must go out and leave your lady to rest. She has -stayed up too long already.” - -Charley obeyed reluctantly, and beckoning her to the door, said, in a -whisper: - -“You will have to prepare a room for me down here, Mrs. Cline, for I -am determined to stay and nurse my lovely bride back to health.” - -“That can be quickly done, sir. Her improvement is miraculous already, -and will, no doubt, continue with due care. As to a room, I can make -you comfortable, no doubt, but you will miss the grandeur of Bonair,” -the woman answered, with a curtsey. - -Charley answered, with a laugh: - -“I may have to miss those grandeurs always, henceforward, Mrs. Cline, -for if my father should be as angry as my sisters are he will probably -disinherit me.” - -“Ah, no fear of that I think, sir, and you his only son, the apple -of his eye, as it were. And, dear me, sir, if he should be angry at -you, why, what would he be at me and Sam for aiding and abetting your -marriage? He would very likely turn us out of this place!” cried the -woman uneasily, for her many years at Bonair had endeared the place to -her heart. - -“If he does I will find you another place as good, so don’t begin to -worry yet. Let us look on the bright side as long as we can!” cried -sanguine Charley. - -And from that moment he began to live up to his creed, never uttering a -word of apprehension as to the outcome of his marriage. - -He had followed up his telegram to his father with a long explanatory -letter in which he did full justice to the charms of his bride; but -to neither one came any reply, although up at Bonair the sisters had -received a speedy answer that read briefly: - - “I am horrified, but do not see anything that I can do. Will leave at - once in special car for home.” - -So up at Bonair, as the days slipped away, they began to expect the -master, but they kept it secret from Charley, whom they scornfully said -was keeping up his dignity down yonder in his fool’s paradise. - -In fact, Charley did not go near them again. - -He had a sense of bitter outrage in the cavalier treatment they had -accorded him, and kept away from Bonair trying to forget them in the -new and delightful role of benedict. - -In the meantime, the news had got into the daily papers and created its -due sensation. - -Reporters flocked to the keeper’s cottage, and Charley submitted to -interviews for the sake of setting his bride right with the public. -Meager details of the romance were given out and created considerable -sensation; but the still delicate bride saw no one as yet, although the -members of her company called in a body, headed by Mr. Weston, to offer -congratulations. - -Charley entertained them cordially, excusing Berenice on the score of -her weakness, and, saying he hoped she would soon get strong enough -to go away with him on their honeymoon trip. He added genially, that -she could never tread the boards again. She must content herself with -entertaining her husband. - -He took pains to show great friendliness for Mr. Weston at whose secret -pain he very easily guessed, and his cordiality won him a true friend -whose worth was latterly to be well proved. - -So the days slipped away, and Berry would never forget that morning -when she first sat up for the day in a pretty house gown of rosy pink -cashmere, cascaded in lace, that Charley himself had gone shopping to -buy for his darling. She glanced up as Charley entered, and at sight of -his eager face, exclaimed: - -“What has happened, dearest, that you look so excited?” - -He clasped her to his heart, covering the sweet face with ardent kisses -till she laughingly cried for mercy. - -Then he gave her the great bunch of pink roses he had brought, and -explained: - -“I have great news, my darling girl. I have just heard that father -arrived home unexpectedly last evening, and although it seems strange -and rather discouraging that he has not sent word down to me, still I -shall do my duty by going up to call on him, and if he has forgiven -me I shall bring him down to call on his new daughter. If he should -be angry I will soon return alone!” And with a stifled sigh of keen -anxiety, he embraced his trembling bride and hurried away. - -Left alone, she threw herself down nervously to rest on her couch, -quite frightened at the idea of meeting the great, rich senator, her -husband’s father. - -She need not have been so nervous and uneasy had she but known. - -Hours slipped away, and Charley did not return, and her suspense grew -almost unbearable. - -Mrs. Cline came in at last with such a pale, indignant face that the -nervous young bride nearly fainted with dread. - -“Something dreadful must have happened to make you look so strange,” -she cried uneasily, adding: “I fear you have had bad news for me.” - -Her heart nearly stopped its beating when Mrs. Cline answered angrily: - -“Bad! I should say so, but try to hear it the best you can, dear young -lady, for that high and mighty man, your husband’s father, has had Mr. -Charley arrested and clapped in jail on a charge of insanity!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. BRIBING A BRIDE. - - -Mrs. Cline’s startling announcement was like a bolt of lightning -falling from a clear sky. - -The young bride uttered one horrified cry, then fell back in her chair, -half fainting, her big, frightened brown eyes staring wildly at Mrs. -Cline, who, in a very tempest of excitement, continued to rage. - -“Never heard of such high-handed villainy in my life, never! No wonder -you look so white and scared, my dear young lady! Here, drink this wine -to nerve you while I tell you the rest.” - -She pressed the glass to Berry’s lips and forced her to swallow a few -mouthfuls, then began again: - -“Try to bear it the best you can, for it can’t be kept from you, all -this bad news, and you must keep your wits about you to plan something -to do for your husband. Yes, cry all you want to, it’ll relieve your -heart; and this outrage is enough to make the very angels weep! The -servants at Bonair tell a terrible tale about the fuss between the -father and son! They say there was an awful scene between them when Mr. -Charley went in this morning. The senator was in a tearing-down rage, -and would not listen to a word of excuse for his marriage, but cursed -and abused him, and finally turned him out of doors, disinherited. And -the worst of it was that he had already caused a warrant to be got, -arresting him for insanity, and the officers took him just as he was -leaving his father’s house, all broke up with sorrow and despair.” - -“Ah, Heaven! my poor husband!” moaned Berenice, heartbroken and -bewildered. - -“Wasn’t it an outrage!” cried the woman indignantly. “And to climax the -meanness, Mrs. Bonair, what else do you think that heartless old hunks -of a senator did? He got mad at my husband for letting the wedding be -at our home, and has discharged him from his position at Bonair, and -ordered him to vacate this cottage as soon as he can pack up his goods.” - -“Oh, Heaven! that you should suffer for our fault. This is terrible. It -were better I had perished in Zilla’s clutches than to live and involve -poor Charley and his friends in such misery!” sobbed Berry. - -“Don’t look at it that way, dear young lady,” condoled Mrs. Cline, who, -having now blurted out the whole story, became less excited and eager -to soothe the distressed young bride, so she continued: - -“Bless your heart, we can soon get another place--sooner, I expect, -than the senator can suit himself to another man. And we aren’t -penniless, either. We have a tidy bit of savings put by, besides the -nice gift of money, so don’t worry over that! The thing is to get Mr. -Charley out of jail as soon as possible.” - -“But, oh, how shall we do it? It is cruel, cruel to have placed him -there! We know well he is not insane!” wept Berry. - -“Of course he is not,” agreed the woman; “and my husband says a lawyer -must be got at once and set to work to get him out of that as soon as -possible.” - -“Hark! the doorbell!” cried Berry, and Mrs. Cline went to obey the -summons. - -She returned quickly with an official-looking letter. - -“It is for you--brought down by one of Senator Bonair’s servants, who -will wait for the answer,” she said, in high excitement. - -The startled bride took the aggressive-looking envelope, with fingers -that shook as she tore it open. - -Her eyes were so blurred by tears she could scarcely read, but -presently it all came to her that Senator Bonair was making her a cold -business proposition to consent to a prompt divorce from his son upon -the payment of a handsome sum of money. - -The tears rushed to her eyes--tears of burning indignation--and her -heart beat suffocatingly. - -“What does the old villain want of you, if I may ask?” queried the -curious Mrs. Cline. - -Berry handed her the letter to read, saying bitterly: - -“He wishes to bribe me--Charley’s bride of a week--to consent to a -divorce.” - -“The mean old tyrant! He ought to be hung!” ejaculated the woman, as -her eyes devoured the curt note. She handed it back, and asked: - -“What shall you say to this insult, dearie?” - -“Only give me a pen and I will show you!” cried Berenice, her eyes -flashing through their bitter tears. She seized it and wrote, in a -nervous, trembling hand, across the back of the senator’s sheet: - - “Those whom God has joined together, let not man put asunder!” - -To these words the bride wrote her full name, in a large, aggressive -hand: - -“Berenice Vining Bonair.” - -“I guess that will settle him for good!” laughed Mrs. Cline, as she -handed Berry a fresh envelope to address to Senator Bonair. - -This done, she carried the letter quickly to the waiting messenger, -saying, with a proud toss of the head: - -“There’s a letter for your master, and much good may it do him! -There’s some folks whose principles he can’t buy with his yellow gold!” - -She was turning to retrace her steps when she saw Mr. Weston coming up -to the door with a pale, excited face. - -“Ah, good morning!” he exclaimed courteously. “I hope the invalid--Mrs. -Bonair--can see me this evening for a few minutes. I have just heard -the shocking news about her husband, and came to see her to offer my -services to do anything she wishes, providing, of course, she has no -nearer friends she would prefer to act for her in the case.” - -“Bless you, sir, I don’t think she knows anybody in San Francisco but -us two, and poor Sam is so upset with his discharge off the place, and -moving orders at the same time, that I don’t believe he hardly knows -where he’s at, sir; and it seems like Heaven must have sent you to -my poor lady’s relief!” cried Mrs. Cline, ushering him straight into -Berry’s presence without thinking it necessary to ask permission. - -Berry was sobbing, bitterly, with her face in her hands, and she looked -up with a start that made him say deprecatingly: - -“Forgive this intrusion, but I came to see if I couldn’t help you. I -know the outrage your husband has suffered, and he will need a friend -to look after his interests. Do you wish me to act as your friend in -this matter?” - -“Ah, this is very noble in you, Mr. Weston. A friend in need is a -friend indeed. I accept your offer in the same spirit it is offered, -and am most grateful,” faltered Berry, giving him her hand which he -pressed, cordially, then released, saying: - -“Now I am very glad, indeed, that I came. Of course, this absurd charge -cannot be proved against your husband, and the whole affair is spite -work, still he may be imprisoned for days and kept in suspense when -prompt action might procure speedy trial of his case and consequent -freedom. Having your leave to represent you in this case, I shall -engage a lawyer, who, with a writ of habeas corpus, can secure Mr. -Bonair’s immediate release and trial on the groundless charge.” - -“Oh, thank Heaven--and you!” cried the bride fervently. “Oh, then -perhaps he need not, poor boy, spend the terrible night in prison!” - -“That I cannot promise you certainly, but I will make all possible -haste to restore him to you quickly. In order to do this I must be -going. Farewell, and keep up a brave heart. This is only a temporary -affliction; it will soon be over,” he added cheerfully, bowing himself -out, leaving Berry with a lighter heart, though her tears flowed fast. - -“You are clean wore out with your troubles, poor soul!” cried Mrs. -Cline. “Now you must lie down and rest a while, so as not to get sick -again, won’t you? For we shall have our hands full now, me a-packing -up, and Sam a-looking out for a place to move to, see? But we shan’t -desert you, you poor lamb, nor Mr. Charley, either; for no matter where -we go, you can come with us, and he can, too, until he gets fixed for -that honeymoon trip he’s been planning this week! Though dear knows if -he can afford it now, because he has only an allowance from his father, -and I don’t know if he has saved any of it or not! But there’s money -coming to him from his mother’s estate before long, and that’ll fix him -up nicely, you see.” - -While she chattered on, Mrs. Cline got Berry to lie down on her little -white couch for her much-needed rest, and then she went out to see to -the packing up of her household goods, preparatory to giving up the -cottage to another tenant. - -Many tears fell as she moved about her work with the assistance of her -yellow-faced Chinese boy of all work, for she had come here a bride, -eighteen years ago, and fondly hoped to spend her life in the cottage -with Sam. But fate had willed otherwise, and with a sad heart she -prepared to go. - -But not for all that did Mrs. Cline repent for one moment her kindness -to Mr. Charley and his bonnie bride, although that had got her into -trouble with the master and banishment from Bonair. - -“I’d do the same thing over again, if I knew beforehand what was going -to happen!” she vowed stoutly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. FORGETTING THE WORLD. - - -The time is late summer on the bleak coast of Cornwall, a year and -three months since the day when Charley Bonair walked out of the -courtroom in San Francisco, cleared of the charge of insanity brought -by his nearest and dearest relatives, and freed by the efforts of the -man who had loved Berry so loyally that his friendship became her stay -in the time of her sore need. - -Grateful to those who had befriended him, embittered by persecution, -Charley Bonair and his lovely bride had exiled themselves within a week -after his acquittal on the charge of insanity. The young man still -had some means left, and gathering everything together, he sailed for -foreign shores with Berry, having first instructed a lawyer to attend -to the rights of his inheritance from his mother when the property was -divided, on his sister’s coming of age. - -That was long ago, and many things had transpired in that time. - -To begin with, the disinherited son, never used to economy before, -had recklessly spent the funds he had in hand, traveling expensively, -showing Berry the wonders of the Old World, and answering to her -timid remonstrances on his extravagance that he had plenty to last -six months, and by then Marie would come of age and he would get his -portion of five hundred thousand dollars from his mother. - -And, oh, the days, the weeks, the months, how happily they had gone to -the young pair of married lovers! - -They had done the Continent leisurely at their own sweet will, they had -wandered hither and thither with not a care save the silent grief of -the young husband over the estrangement from his own people, and as to -Berry, she had found out long ago, by a cablegram, that her mother was -still living, not dead, as the vile fortune teller had falsely declared. - -On getting this news the young husband had promptly sent his -mother-in-law a sum of money sufficient to keep her in ease and comfort -a year, so that Berry’s heart was at ease, and she gave herself up -wholly to her happiness. They adored each other with a true devotion -that never grew less. They were all in all to each other: - - A book of verses underneath the bough, - A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou - Beside me singing in the wilderness, - And wilderness were paradise enow! - -Whatever the carping world might say of the millionaire senator’s only -son’s mésalliance, to him it had been a salvation, turning him from -evil courses to a purer, better life, making out of him the noble man -nature had intended him to be. - -His lovely bride grew more charming every day, to his enraptured eyes, -and he bitterly regretted the pride that had prevented his family from -seeing and knowing the girl whose flawless beauty and simple goodness -must, if permitted the opportunity, have won its way to every heart. - -He grew hot and angry when he remembered how bitterly they had railed -against his darling, saying to himself that it was not like them to be -so harsh and unforgiving, and it was surely Rosalind who had set them -onto such cruelty, for she had threatened him with dire vengeance, and -this was how she had kept her word. Once he had pitied Rosalind, but -now he hated her for her malice that had cost him so dear. - -He got another taste of it when the time rolled around for the division -of his mother’s fortune, for his lawyer wrote him that Senator Bonair, -as sole trustee, refused to surrender his son’s portion, still claiming -he was insane and unfit to have the use of the money. - -Then it was Bonair’s wrath waved high. - -“Berry, darling, will you excuse me if I go out and swear a little -outdoors? Oh, yes, I know I promised you never to swear again, but a -reformed man must relapse at times, you know, and really this seems to -me an occasion for profuse profanity!” he said grimly, to the beautiful -creature who smiled tenderly at him and answered: - -“But do not stay out long, dearest, or I will not forgive you breaking -your promise to me.” - -He was not absent very long, and when he returned, he said: - -“On second thought I didn’t swear at all; I wrote my lawyer to bring -suit against my father at once for the payment of my money.” - -“Do not worry over it, dear. We have each other, and are happy as we -are,” Berry answered, with a coaxing smile. - -“Oh, yes, we are happy as we are, but our money will not last much -longer, little one, and you have not been well lately, and we will need -a lot of money for that sweet secret you whispered to me yesterday,” -the young man answered, with a new, dignified gravity very becoming. - -Berry’s lovely color deepened, and the glance of her brown eyes was -simply adorable. - -“But you know we must not travel about, now,” she murmured. “We must -settle down and live quietly until June, you know, as the doctor said, -so it will not take so much money to live as when we are always on the -wing. We can take a tiny little house or a little suite of rooms, and -keep house with one maid, don’t you see; or if we cannot afford the -maid, why, I can do the cooking myself, you see. Do you know I can make -tea and toast, and broil steak, and serve eggs in most any fashion, -sir?” she added smilingly. - -“I am very glad to hear it, but we need not come to that. I think we -can have the little suite of rooms and the maid of all work. My lawyer -will be glad enough to furnish me the means of subsistence while he is -prosecuting my suit,” the young husband answered confidently. - -The plan was carried out, and by Berry’s wish they made their little -home in London, for she was tired, she said, of the foreign lingo she -couldn’t understand, and wanted to stay among people who spoke her -mother tongue. - -So they came from France and Italy, where they had passed the winter -months, to London, where, in a comfortable but not luxurious suite of -rooms, with a buxom maid of all work, they lived quietly and happily -until May. Berenice devoted her time of seclusion in studying the -languages under the tutorship of Charley, who was quite proficient in -that line. - -Thus quietly and happily they waited an event that was to crown their -wedded lives with happiness. - -Alas! fortune frowned on their springing hopes. Their little baby died, -soon after birth, and was laid tenderly away in a wee green grave. But -for over six weeks, a battle of physicians went on, with grim death in -the foreground, trying to snatch Berry from their fostering care. - -Never till now did Charley Bonair realize the depth and strength of -his love for his precious wife. Sharing the vigils of the doctors -and nurses with ceaseless care, he grew to feel to his heart’s core -all that she was to him, and knew that if she died, life would be -unendurable to him forever after. - -Oh, what joy when the wavering balance of life and death dropped her -into her husband’s arms again, with the chances in her favor for -recovery! - -While she lay so ill, he had learned to pray, this man who had almost -forgotten his God, and now he sent up a prayer of thanksgiving for her -restoration. - -While she was slowly convalescing, the head physician ordered that Mrs. -Bonair should be taken, as soon as she was able to be moved, down to -the sea, naming an obscure and rude little fishing village on the coast -of Cornwall as the preferred situation. - -“She will have absolute calm and quiet there, and it is very essential -to her shattered nerves and frail condition of health,” he said. - -“We shall be buried alive,” Charley said grimly to his wife when he -took her there, but she answered, with her usual sunny good nature: - -“At least we shall be buried in the same grave, so I am content.” - -“And I,” he answered as happily. - -Thus we find them, in late August, by the sea, where Berry recovered -her health and spirits again, and so in love with the free, wild life -of the unconventional village of hardy fisher folk that both were -loath to leave. So they lingered on, from day to day, saying “it is so -pleasant staying, and so cheap living, we will not go away until we -get news from California of the success of the suit for his mother’s -fortune.” - -Since she grew well and strong again, Berry had taken up her studies -with zest, by Charley’s wish, trying to make herself equal in education -to any position she might be called on to fill in the future. - -For she knew now that, dearly as he loved her, there was a silent ache -in his warm heart for those who cast him off in anger, and that he -hoped against hope for a reconciliation at some future day when his -bride’s true worth and beauty shall be known and acknowledged. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. TURN OF THE TIDE. - - -The lawsuit had dragged on interminably for six months, and it seemed -as if a decision would never be reached, so that Charley was getting -very poor, indeed, and very impatient, although, to tell the truth, he -was finding that love in a cottage was very charming, after all, as -there were funds enough coming from his lawyer still to keep the young -pair in bread and cheese and a little more. - -In the meantime Charley’s two beautiful sisters had both married -in June, and the newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic had duly -chronicled the grand double wedding at Bonair, when Marie and Lucile -had wedded the rich New Yorkers to whom they had been betrothed before -Charley’s mad marriage. They had crossed the Atlantic on their wedding -tour and were now in Switzerland. Along with reports of the wedding was -an item that made Charley throw down the paper he was reading, with a -sigh from the bottom of his heart. - -“Hello, Berry, we are in hard luck now, to be sure! Dad will never be -reconciled to us now, never! He is going to give me Rosalind for a -stepmother!” - -Berry was lounging on the sands in an old blue boating suit, her hat -lying at her feet and her curly hair blowing about her tanned face and -rosy cheeks that suddenly grew pale, as she turned a solemn pair of -eyes on his face. - -“Oh, no, no, no, he must not!” she exclaimed vehemently. - -Charley Bonair gave a curt, angry laugh, replying: - -“Easy enough to say, but how are we going to prevent it, pray?” - -“Yes, how, indeed?” Berry answered, turning a troubled gaze back to the -sea, with the white caps rolling in, the seagulls flitting about with -their strange cries. She had no more to say, and Charley picked up the -paper again and said: - -“The engagement has been authoritatively announced, and my silly old -dad has commenced the erection of a palace in Washington where she -will reign a queen at the next session of Congress. Isn’t it a burning -shame?” - -“Yes--she is not worthy of your father, if he is as good and kind as -you say he is in spite of his injustice to you,” Berry replied, with -palpable chagrin, her brooding brown eyes still upon the sea as it -gleamed in the morning sunshine, fairly dazzling her sight. - -The young man frowned and sighed, then burst out frankly: - -“It’s true all I said of him, Berry, darling. He used to be just the -dearest dad in the world, kind, loving, and indulgent to a fault, and -so were my pretty sisters, too; and I never dreamed they could turn -against me in the way they did, and hold out spiteful all this time. -But I see how it is now! It’s that scheming Rosalind setting them on, -determined to get the Bonair millions for herself, either through the -father or the son. Her mercenary spirit and her thirst for revenge -have led her on to this, and poor dad has been like wax in her clever -hands, so she has molded him to her will. Berry, I always heard that -a handsome woman could make a fool of the smartest old man, and now -I see it’s true. It’s flattered vanity, that’s what it is, or an old -man might always see that no pretty young woman loves him for himself -alone. It’s always for some cash he has in hand! Oh, Berry, why did you -make me swear off on profanity? Surely this is an occasion for it!” he -groaned. - -“Oh, don’t Charley, dear! It would not help things any,” she answered -gently. - -“At least it would relieve my feelings,” he answered ruefully, adding -whimsically: - -“Say, Berry, see that old fisherman tacking in to shore, below there? -Black Dobbins they call him, and he is the most picturesque swearer -you ever heard of on the Cornwall coast. Say, I’ll go down there and -give him a crown to swear a blue streak of lightning for me. Don’t you -listen, darling, unless you want to have that creepy feeling running -down your spine.” - -He strolled away, but before he got to Black Dobbins, Berry called -after him hastily: - -“Oh, Charley, come back! You didn’t notice the letters with your mail; -you were so angry over the news. Here’s a letter from your lawyer in -California, and another from those dear, good Clines.” - -“Read them while I attend to business,” he returned, keeping on, and -saying to the fisherman: - -“What luck, Dobbins?” - -The net was nearly empty, and Dobbins replied with a string of -appalling oaths to which Charley listened with perfect complaisance, -after which he threw the angry fisherman a silver crown, exclaiming: - -“Those are precisely my sentiments, Dobbins. Accept this token of my -appreciation!” - -While the man gaped in amazement, he laughed again and turned on his -heel, going back to his wife. - -“I feel better! That fellow comforted me. He swore at his ill luck and -I applied all the ‘swear words’ to Rosalind, and paid him a crown,” he -said drolly. “Ah, my dear, you look brighter! Any luck?” - -“Oh, Charley, Charley!” - -“Oh, Berry, Berry!” - -“Don’t laugh at me, you dear old silly! I can hardly find words to tell -you, but--but”--radiantly--“our luck has turned at last, Charley. You -have won!” - -She flung herself, tumultuously, into his arms, regardless of Black -Dobbins, gazing curiously from a distance, and joyfully fingering the -generous crown, and Charley hugged her tight, crying: - -“Hurrah! hurrah! Five hundred thousand dollars for you and me, little -lovey-dovey, and now you shall be a little queen! I shall deck you out -in silks and laces and diamonds, and buy you an automobile, sure; and -we shall be as happy as the day is long!” - -“We are happy as that now, and we could not be any happier if we had -all your father’s millions. All we wish is his good will,” Berry -answered seriously; then drawing back from his embrace, she added: - -“That old man is staring at us; perhaps thinking we have gone suddenly -mad! Sit down and read your letter like a dignified, married man, now.” - -He obeyed, and found that all she had said was true. - -The suit was won. His father’s lawyers had given up and the case was -definitely closed. Senator Bonair indeed had sailed for Europe some -time previous, and perhaps his son had seen him somewhere before this. -He hoped, fervently, that they might meet and make up their quarrel -before the consummation of the senator’s reported engagement to the -beautiful belle, Miss Montague. Otherwise it was certain, in the event -of the marriage, that Charley would never get a dollar of his father’s -money. - -“Dear old dad, it is not his money as much as his good will that I -covet!” cried the young man, adding: - -“Ah, Berry, how glorious it would be to have you in Washington next -winter, queening it over my father’s new house instead of hateful -Rosalind. You are so lovely, so winning, I predict you would carry -society by storm.” - -“There’s no danger of my ever having an opportunity to do so, but so -long as I can queen it over your heart I do not care,” she answered -lightly, though her heart beat high at his words of praise. - -She was only a woman, after all, and she longed to show Charley’s proud -relations that she was worthy of his love, and that she had made a -better man of him by her tenderness; but it could never be. They would -never forget she was born in a lowly cot, wreathed in morning glories, -instead of a lordly castle. She would not have cared so much only she -would like to win their favor for Charley’s sake, because it would -make him so happy. - -She turned to the letter from the Clines, who were doing well in -another place in California, and who related the news of the double -marriage and reported engagement, as they had just read in the -newspaper, and closed with their dear love and respect to Mr. Charley -and his bonnie wife. - -And now the young husband began eagerly, with shining eyes: - -“It is more than likely father will be in London, now. Oh, Berry, what -if we go up there and try for a reconciliation? Perhaps his heart may -have melted by now.” - -“Dearest, do you remember what the doctor said? I must not go away from -the sea till the last of September. But although I cannot go with you, -there is nothing to hinder your going alone. I can stay here with the -maid till you come back to me. See, I will not be selfish. Although I -came between you and your father’s heart, my dearest wish is to see you -friends again, even though he should never speak to me. Oh, go, go, my -dearest love, and try to make your peace with him!” - -“Darling little angel, I will take you at your word, for my heart -yearns to my silly old dad, that’s a fact,” he cried eagerly, and -before night he was en route for London, leaving Berry at the cottage -alone with the buxom maid, who, to dry her mistress’ tears, immediately -proceeded to retail all the news of the village. - -Had she heard about the grand, rich gentleman up at the inn, in the -hollow, who had sickened with smallpox the very day he arrived, and -was lying at death’s door up there without a nurse or a doctor, for -everybody had fled the pestilence in alarm, and there was no one to -care for him but the valet, who cursed the cowards, and was waiting -on his master all by himself, doing the best he could, promising -loads of money for help, but no one would believe his tale of riches, -or that his master was an American lord, standing up close to the -very president himself. His name? It was Bonny Hair or Bonny Air, or -something very like it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. A FRIEND INDEED. - - -The loquacious maid who had been pouring out her story without a single -period, now paused for breath, and Berry stared at her with wide, -wondering brown eyes. - -The name of the sick American, as rendered by the maid, caught her -instant attention. - -“Bonny Hair, or Bonny Air--something like that,” said the maid, and how -like it sounded the name of Bonair. - -A quick suspicion stirred Berry’s mind into agitation. - -“Why, it might be Charley’s own dear father lying there ill, and -deserted by the stupid, fearsome fisher folk, helpless, for all of his -millions, to secure a nurse!” - -Her brown eyes flashed, and she rose up hastily. - -“Hannah, I’m an American, too, and I’m going up there to nurse the old -man. I cannot let my fellow countryman die for lack of a friend.” - -“But, oh, my dear mistress, it’s that terrible smallpox. You wouldn’t -dare! You would catch it and die.” - -“No, Hannah, I’m immune. I had the disease years ago, way back in my -old New Jersey home, and am not even pitted, you see, save two deep -scars where it does not show. So I shall go, and at once, leaving you -to care for the home till I return.” - -With Berry to make up her mind was to act. She dressed herself simply -and comfortably, and packed a suit case with necessary clothing, after -which she went to a drug store and made some purchases. After leaving a -letter for Charley, she hired the nearest conveyance to take her to the -inn where she meant to take up the part of a good Samaritan. - -The driver was so frightened when he saw the yellow flag waving from -the gate of the inn that he refused to go within a square of the house, -and she paid him and walked the rest of the way, with her luggage and -her bundles. - -How lonely and deserted looked the weather-beaten old inn with the -doors tight shut and the curtains down, as if death already brooded -over the house. - -Berry pulled the knocker several times, loudly, before she had any -response, and then the valet, unkempt and unshorn, himself answered the -door and gazed in surprise at the beautiful girl standing expectant -with her luggage at her feet. - -He bowed, then stammered: - -“Oh, miss, you had better go right away. Didn’t you see that yellow -flag at the gate? There’s a case of smallpox in the house, and no -travelers are taken in now.” - -“Where is the landlord?” she asked, and the man answered furiously: - -“The cowardly rascal ran away, with his servants, and left me alone -here with my sick master; and although the fellow promised to send me -a nurse or doctor, or both, not a hair have I seen of either yet, and -here I am with Senator Bonair on my hands, ill as he can be, and I -daren’t leave him to hunt for any one to help me; and even if I went -they would shun me like a wild beast, fearing the contagion. It’s a -burning shame, so it is; but I’ll not run away like a coward, though, -belike, I’ll be taking the disease myself and dying of it, too.” - -His mouth flew wide open as Berry said calmly: - -“I am the nurse for Senator Bonair, and I shall vaccinate you at -once--what is your name?” - -“John Tousey, please, miss.” - -“Very well, John; take my luggage to a comfortable room, please. And -the next thing will be to vaccinate you so that if you should contract -the disease you will only have it in a light form. I came prepared -for this,” and making him bare his arm she took a lancet, scratching -a small spot on it, with outward nerve and inward quaking, feeling, -when the blood was drawn, that queer sickness that presages fainting. -Overcoming the weakness with a strong effort of will, she duly used -her vaccine point, much to the man’s relief, for his countenance -brightened, and he exclaimed: - -“Bless you, miss! I’m so glad you came, and I hope this will save me -from that awful scourge. I began to think the old landlord lied, when -he said that he’d send us the nurse and doctor.” - -“I was told at the drug store that the doctor was ill himself, so there -was none to come but me,” the nurse replied, adding: - -“But I know how to treat the case very well myself, as the disease ran -through my own family once, and there’s more in the nursing than the -medicine, so lead me to your master and we’ll see what is to be done.” - -With joyful alacrity, the man preceded her to the darkened room where -lay her millionaire father-in-law in the terrible plight of a smallpox -patient at the worst stage, without benefit of doctor or skillful nurse. - -Berenice took hold of everything with an ease that fairly charmed John -Tousey, evolving comfort out of chaos, and soon making the sick man -more comfortable in every way. - -The larder was well filled, so that, although isolated from their kind, -they were in no danger of starving. Berry took up her burden with a -cheerful heart, thinking: - -“Although Senator Bonair may despise me for being a poor cottage girl, -it is well for him now that I am skilled in homely accomplishments, -that I may minister the better to his needs.” - -She wondered, as she went busily about her work, when Charley would -return and what he would think of the task she had undertaken. He would -be disappointed at finding her gone, but he could not blame her, could -not think she was in the wrong. - -She had written to him sweetly: - - “I have isolated myself from you for a time, my dearest love, but - when I tell you why I am sure you will be glad for me to do this act - of kindness. - - “I heard that a man who must surely, from his name, be your own - father, was up at the inn, very low with smallpox, and that every one - but his valet had deserted the poor man, and he was likely to die - without doctor or nurse, so I thought it was my plain duty to come - and nurse him. - - “There is no danger for me, you know, because I have had the disease, - and I also know how to treat it, so do not worry over me, but go and - get vaccinated as soon as you can and try and get some good doctor to - come and see the patient. - - “Dearest, try to rest easy. You can hear from me every day this way. - I will wave a white flag from the window every day at noon. That will - mean all is going on right. Be patient, I will do all I can for the - dad you love so well. - - “BERENICE.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. A GENEROUS OFFER. - - -Poor Charley, returning next day from London, depressed and discouraged -at not seeing his father, was dazed to find his sweet wife gone, and to -get her letter of explanation. - -But after the first shock of surprise, and trouble, his warm heart -thrilled with joy and pride at her noble deed. - -“Father cannot help but forgive us now if she should save his life, -dear girl, for when once he knows her how could he resist her grace and -beauty?” he said, over and over, to himself hopefully, for the yearning -for reunion with his kindred was strong within him. - -“Rosalind is at the bottom of it all. If I could but break her -influence, all might be well again; but she is posing as injured -innocence and beauty, and hardening their hearts against me for her -sake,” he thought, with impatient resentment. Then he put it from him -to write a long letter to Berry--a real love letter, full of praise and -tenderness, which he went and slipped under the front door of the inn -that night. - -She very soon found it, and smiled to herself as she appropriated the -sealed envelope addressed simply to “The Lady Nurse.” - -Hurrying to her tidy little room, she read the loving contents and -kissed the letter over and over, hiding it next her heart, while she -returned to her duties by the sick man, who was very ill indeed, with -his eyes quite shut so that he could not see the vision of beauty and -tenderness that bent over him. But not so wholly unconscious that he -could not feel the balm of healing carried by the soft white hands that -touched him so gently. He knew, dimly, by her gentle ministrations and -the improved food, that the valet now had efficient aid. And that was -enough, in his feverish state, to soothe his mind. - -Within twenty-four hours came the physician engaged by Charley. Though -he shook his head over the gravity of the case, he approved all that -Berenice had done, and desired her to continue at her post. - -So the days came and went and the disease ran its course quickly, while -John Tousey also came down with a light case, so that the physician -recommended another nurse, an elderly woman, who took second place to -Berry in the conduct of the invalids. - -Charley had taken the young physician frankly into his confidence, -telling him to safeguard his young wife’s health very carefully, and by -him he sent her daily letters of love and cheer, telling her how he -missed her, and of the pride he felt in her noble mission. - -But, ah, how they missed each other, the loving pair; how slowly the -weeks of absence went, and how happy the day when Doctor Perry said to -the lonely husband: - -“My patients are convalescing fast. The valet is going to sit up -to-day, and to-morrow the senator will be allowed to sit up for an hour -or two. He is quite out of danger, and I am going to tell your wife she -may leave him to-morrow and come home. I am not sure the patient will -like it, for he is devoted to her and impatient of the elderly woman, -but he will have to bear it.” - -He was right, for when the senator was told next day that Miss Brown, -as they called her, was going to leave him, he protested vigorously; -said he could not spare her yet; he needed her to read and talk to him, -and was willing to pay any price to have her stay on even one week -longer. Why, his eyes had only got strong now to see how lovely and -charming she was, and he needed some one pleasant to look at since he -could not have his daughters, who were both on their bridal tours, and -to whom he had not allowed any message of his illness to be sent. - -“But you have a son, sir?” interrogated Doctor Perry. - -The invalid’s face gloomed over, and he answered curtly: - -“I had a son, sir, but he died to me when he disgraced his family by -jilting the sweet young girl to whom he was betrothed, and wedding a -low-born, scheming actress.” - -He did not hear a low, soft sigh outside the half-open door, for Doctor -Perry said, with apparent surprise: - -“You astonish me, sir, for we English have been led to believe that in -your favored land of America you raise no barriers against marriage -with those of inferior birth or fortunes.” - -The senator answered testily: - -“We raise no barriers against true worth, Doctor Perry. I myself am a -self-made man, risen from poverty, and not ashamed of it. But you have -heard that circumstances alter cases? Well, let me explain. My son’s -offense had not been so unpardonable had he been free to choose the -girl he wed, but when he took the marriage vow he dishonored himself -and his family because he was already pledged to another, a girl whose -heart was almost broken by his falsity.” - -“Yet rumor says that she is already consoled by a promise of your -hand, sir,” the young physician ventured. - -Senator Bonair’s face already reddened by his illness, flushed deeper -as he exclaimed: - -“You seem well posted on my affairs, sir.” - -“I beg your pardon, but no offense was meant, my dear senator. Surely -you know that the affairs of so eminent a person as yourself are -public property. All I have spoken of to you I have read in the London -newspapers, but perhaps I should not have ventured to discuss them with -you.” - -“You might choose pleasanter subjects,” the senator answered quickly. -“For instance, my pretty young nurse whom we were discussing just now, -and to whom Tousey says I really owe my life, coming to me as she did -when I was in the worst stages of my illness.” - -“Tousey tells the truth. You could hardly have lived a day longer -without her kindly ministrations at the time she came to you. But the -time has come when, for the sake of her own health, she must forsake -you and go home to rest.” - -“Ah, she is tired, broken-down--you mean that?” - -“Somewhat that way, for Miss Brown herself has had a serious illness -this summer, and that explains why she was found in this rude village -where she remains to strengthen her health. I hardly believe it safe -for her to remain another week in attendance on you. But here she -comes,” as a light step crossed the threshold, “and I will let her -speak for herself.” - -Berenice entered, graceful as a young princess in her snowy white gown -and becoming nurse’s cap, and she gave the doctor a roguish smile that -plainly said: - -“I’ve been eavesdropping, but, of course, you knew that I was there.” - -He smiled back at her and retired, leaving her alone with the patient, -who, in his dressing gown, lay back at ease in his reclining chair, -watching with admiring eyes every movement of his fair nurse. - -Berry sat down close to him and looked, shyly, into his face, trying to -appear at ease, though her poor heart thumped wildly against her side, -and the fitful color came and went, like a flag of distress, in her -cheeks. - -“Ah, you are getting on fast, sir!” she cried, with a slight tremor -in her musical voice. “Your eyes seem quite strong to-day, and that -blistering red skin is getting fairer. How fortunate, too, that you -will only be pitted very slightly, and if I could but have come to you -a little sooner you need not have carried a single scar.” - -“You came in time to save my life, dear child, that was enough,” -replied the great man, so kindly that it emboldened Berenice to exclaim: - -“Oh, how glad I was to serve you, sir! I can never make you realize -it. It is sweet to save a life so valuable to the world and to so many -friends who love you.” - -He smiled at her gratefully. - -“Among those latter friends, please let me have the pleasure of -counting you, henceforth, Miss Brown,” he answered. “In my gratitude -to you for all you have done for me in this terrible illness, I look -upon you almost as a daughter, and am eager to advance your interests -in any way most pleasing to you. Our good doctor has just told me that -you must leave me soon, to my great regret. But, as he puts it, on the -score of your health, I dare not protest against my ill fortune in -losing you, just as we begin to know each other well.” - -“Your words make me very, very happy,” she sweetly said, “but do not -think that I intend to desert you altogether, for I shall remain in the -village a while longer, and I will come and see you every day, if you -will let me.” - -“I shall be only too glad to have you come whenever you will, my dear -young lady, and I wish you to understand that I take a deep interest -in you and am anxious to reward you beyond your mere salary for all you -have done for me. Tell me frankly, Miss Brown, if there is any great -favor, financial or otherwise, I can do for you?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. ALLOY ALWAYS GLITTERS. - - -Berenice was so overwhelmed with joyous excitement that the tears -rushed in a torrent to her eyes, and she half sobbed: - -“Ah, you could do much for me if you would--but--I fear to ask.” - -“Only try me, dear girl; only name your wishes and see. If you need -money, and very likely you do in your position, I am very rich and -surely the saving of my life is worth a little fortune to me. Come, dry -your tears and let me make you happy. I shall write you a check for -five thousand dollars. That is little enough for all I owe you, too -little! Will that please you?” - -She flung out her white hands convulsively, sobbing: - -“No, no, no--not a penny! I am not rich, but a fortune is not what I -crave. There is something dearer, dearer!” - -“What else, child, speak? What other favor can I do for you?” the -senator asked, in growing wonder. - -He was more amazed than ever when the white-gowned figure knelt, -humbly, at his feet, with little, upraised, beseeching hands. - -Berenice pleaded, wildly, through raining tears: - -“Oh, sir, there is one who loves you dearly, one whom you used to love, -but your heart is turned against him and he is in bitter sorrow for -your anger. It was I who unwittingly came between you, and if I have -done aught to merit your favor, the reward I ask is not for myself but -him--only this, forgive him, take him back to your heart!” - -There was an awful silence. - -Senator Bonair sat still, growing deadly pale through his florid color, -like a statue stiffening into stone, his eyes fixed, sternly, on the -beautiful, kneeling suppliant. - -“Who are you, then, if not Miss Brown?” he asked, in a hard, cold voice. - -“Oh, don’t you know already, sir? Have you not guessed?” she faltered. - -“Are you my--I mean Charley Bonair’s wife?” - -“Ah, yes, yes--I am his wife, the little actress you hate because she -rivaled proud, rich Rosalind,” she confessed. “Must I go now, must I -go?” - -“Not yet. Wait and tell me if this was a plot to creep back into favor -for the sake of my fortune? Did Charley send you here to nurse me -so devotedly that I could deny you nothing?” The tone was harsh and -grating. - -Berenice, still kneeling, put up her small hands as if to ward off a -blow. - -“Ah, cruel, cruel!” she moaned. Then bitterly: “How could you think -your son so low? Did he show a mercenary spirit when he married poor -little Berry Vining? Oh, may I tell you all about it? Will you listen -fairly?” - -“Yes, I will listen, but stop crying first and get up and sit in this -chair close by, while you tell me how it happened.” - -Berenice, looking adorably pretty and pitiful, obeyed him, and after -drying her wet eyes again, said patiently: - -“It was this way, sir: Just as I tell you, Charley loved all of you -dearly and grieved over the separation, not for your money’s worth, but -for true love’s sake. So that day when he read you were in England, he -said he would go and find you and beg your forgiveness. But I--I--was -timid and afraid of you, so I stayed here. I refused to go. When he -was gone I was lonely, and the maid told me of the desperate case of -the sick man up here, with no doctor or nurse, so I thought it must -be you and I came to you, asking no one’s leave because I knew when -Charley should come back he would feel I had only done my duty coming -here to succor his dear father. And I was right, for so he said in his -letters afterward. Oh, sir, we are not after your money, we only want -your pardon--for him, if not for me, poor Charley! Because he loves you -so! As for me, I have done very little, really, for there was no risk -nursing you since I had already had the disease years ago. I--I--might -never have told you who I was, or claimed any favor, only that you -bade me to, and then my heart leaped at the thought of my husband. Oh, -cannot you understand?” She broke down and hid her lovely face in her -dimpled hands. - -Her dazed father-in-law sat watching her, noting her wonderful grace -and charm, recalling what his son had said to him the day of their -bitter quarrel. - -In his weakness and loneliness, the old love, smothered under anger, -seemed to surge upward again and flood his whole being with tenderness -for his son. But he called pride to his aid, lest she should see too -quickly, this lovely suppliant, how the ice was melting around his -heart. - -“Tell me,” he said, and his voice sounded stern and harsh in her ears, -“tell me all about yourself and Charley--how you first met, how love -grew between you until he forgot his troth to Rosalind. Begin at the -beginning; leave nothing unsaid.” - -Berenice obeyed, nothing loath, for it pleased her to recall -everything connected with Charley, and she left nothing untold from the -hour of their first meeting until now. - -Senator Bonair, resting easily, with half-closed eyes, did not miss a -word of her story, nor an expression of her radiant face that glowed -with happy blushes as she told her tale of love. - -He sighed heavily, and turning to her as she ended her story, remarked: - -“It would make a pretty novel, this love story of yours and Charley’s, -and I should not have found much fault with it if Rosalind had been -left out of it, but her wrongs made me indignant, caused all my -bitterest anger against you both.” - -“It was sad,” replied Berenice, “that she should suffer for our -happiness--very hard. But it was better for Charley to tell her the -truth frankly, as he did, and ask for his release.” - -“Yes, I agree with you on the latter point, but Rosalind denies that -Charley ever asked for a release. She claims that she was betrothed -to him all the while, and her mortification was so extreme that to -palliate my son’s offense I----” he paused and bit his lips, but -Berenice finished the sentence for him: - -“You threw yourself into the breach, with your high sense of honor, and -offered to heal the wound by marrying her yourself, thus still making -her prospective heiress of the Bonair millions, the high stakes for -which she was playing.” - -He quickly took up the cudgel in Rosalind’s defense. - -“Hush! she is not mercenary. I am sure she loved my son dearly, and can -never give me but a tame affection. If I believed Rosalind unworthy of -my respect and love, I could sooner forgive my son’s perfidy. For I -must own you are a very charming little lady!” exclaimed the senator -frankly. - -She smiled up at him gratefully. - -“Not little lady--little daughter,” she pleaded. - -“Little daughter, then,” he amended smilingly, and felt his heart -thrill warmly at the word. - -“I thank you a hundred times!” she cried, blushing with joy, and -adding: “Now I know you will forgive Charley and call him son.” - -He answered gravely: - -“Do you think if I will forgive him and receive him again he will be -content with that? For you know I have disinherited him out of justice -to Rosalind, whom I am to marry.” - -“Oh, sir, if you marry Rosalind, Charley will not strive for the -miserable money. We have been happy without it for more than a year. -But--but--I prophesy that you will never marry Rosalind, because you -will learn, before it is too late, that she is unworthy of you!” - -He frowned, and said: - -“Nay, you have already wronged Rosalind enough; let her name rest. She -will surely be my bride.” - -Berenice sighed and held out her hand, replying: - -“If I believed that, I should be very sorry for you, sir. But I must be -going now. My poor boy is wearying for me this long time. Tell me, do -you forgive him? May he come to-morrow?” - -“He may come to-day. I am too impatient to wait,” the senator cried, -with a sudden outburst of tenderness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. AN OLD FOOL. - - -September slipped into October and Miss Montague returned home again -from Bar Harbor, where she spent the summer. - -Up at the hall it was very gay, for she was entertaining a house party -of her friends, to all of whom it was well known that her trousseau was -being made ready, and that before Christmas she was to be married to -the multimillionaire, Senator Bonair. - -But latterly Rosalind, although outwardly gay, was inwardly disturbed -and uneasy, for in nearly two months she had no letter from her elderly -betrothed, and became alarmed lest he should slip through her fingers. - -In the absence of her betrothed she had consoled herself by flirting, -in which she was an adept, and managed, on the whole, to pass away time -very pleasantly. - -There was one man who had danced attendance on her all summer, a -handsome, dark-eyed, jealous fellow, that she preferred to any other, -and she said to herself that she would keep him dangling on, till the -senator came home, then, she would have to dismiss him for good. He -was desperately in earnest, she knew, and she sometimes shuddered, -wondering what he would do when he was given his congé. She would not -be surprised in the least if he committed suicide; but if he chose to -be such a fool, how could she help it? - -Now that October was nearing its end, a vague uneasiness began to -possess her, for it was quite two months since Senator Bonair had -written, and she wondered at his strange silence, and that he did not -return home. - -Of the two daughters who had gone abroad on a bridal tour around the -world, she also heard nothing. The silence was puzzling, annoying. Not -even the ubiquitous newspapers seemed to know anything of the great -man’s whereabouts. - -“It looks bad, and I do not know what to make of it,” she said to her -mother uneasily. - -“Have you written him?” - -“Several times, and as the letters are not returned he must have -received them, so his silence is hard to understand.” - -“It is very hard, indeed, for an old lover is mostly a greater fool -than a young one,” said the worldly-wise mother. “Now, the senator -acts so indifferently that he is quite puzzling. I expected he would -write to you by every mail, and fairly load you with costly gifts, but -he seems to almost forget your existence, and as for gifts, you have -received nothing but your diamond engagement ring, and that handsome -pearl necklace. If I were you, Rosalind, I would call him to time!” - -“What could you do, mamma, since he does not answer my letters, and I -cannot follow him up, not knowing whither he has gone?” Rosalind cried -impatiently. - -“I would write him again--a real love letter, pleading and reproachful -by turns, insisting on an answer. Make him show his hand, whatever he -has got up his sleeve,” exclaimed Mrs. Montague, rather coarsely. - -“Faugh! the idea of writing a love letter to that gray-haired man, -sixty years old!” pouted Rosalind disdainfully. - -“You will have to pass a long life with him, remember, and he will -expect love-making from you, too, which is worse than writing a love -letter,” reminded Mrs. Montague. - -“A long life with that old dotard! No, no, don’t you fancy such a silly -thing as that, mamma! When I get him I shall lead him such a dance I -shall soon worry him into his grave.” Rosalind laughed heartlessly, -much to the displeasure of her mother, who, though worldly-wise and -scheming, was not so cruel by nature. She proceeded to read Rosalind a -lecture on the duty to the man she should marry, all of which was heard -with a rosy face, and interrupted before its end by the exclamation: - -“Oh, bother! don’t lecture me! I shall do as I please with my doting -old spouse!” - -“There’s another thing, my dear, and that is, I think you go too far -flirting with this Adrian Vance. We really do not know much about him, -who he is, or why he seems so devoted to you. They say he comes of very -humble origin, and certainly he is poor enough! You are making him -desperate with love of you. You should send him away.” - -“I shall do no such thing. I intend to keep him dangling on, to flirt -with after I have married old Sir Moneybags!” Rosalind laughed, with an -insolence that brooked no further interference. - -But she was not quite a fool, this scheming beauty, so she heeded her -mother’s advice enough to write such a letter as she advised, and she -waited impatiently enough for an answer, for although she did not love -the old man, she dearly loved the moneybags she talked of so glibly, -and also her revenge on Charley Bonair. - -To her surprise and relief, the fond love letter brought a prompt -reply. - -Senator Bonair had been too ill to write to any one, and not wishing to -alarm his daughters or his betrothed, had not suffered any one else to -write to them of his illness. - -Therefore, although he had had her letters forwarded from London down -to the village, he had not troubled himself to reply; and now that he -was better he had a weakness of the eyes so that the doctor forbade him -to use the pen. - -In this dilemma, he had recourse, of all people in the world, to his -son, to act as his amanuensis. - -The father and son were on excellent terms now, and the young couple -had taken up their quarters at the inn at his urgent request, to help -while away the dull hours until he was well enough to go. - -“Here, Berry, you write the letter for father to his sweetheart!” cried -Charley coaxingly. - -But Berry, always so gentle, suddenly turned stubborn and flatly -declined: - -“I will have nothing to do now, or ever, with Miss Montague!” she said, -shaking her dark, curly head. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. THE UNWELCOME LETTER. - - -Charley took up the pen to write to his future stepmother, and looked -at his father. - -“Shall you dictate, sir, or will you tell me your desires and leave the -rest to me?” he asked. - -“I will tell you what to say, and you may put it in your own words,” -Senator Bonair replied. - -So it happened in due time that there came across the sea to anxious -Rosalind this answer to her charming love letter: - - “DEAR ROSALIND: You’ll be surprised to get this letter from me - in answer to your loving one to father, but as you have consoled - yourself for my fault, I hope you bear no ill will, and that you are - willing to let bygones be bygones. To tell you the honest truth, - Rosalind, I’m so happy with my darling little wife, I feel at peace - and amity with the whole world, and as dad wants me to write you - this letter, I embrace the chance to tell you so. I don’t mind - your marrying dad, if you love him. If not, please don’t, for his - happiness is very dear to me. - - “You wondered why dad failed to write to you, and he wants me to - explain. Well, this is why: Along late in August he came down here - to the little village by the sea, alone, with his valet, and first - thing he knew he came down with a horrid case of smallpox, and - everybody deserted him but Tousey, who didn’t know a single thing - about nursing or cooking, either, so dad was likely to die. By the - best luck in the world my wife happened to be in the neighborhood - (I was in London myself), and she went to his aid, like a brick - (excuse slang). You see, she had had smallpox and knew how to nurse - it. She also knew how to get a decent meal, so between her two - accomplishments she dragged dad out of the jaws of death. Then she - wrote me to send a London doctor, which I did, and although the sick - man went down to the gates of death they dragged him back, and now he - is convalescent, but not allowed to read or write yet, so he is using - my pen and eyes to allay your anxiety. - - “Of course, it follows, dad has forgiven Berry and me, and just dotes - now on my charming wife. - - “But dad wishes me to say that our reconciliation makes no difference - in his duty and his feelings to you, and that he has not reconsidered - his disinheritance of his disobedient son. Your marriage dower will - be quite as large as he had promised before, and the future must take - care of itself. I have won my suit for my mother’s money, and if I - never get a penny of dad’s my little love and I can be perfectly - happy without it. - - “Dad will be home weeks before the wedding, so don’t worry, he says, - as he loves you as well as ever. My sisters will be home before the - wedding, too, he says, but I don’t expect an invitation, and would - not come if you sent one! I suppose you and Berry won’t care to meet - for a good while yet, and I won’t force a crisis. We will likely make - our home over here, anyway, as Berry isn’t used to society, and I’m - not rich enough to keep in the swim, either. So when dad goes, I’m - going to buy a fine automobile, and we two, my love and I, are going - touring in it. We shall be as happy as two birds in a nest. - - “The next letter will be from dad himself, telling you when to expect - him home. Good luck to you, Rosalind, and good-by. - - “CHARLEY BONAIR.” - -This was the startling letter that threw Rosalind into a fit of angry -hysterics. - -“The game is lost to me, I feel it, I know it! Oh, why did I let him go -away from me over there, where those two scheming wretches were sure to -nab him? Why didn’t I insist on an immediate marriage, so as to go with -him? I was a fool letting him out of my sight as I did!” - -“Rosalind, your fears are groundless. Nothing but some glaring fault in -yourself would prevent the marriage, and I tremble over this flirtation -with Adrian Vance if it even gets to his knowledge. You go too far, -indeed, my dear.” - -“Quit preaching, for Heaven’s sake; you drive me mad!” Rosalind cried -angrily. “I shall flirt all I like, and with whom I like, for when I am -tied down in wedlock with old Moneybags I shall have to be so proper I -shall die of dreariness!” - -When she had got over her hysterical fit, she dressed herself with care -and went down to her guests, where Adrian Vance always flew to attend -to her lightest wish. When they got away by themselves, presently, in a -shaded alcove behind the curtain, she said carelessly: - -“I have just had a letter from the senator, and the poor old man has -had smallpox in a dreadful form. I am wondering if he will be so pitted -as to make him more homely than he was before?” - -“I hope he may be rendered so hideous that you will break the -engagement on sight,” he responded passionately. - -“Ah, Adrian, I wish he had your good looks along with his millions. -Then I should be happy, indeed.” - -He seized her white, jeweled hand in a crushing pressure. - -“Ah, Rosalind, why are you so cruel when I love you so well and you -pretend that you return it? Let that old man go, and give yourself to -me.” - -“I promise you now,” she whispered softly, leaning close to him, “that -when old Moneybags dies and leaves me his millions, I’ll take you, my -dark-eyed Adrian, for my second husband, and let you help to spend the -money.” - -“You tempt me to murder him by the time the marriage ceremony is over! -Have a care, Rosalind, for what you put in my head!” the man whispered -back hoarsely. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. BITTER MEMORIES. - - -It was two weeks later that the bride-elect got the promised letter -from Senator Bonair, saying that he would follow the letter home, and -hoped to greet her by the first of December. - -Further on in the letter, the senator mentioned he hoped she was not -sorry he had made up his quarrel with Charley and his charming wife. He -was getting on in years, now, and it was such a comfort to have a son -for a staff to his declining years. Not that he expected to see much -of them, though, because the happy pair intended to make their home -abroad. Then, too, Marie and Lucile had declined to meet or forgive -their brother and Berry, so it was best they should dwell apart. - -It rejoiced Rosalind’s heart to hear that her friends, Marie and -Lucile, had stood loyally by her and refused to be reconciled to -Charley and his humble bride. - -“It is well that they oppose their father in this, else the foolish old -man would be wanting them to come and live with us, and I am determined -they shall never cross the threshold of my home when I am married,” -she vowed to her mother, who approved the declaration, saying that -no one could ever expect Rosalind to forgive the injury received at -Charley Bonair’s hands. - -“Speaking of Charley’s wife reminds me, Rosalind, that we must try to -get that old woman, Mrs. Vining, to come up and help at the hall for -a week, finishing up the sewing, as the seamstress says she must have -more help or she can never get through in time,” continued her mother. - -“Very well, I will stop at the cottage as I drive down and see about -it, mamma. I suppose she will be glad to get the work, as I don’t -think Berry’s grand match has improved her mother’s fortunes. Indeed, -I wonder if she even knows that Charley married her hateful actress -daughter?” cried Rosalind. - -“Oh, yes, I think she has written home of her grand match, for all the -village seems to know of it. I have heard our servants talking of it -when they did not know that I overheard their silly gossip. But, as you -say, it can do her no good. She has not apparently benefited by it, as -she still lives in the old weather-beaten cottage.” - -“Yes, I will employ her,” declared Rosalind, “if only to have the -triumph of seeing Charley Bonair’s poor old mother-in-law toiling for -me. Ha, ha! what a spectacle!” She ended with a harsh, grating laugh -of smothered rage. - -When she drove out with Adrian Vance that afternoon, she got him to -wait at the cottage door, in the automobile, while she went to see Mrs. -Vining. - -The woman’s youngest son, a boy of sixteen, met her at the cottage -door, and led her into the small, neat sitting room, saying he would -call his mother. - -He disappeared, and Rosalind looked, superciliously, about the small -apartment with its dingy furnishings, muttering: - -“I would rather die than be poor and shabby. I declare I don’t see -how very poor folks endure such an existence. Ah, what----” the -sentence ended abruptly, and getting up with a swish of trailing silk -and flutter of rich laces, she swept across the room to a new easel -standing in a corner with a good-sized picture upon it, representing -a group of two--a picturesque group of two lovers, a handsome man, -a lovely white-gowned girl, standing, hand in hand, amid tropical -shrubbery. - -Rosalind gazed with idle curiosity a moment, then her eyes flashed, -and a keen, bitter pain stabbed her jealous heart like the point of a -dagger. - -The picture was a large, framed photograph of Charley Bonair and Berry -that they had sent to Mrs. Vining months before. - -The beauty and the happiness of the handsome pair struck Rosalind’s -heart with bitterness, but while she gazed the mother’s voice said, -just behind her: - -“Ah, Miss Montague, you’re admiring the picture of my little girl and -her husband. It’s the image of Berry, bless her dear heart, don’t you -think so, miss? She sent it to me a while ago, and oh, how glad I am -the dear girl is happily married! But I beg pardon, can I do anything -for you, Miss Montague?” - -“I am to be married soon, you know, Mrs. Vining, to Senator Bonair, and -some of my simpler things are being done at home by seamstresses. Mamma -sent me to ask if you will come and help finish up, next week? She will -pay you more than you can earn at the tailor shop.” - -“But I am not at the tailor shop now, Miss Montague.” - -“Indeed? Have they discharged you, then?” insolently. - -“Oh, no, miss; I left of my own accord. I’m getting to be an old woman -now, and must rest for the balance of my life.” - -Rosalind looked more closely, and noted a more prosperous air about -Berry’s mother than she had ever seen before. - -“I do not understand how you expect to live without work,” she said -sharply. - -“It does seem strange to you, doesn’t it now, Miss Montague, seeing how -I have been working and toiling here all my life? My son-in-law, out of -his good heart, has sent me a present of a thousand dollars to take my -ease on, and says there’s more to come when I have spent it all.” - -“So then you will not come to sew?” Rosalind exclaimed sneeringly. - -“No, Miss Montague. I’d rather not, thank you all the same for giving -me the chance if I needed it, but Berry wrote I mustn’t work any more.” - -“I’ll go, then,” Rosalind cried, with an angry flirt of her skirts that -tumbled the picture off the easel and splintered the glass over it; -while with a smothered, malicious laugh at what she had done through -pure spitefulness, she swept from the house, leaving the old woman busy -gathering up the fragments. - -“I’m cross; I don’t care to drive to-day. We will go back home,” she -said to Adrian Vance sharply. - -Mrs. Montague spied her coming, and came to meet her, saying: - -“You got back sooner than I looked for, Rosalind, but none too soon, -for a cablegram has just come to you, saying Senator Bonair cannot -sail as soon as he expected, but hopes not to be delayed much longer.” - -“He cannot come? Why? Is this another scheme to postpone the wedding?” -Rosalind cried, in a loud, angry voice. - -“Hush, Rosalind, don’t fly off into a rage so fast, and I’ll tell -you the rest. The senator explains his disappointment by saying that -Charley and his wife had a wreck while coming on their automobile from -Trouville to Paris, and that both are so terribly injured they may not -survive the day.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. DELAYS ARE DANGEROUS. - - -It was true, that dreadful cablegram that shocked even Rosalind’s cruel -heart! For a moment she gasped with surprise and grew pale even to her -rosy lips. - -But the next moment she threw off the spell and laughed gratingly, so -that even the worldly-wise mother said rebukingly: - -“How can you laugh, my dear girl? It is really very shocking to think -of that young pair being so terribly injured in an automobile accident -that they must almost certainly die.” - -But Rosalind only laughed again. - -“Mamma, what is the use of your acting goody-goody when you know what -all this means to me?” she sneered. “In the first place, I hate Charley -Bonair who jilted me, and his wife who supplanted me, with a bitter -hatred that can only rejoice in their deaths, so why should I pull a -long face, when nothing could please me better? And, secondly, if they -had lived, old Moneybags might have revoked his disinheritance of his -son, and cut me out of some of his millions at his death. So what seems -like a calamity to them is a benefit to me, and I rejoice accordingly. -Mother,” she added, as with a sudden thought, “I shall cross the -ocean to my betrothed’s side! I shall have to do the sympathy act, of -course--snivel and whine, and pretend to be sorry they are dead, while -my heart is full of rejoicing! But no matter, so that I gain my end!” - -“But, Rosalind, my dear, what can be gained by such proceedings?” - -“How stupid you are, to be sure, mamma! You must be getting into your -dotage not to see that if he goes into mourning for his son, and -objects to a public marriage with all its attendant sensation, I can -easily lure him into a quiet, private marriage on the spot, and come -home Mrs. Senator Bonair, don’t you see?” - -“Yes, yes, that is a very clever idea, Rosalind--a good idea all -around, for then we shall be spared the trouble and expense of a grand -wedding, for which it would have been hard to raise the money, and your -father’s affairs in such a fix! But for that matter it won’t be easy to -get it for your trip, either. Besides, you know, I cannot leave your -father’s sick bed to chaperon you, and you could not properly go alone.” - -“All that can be easily arranged. Our late visitor, Mrs. Brander, sails -in two days for Europe to join her married son in Paris, and she will -be only too glad to have my company on the trip. For the rest, I can -sell some of my jewels for the passage money. I shall have plenty more -as soon as I am married.” - -“It is all very easy as you have planned it, and I don’t doubt you -will succeed with such an indomitable will as you are now displaying,” -commended Mrs. Montague. - -“We must begin to get you ready to start in the morning to join Mrs. -Brander,” she went on. “I suppose you had better break the news to our -remaining guests, at once, that Senator Bonair has cabled for you to -come to Paris. I hope they will all take their departures quickly, as -under the circumstances they ought to do.” - -The guests were all of the same mind with her, and after hearing the -sad news and offering formal condolences suited to the occasion, did -some hasty packing and were all out of the house by nightfall, the last -one to leave being Adrian Vance, who said, as he pressed her hand at -parting: - -“I shall lodge in the town to-night and bear you company to New York on -the morning train. Indeed I am not sure but I shall follow you to Paris -on the same steamer.” - -“Oh, indeed, you must not! I shall not permit it,” she replied, with -a glance that belied her word, and silently invited him to disobey her -mandate. - -As a result he kept his word, and as soon as the steamer left her -moorings he joined Rosalind and her chaperon as their traveling -companion. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. TRUE TO HIS WORD. - - -It was true that Lucile and Marie, who, with their husbands, were now -in Paris, had hardened their hearts absolutely against their brother -and his lowly born bride. - -They had joined their father at his hotel, but after they had heard the -whole story of Berenice’s care and devotion that had saved his life, -they were rebellious; they could not forgive. - -The sisters remembered how beautiful and charming Berenice had been -that one night upon the stage at Bonair, but the thought of that beauty -only hardened their hearts, since it was this that had made their -brother a traitor to Rosalind. - -“Papa, we cannot look at it as you do; the cases are different,” they -said to their father. “And if you want our advice it would be to give -them a large sum of money rather than try to secure social recognition -for them that would result in many unpleasant complications.” - -“I did not think you could be so cruel to your only brother who loved -you so well,” their father said rebukingly. - -“He put that low-born actress before us and Rosalind in his heart,” was -the answer. - -“Rosalind, always Rosalind! I am sick of the very name! Do you owe no -duty to others?” he cried angrily, and they started with surprise. - -“Rosalind is to be your wife and our stepmother--we should consider her -first,” they replied stubbornly. - -“By Heaven, I wish I had never promised to marry the girl! I wish I -could get honorably free of her claim, for my son is dearer to me than -Rosalind can ever be, and I detest the thought that she is to stand -forever between Charley’s heart and mine!” the senator stormed, in -sudden desperation, outraged by their heartlessness. - -Marie and Lucile listened in the greatest wonder, and they cried out -simultaneously: - -“We thought you loved Rosalind better than any of us!” - -In his anger he replied truthfully: - -“I have never pretended to love her, and I regret now I ever made the -rash promise to marry her, for very likely she only desires it to get -revenge on Charley and Berenice for their fault against her, which -was not so dreadful, after all, for my son swears he confessed all to -Rosalind first and asked release from his engagement to her, although -afterward she denied it to us, and we rashly took her word against -Charley’s. When I look back I remember that Rosalind really courted me -first instead of my courting her, and through an old man’s flattered -vanity and the wish to atone for Charley’s fault, I promised to make -her my bride. But now I swear I am sorry for it, and wish I could -retreat in honor, for I shrink from putting another in the place of -your dead mother, my beloved wife; and, besides, I do not believe in -the union of May and December.” - -“But, papa, you cannot retreat from your bond. It would be unfair to -Rosalind; it would be worse than Charley, for the wedding day is barely -a month off,” they reminded him. - -“No, I cannot retreat in honor. I must marry Rosalind and make the most -of my life,” he replied bitterly, adding: - -“Fortunately my private business and affairs of state engross most of -my time, and as for her, I suppose she will be happy enough spending my -money and flirting with younger men.” - -“Oh, papa!” cried Lucile reproachfully. - -“For shame, papa!” cried Marie indignantly. - -But in their hearts they both knew he spoke truly. - -Rosalind was extravagant to a fault, and a bold coquette--they could -not deny either charge. - -But Rosalind had been their schoolmate and chum; she was in their set, -she was handsome in her way, and they would not be ashamed of her, as -they must be of poor little Berenice, the lowly born bride of their -only brother. - -So they held out for Rosalind, declaring it was only loyal to do so, -and beseeching their father not to jilt her as Charley had done. - -He, on his part, promised faithfulness, and the interview ended, much -to the relief of all parties, having been productive of no good on -either side. - -The young wives, having told everything to their proud and -exceptionable husbands, were consoled and sympathized with, and told -that they had acted right. - -So Senator Bonair, who had almost promised Charley that they should -have a family reunion and reconciliation at Paris, was obliged to write -to his son that his sisters were obdurate and unforgiving and that when -he came to bid him farewell, he could not meet the kindred he loved so -well; because, in their loyalty to Rosalind, they would not forgive his -folly nor recognize his bride. - -It was cruelly hard on Charley, who had hoped so much from his father’s -intercession, and when he showed the letter to Berenice, he said -bitterly: - -“They were sweet, loving girls before they came under Rosalind’s -baleful influence, and I wish they could know her as well as I do, and -realize her catlike, revengeful nature, then they would not harden -their hearts against us any longer. It is by her cruel machinations I -am sure that Marie and Lucile have become so heartless.” - -“But, Charley, even if we could turn their hearts against her, by -telling any harm we knew, it would not be right, because we have -already injured her in her tenderest affections,” his lovely bride said -gently. - -“Affections!” laughed Charley scornfully. “All her love is for money -and position, and in wedding my father she will gain more than she lost -in me.” - -He was wrong, but he had never realized in his indifference to Rosalind -that the girl had doted on him with her whole heart, or that slighted -love had driven her to madness. It is true she would not have looked at -him twice had he been penniless, but having looked, she had truly loved. - -Charley read on from his letter that his father was sailing soon for -America, and he hoped they would not forget the promised visit to bid -him farewell. - -“We will go to-morrow,” the young man said eagerly. “I will tell my -chauffeur to have everything ready for a fine automobile trip, so that -we may go as fast as the wind, for there is nothing I enjoy so much.” - -When the order had been given he returned to clasp her to his heart, -and say, with passionate devotion: - -“Do not think I am fretting because my sisters will have nothing to say -to us. Although I love them well, I love you, my dearest, more than all -the world besides. I can be happy without them, and perhaps it is best -we should remain sundered from the family since Rosalind is to make one -of it, and she would always be plotting against us. Henceforth we will -live only for each other.” - -Next day came the terrible accident, when the automobile, flying from -Trouville to Paris, at a high rate of speed, came into collision with -a huge rock that sent it flying upward as it exploded, its passengers -being scattered upon the flinty ground, the chauffeur meeting instant -death, and Charley and Berry such terrible injuries that it was -pronounced impossible for either to survive the shock. - -The next day the news was in all the newspapers of England, France, -and America, and in the roadside cottage to which the victims had -been tenderly carried after the terrible accident, a broken-hearted -father and two remorseful sisters bent over the unconscious forms in -agonies of grief, the father crying: “Thank Heaven I forgave them!” -The sisters, weeping bitterly: “Heaven forgive our cruelty that we did -not!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. A LATE REMORSE. - - -When the dreadful news was carried quickly to Paris, Lucile and Marie -forgot all their pride and resentment and remembered only the love and -pride they had once had in Charley, their beloved brother. - -They set out quickly for the scene of the accident, accompanied -by their father and husbands, and they took with them two of the -most skillful physicians in the city, hoping they might render some -service to the sufferers. When they reached the cottage they found the -sufferers hovering between life and death. - -The poor chauffeur had met death instantly, and as no one knew if he -had any friends at all, preparations were already made to give him a -respectable burial in hallowed ground. - -When examinations had been duly made it was found that Charley was more -seriously injured than his wife. He had an arm and some ribs broken, -in addition to many bruises, while Berenice had no bones broken at -all, and if she had no internal injuries she ought to recover, the -physicians said. - -She presently proved the correctness of their diagnosis by rallying -under treatment and opening her eyes in a vacant stare that as yet had -no light of reason in it; but as for Charley, he was too badly off to -show any signs of life for twenty-four hours, save the faint throbbing -of his heart. They feared concussion of the brain. - -Marie and Lucile, overwhelmed with remorse, outdid themselves in -devotion. - -As for Senator Bonair, if ever a thought of his betrothed crossed his -mind it was with poignant regret that he had given her a promise he -could not, in honor, break. - -When the patients began to show signs of improvement it only aggravated -his chagrin against Rosalind; but for the wedding he could have taken -these two dear ones with him to Washington, where Berenice would have -made a lovely mistress for the grand new home he had built. - -It was strange how quickly the young wife rallied and improved. She had -suffered from severe mental shock more than physical injury, and in a -week she was able to sit and watch by Charley’s bed and smooth his hot -brow with her soft, trembling little hands, vying with the sisters and -the nurse who performed the more onerous duties. - -A frail white lily, so pure, so fragile, she looked to the sisters who -had hated her so, but who now pitied and loved her for her own sweet -sake as well as her unfailing devotion to their brother. - -So the days came and went until over two weeks had passed; then the -grieving family had a great surprise. - -There stopped one day before the cottage a carriage, and out of it -stepped Rosalind, in her handsomest traveling gown, with an anxious -look on her beautiful face. - -“Ah, my dear senator!” she cried, holding up her face for a kiss, as -he stepped out to meet her. “How glad I am to see you again! As soon -as I got your cablegram I started to come to you, feeling that in your -trouble my place was by your side to comfort you, for I feared that -Marie and Lucile could not come as soon as I.” - -She had scarcely uttered the words when the sisters came out to greet -her with kisses and loving welcomes. - -“But I thought you were absent on your wedding tours?” cried Rosalind, -secretly chagrined at their return. - -They led her into the small sitting room, and she added, with eager -curiosity: - -“I was told in Paris that your brother is living yet, but cannot -recover. Is it true?” - -“He is living yet--and we hope he may recover,” Marie said tearfully, -without noticing Rosalind’s frown at the news. - -Stifling an angry sob, Rosalind continued spitefully: - -“And that horrid girl--the daughter of our village tailoress--she also -lives, I suppose? You cannot kill such people! They are very tough.” - -She was startled when Lucile said, with a certain proud dignity: - -“Please do not talk like that any more, Rosalind, for she is my sister -now.” - -“And my daughter,” Senator Bonair said tenderly. - -“And a sweet, lovely creature!” Marie added frankly. - -“Well, upon my word!” cried Rosalind, in frank anger and amazement. She -realized that Berenice was forgiven; worse still--beloved. - -An insane anger took possession of her, and she longed to strike every -one in the face. It seemed to her, in her fury, that she could kill -them. - -Her anger gave way to hysterical sobbing, and then the sisters fell to -soothing her tenderly and explaining how it all came about. - -The senator had retreated, frowningly, at the first signs of -hysterics, so the three were all alone, and the sisters felt it was the -time to give good advice. - -“Oh, Rosalind, you will have to give in and be very friendly, or papa -will be displeased with you,” they said. “And, after all, it will be -better to have peace in the family, don’t you think so? For even if -poor Charley lives, he and his wife will never intrude on you, unless -you invite them, you know. But now, in the face of death, papa will not -love you as well if you do not forgive.” - -It was a bitter pill for Rosalind, but she knew they were still her -friends, and she did not care to antagonize them until she gained her -point. - -She sobbed dismally a moment or two, then lifted a piteous face, and -murmured: - -“Then I must try to forgive my enemies, for your father is the only -friend I have in the world now, and if he turns against me I am all -undone.” - -“Why, how strangely you are talking, Rosalind--you who have a father -and mother, and hosts of friends!” they cried, in amazement. - -“Alas! you cannot guess at all my troubles. Listen and you will own -that my words are true. My father, in his extreme old age, has met with -financial disaster that has wrecked his mind. He is confined to his -room, my mother his constant, watchful attendant. But worst of all, I -have incurred my mother’s anger by undertaking alone this journey to be -by your father’s side in his troubles. She forbade me to come. She said -it was indiscreet, unwomanly, and that I could never hold up my head -again if I outraged society by such a step. She refused me the money -for my journey, so I sold my jewels to pay my passage over here.” - -“Dear heart!” murmured Marie, pressing Rosalind’s white hand, while -Lucile added: - -“How noble!” - -“Do you think so?” cried Rosalind eagerly. “And do you think your -father will be as noble in return? For mamma said if I dared risk my -reputation coming to him alone this way there was but one thing a man -of honor could do in return for such blind devotion, and that was to -marry me out of hand, to silence gossiping tongues. Not that I mind, -dear girls, but for mamma’s sake--she is old and prudish, you know--do -you think he would be willing to quiet her foolish scruples and ease my -heart by a quiet marriage to-morrow? Do you think he would be willing -to do me this kindness? Will you, my dear friends, ask him for me?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. A BITTER SECRET. - - -“Rosalind Montague here! Ah, Heaven, what ill work is on foot now?” - -The words broke almost unconsciously from Berenice’s lips when they -told her that her arch enemy was in the house. - -She flung out protecting arms, and clasped Charley, as he lay in a half -stupor on his couch, murmuring, half distractedly: - -“Ah, my love, my love, I must guard you now from her hate as well as -from your terrible illness. I will never leave your side, never, my -darling, never leave you alone, lest her baleful presence overwhelm -your life!” - -The startled sisters thought she must have suddenly gone mad with -unwarrantable hatred of Rosalind, and they tried to soothe her frenzy. - -“Oh, my dear, what wild words are you saying? Do you not realize that -it is wiser to be friends with Rosalind, who will have, as our father’s -wife, more influence over him than any one else? She is willing to -be friends with you, and that is noble in Rosalind, for she was the -wronged one in the beginning.” - -But the beautiful young wife, who looked so gentle and spoke so softly, -could be spirited enough when she chose, and she tossed her head -proudly and cried, with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks: - -“I will never be friends with cruel Rosalind, never! Oh, take her away -from here, I beseech you, and leave me alone with my Charley, in peace -and safety. You may all go with her if you wish, only send her away, -for I cannot know a moment’s peace under the same roof with Rosalind!” - -Lucile whispered to her sister: “It is pure jealousy, nothing else--and -how silly in Berenice to fear that Rosalind wants to steal Charley’s -heart away!” - -“Tell her the truth, and she will get over it,” was the answer. - -And so they broke it to Berenice that they had been talking over -matters with their father, explaining Rosalind’s wishes, and he had -agreed to marry her quietly to-morrow, to silence the tongue of gossip -that might babble because she had come alone to him across the sea. - -Berenice was almost petrified with astonishment at the unexpected news. - -“Oh, it is horrible to think of!” she cried vehemently. “Must this -terrible sacrifice go on? Will no one save the victim?” - -The sisters began to feel very angry with Berenice, she was so -stubborn, so unjust to Rosalind. - -It was no use arguing with her, she would not listen to reason. They -decided to appeal the case to their father. - -They told him all Berenice’s resentment, all her hatred of Rosalind, -whom she had already wronged so deeply, and they told him it was -his duty to lecture the unreasonable young wife and compass her -reconciliation with Rosalind. - -“For if Rosalind is willing to forgive her, Berenice ought to be -thankful to be forgiven,” they said, very pertinently, and indeed it -seemed that way. - -So Senator Bonair himself went to argue the case with his -daughter-in-law, which he did with all the eloquence at his command, -since it was the dearest wish of his warm heart to have all his family -on friendly terms. - -Berenice listened with downcast eyes and heaving breast to every word, -for she knew she was being blamed for causeless resentment. - -They thought Charley was asleep in so deep a stupor he comprehended -nothing, but suddenly he opened his eyes full upon them with the clear -light of reason shining through. - -“Oh, Charley, do you know us? Have we disturbed you?” sobbed Berenice. -And he answered weakly: - -“I have been hearing and understanding all you and father said, and I -think you are in the wrong, my darling.” - -“In the wrong?” she panted. - -“Yes, all in the wrong. If Rosalind wants to be friends with us, let us -yield for father’s sake, because it will make him happier.” - -Berenice slipped her cold hand in his and looked up wistfully at her -father-in-law, saying: - -“Do you then love Rosalind so very much?” - -For a moment the senator hesitated, then he answered frankly: - -“I have never pretended to love Rosalind, but I esteem and admire her -very much, so that I am willing to marry her, to atone for Charley’s -desertion.” - -“Then we should all make sacrifices to that end,” she murmured rather -bitterly. - -“Yes, I think we should,” the senator replied, out of his high code of -honor, though his heart was heavy in his breast with thoughts of the -wedding to-morrow. - -Charley pressed the cold little hand that nestled in his and faltered -weakly: - -“I agree with father, Berenice. We should be friends with his future -wife.” - -“Oh, Charley, you would not ask me if you knew all!” she sobbed, then -suddenly: - -“Forgive me, for we have wronged Rosalind so much that we cannot sit in -judgment on her sins. Yes, yes, I will bury my resentment, I will be -friends for your sakes, not for hers.” - -They were glad of even that concession, and Senator Bonair hastened to -say that he would like to bring Rosalind in and have the greeting over, -that is, if it would not agitate Charley too much. - -Charley faintly protested that he should not mind at all. - -So presently the smiling beauty was ushered in to where Berenice sat -stroking Charley’s thin hand so tenderly in hers, and though the sight -almost drove her wild with anger, she kept her cool, set smile, and -spoke calmly, with friendly words of greeting, though the hand she -touched to theirs was so cold it made them shudder. - -“I am intruding only for a moment,” she smiled, and quickly withdrew -on the senator’s arm, while Charley dropped asleep again, and Berenice -sobbed to herself in silent grief: - -“Oh, my secret, my bitter secret I have kept so long, would that I -could forget it now!” - -The day waned to a close, the purple gloaming fell, and the nurse who -had had a day off for rest, now came in, saying: - -“You have been in so closely all day you must go out into the fresh air -and rest a while. I will watch your husband carefully.” - -She wondered why Berenice caught her hand so tightly, whispering -passionately: - -“I will not go until you promise to remain closely by the bed and not -to trust him to any other, not even his father and sisters, till I -return.” - -“I promise faithfully, madam,” returned the nurse. - -“That is well,” said Berenice briefly, and she slipped out into the -fragrant, balmy gloaming, with a sense of relief in the perfect -solitude. - -She walked down the quiet country road a little way, drawing back into -the shadows as a man passed her on his way toward the cottage, reining -his horse up there a little later, as she saw to her intense surprise. -For a moment, in one hurried glance, she thought she recognized this -man. Was he, could he possibly be Adrian Vance, her own mother’s -prodigal son, by a former marriage? Ah, no! it was impossible that -Adrian should appear on the scene, now, after all these years of -absence, during which he had never seen or written to his mother. - -“I must not go any farther,” she said, pausing suddenly and sitting -down beneath a low-spreading tree, the center of a thick undergrowth -of shrubbery. “I will sit here and think over my troubles a while, for -my heart misgives me I am not doing right to hold my peace and let -Charley’s noble father marry wicked Rosalind. She does not love him, I -am sure, and--ah, there are voices. Some one is passing; I hope I shall -not be seen.” - -She drew back and almost held her breath, seeing through the dark -branches that a man and woman were walking together toward her retreat. -She started in wonder when she saw that it was Rosalind and the man she -had seen on horseback. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. A STOLEN INTERVIEW. - - -“I must not go any farther, and I cannot stay out long, for I must not -be missed. Let us stop here under the trees and talk a little while, -but it was wrong and foolish for you to come, Adrian,” said Rosalind. - -“But I could not stay away. I love you too well!” cried the passionate -lover, and before she could reply, he continued: - -“I was wild to see you and to hear how old Moneybags, as you call him, -looks since he had the smallpox. I am hoping he is so badly pitted and -ugly that you are disgusted and ready to throw him over.” - -Berenice held her breath; she knew it was wrong to listen, but -curiosity got the better of courtesy. - -“He is homely enough, I assure you, to disgust any squeamish person,” -answered Rosalind, with a laugh, “but I would marry him if he were the -Old Boy himself, with all that money.” - -“How I hate him and envy him!” complained the man bitterly. “If I had -only half that money, would you marry me?” - -“Yes, for only half of it, and be thankful!” cried Rosalind. “For, -after all, I shall not get more than half, anyway. There are his two -daughters to inherit, and, besides, he has made up with Charley; and -unless I play my cards very cleverly he will revoke that disinheritance -and leave him a million or so, very likely.” - -“But I thought his son was going to die?” - -“Nothing of the kind. He is recovering very fast, and so is his wife, -the low actress, and they think I have forgiven them and will have them -whining around me after I marry the father. But nothing of the kind, I -can assure you, for I have sworn they shall never cross the senator’s -threshold when once it is mine.” - -“It is hard lines on you, Rosalind, after thinking them both dead.” - -“Yes, is it not? I am almost tempted to give him an overdose of -something when no one is looking. It would soon finish him in his weak -state, eh?” - -It almost seemed to Berenice that the man’s shuddering shook the -branches where he leaned, or was it only a light wind? - -He said quickly: - -“Ugh! Rosalind, you make me shudder, you say jesting things so -seriously. No, don’t poison the poor fellow. Murder will out, you know. -Oh, I say, darling, cut it all and come away with me and be married in -Paris. We love each other, and we can be happy somehow. As for money, -there’s the gambling table. I never told you I broke the bank at Monte -Carlo once. I did, and I can do it again.” - -“You’ve been over all that before, Adrian, to no good. Why repeat it? -I love you as well as I once loved Charley, but I will never marry any -but a rich man, I swear. But I have promised you, and I mean it, that -you shall be my true lover, while old Moneybags lives, and when he -dies, my second husband,” Rosalind answered frankly, and the man sighed: - -“Do you think he will live long, Rosalind?” - -“No, not very long, my own Adrian, for there are many easy ways to -hurry an old man into his grave. But it is too soon to talk of that, -now. Wait till I’m safely his wife and get his will made in my favor, -then you and I can plot the finish, see?” - -“Yes, I see, and I am with you to the end--and afterward. Ah, Rosalind, -what a woman you are! If you did not love me I should be afraid of -you!” Adrian Vance muttered huskily. - -Rosalind gave one of her harsh, grating laughs, and said: - -“Love can turn to hate.” - -“You mean that I should beware of you. But I cannot, my queen, for I -worship you. And--and--I shall be so jealous of that old man when he -owns you that I shall be tempted to thrust a knife into his heart!” - -“Pray don’t, Adrian! Poison in his winecup would be safer, you know. -But I must leave you, for I have much to do. I am to be married -to-morrow.” - -“Heavens--to-morrow!” gasped her lover wildly, jealously. - -She answered lightly: - -“To-morrow, for the senator proposed it and insists upon it.” - -“Ah! how shall I bear my jealous agony? One kiss, Rosalind!” - -Berenice turned hot and cold, hearing repeated kisses and ardent -caresses that made the leaves rustle as they leaned against them, then -they sprang apart. - -“We must go back, Adrian; I really cannot stay another minute. Do not -grieve so. You will not be banished, you know. I shall soon introduce -you as a friend of the family. Ha! ha!” - -They passed out of sight, still talking, leaving Berenice crouched -beneath the tree, with hot cheeks and a wildly beating heart. - -Suddenly she got upon her knees on the dewy grass and lifted her wide, -horrified dark eyes to the heavens, where myriad stars began to sparkle -through the blue. - -With clasped hands she prayed piteously: - -“Oh, what shall I do? Can I let this fiend impose on this good, -honorable old man and shame the name he will give her by a liaison with -this unworthy lover, who will help her to murder him at last for his -money? Oh, it is too horrible that I should keep her terrible secrets -and let the sacrifice go on! I must save him, I must expose her in all -her hideous depravity to those who love and trust her now. Oh, show me -the way, show me the way to-morrow, to unmask this fiend!” - - - - -CHAPTER XL. THE WEDDING DAY. - - -Berenice was walking past the open door of the sitting room, when Marie -called to her kindly: - -“Come in, you dear, pale little ghost, and help us to plan for the -wedding this evening.” - -Berenice’s heart gave a wild, startled leap as she obeyed. - -They were all there together, the sisters with their husbands, the -senator and Rosalind, all planning for the wedding that Berenice knew -must never be. - -The senator placed a chair for her and started when he saw her pallid -face with the dark circles around the heavy eyes. Even her little hands -were trembling with terrible agitation. - -“Really, Berenice, you look ill this morning. Did you have a bad night, -dear?” Lucile asked, with affectionate interest. - -“Yes, I had a very bad night. I could not sleep. Something troubled my -mind,” she faltered. - -“You must learn not to take your troubles to bed with you, child,” -declared Marie; “it’s the worst plan in the world. But stay with us and -we will divert you, talking about the wedding. Do you think this room -will do, if we order some flowers? It is very small, to be sure, but -there will be no invited guests. Poor Rosalind has not even a wedding -gown of white, except an old torn lace robe that she brought in her -dressing bag with her, to see if the clever lacemakers of France could -mend it.” - -“Yes, it is a priceless, real lace gown,” explained Rosalind, “that I -wore at a ball at Bonair one night, and some clumsy partner of mine -must have put his foot through the edge of the flounce and torn it, -for there’s a piece as large as your hand torn out and missing, though -the servants searched the ballroom carefully for it next morning. You -remember the very night, Berry,” graciously, “for you played on the -Bonair stage that night in ‘A Wayside Flower.’” - -Berenice parted her dry lips with a sort of gasp, and murmured, in -husky tones: - -“Oh, yes, I should remember it, I think, for it was on that same night -the disguised fortune teller, my secret enemy, tried to murder me by -pushing me into the bear pit, hoping Zilla would kill me in her rage -over being disturbed with her young.” - -“Oh, that terrible night; don’t recall it!” shuddered Rosalind, adding, -to change the subject: “My misfortune with my costly lace gown was as -nothing compared to your dreadful accident.” - -Berenice smiled strangely, for all at once there had come to her the -answer to her prayer of last night to be shown some way to bring her -enemy to confusion. - -She forced herself to look at Rosalind, courteously, but feeling all -the while like a traitor, as she said: - -“But cannot the gown be patched up for the ceremony, some way, with a -scrap of lace? I think I might help you, as I have some fine lace, and -am rather skillful with the needle. Will you show it to me?” - -“Willingly!” cried Rosalind, falling into the trap, and hastening to -secure the gown that was folded away in a dressing bag she had brought. - -She came back and unfolded the tissue wrappers and spread the lovely -web of lace open before their eyes. - -There, in the front flounce, was the great tear, as big as your hand, -marring all its beauty. Every one began to exclaim over it in sympathy -with Rosalind. - -“Now, a needle and some very fine thread, please,” said trembling -Berenice, and when they were supplied she opened a large gold locket on -her bosom and drew from it a little wad of lace that when fitted into -the torn flounce matched the pattern perfectly. - -Several voices cried, in unison: - -“The missing piece of lace--how wonderful!” - -“You found it!” cried Rosalind, in amazement. “But where?” - -But even as she spoke she turned slightly pale, and added: - -“Oh, it doesn’t matter where it was found so that I have it back. What -a fuss we are all making over a bit of lace!” - -“You made fuss enough yourself when it was lost at Bonair!” cried -Marie, sharply, while they all fell to watching Berenice, who was -putting in the torn lace with neat little stitches, though her hands -shook sadly, so that she said: - -“I am making a poor job of it, Miss Montague, but you can get a real -lace maker to do it over again for you. You see, it makes me so nervous -just thinking of the night when I found this scrap of lace, and of all -I suffered afterward.” - -“Try not to think of it at all,” soothingly said Rosalind, but Berenice -raised her dark eyes, swimming in tears, and murmured: - -“I must think of it, for it is my duty to tell everything I know about -that night.” - -“Go on, I am sure it will be very interesting,” exclaimed Clarence -Carlisle, Marie’s husband. - -“I needn’t tell about that night when I was pushed into the bear pit,” -continued Berenice, “for all that are here have heard the story over -and over, but some things that I never told before I mean to betray -now, and one is that the pretended Indian seeress was no Indian at all, -but a disguised and jealous enemy of mine, who desired to compass my -death. I am sure of it, for in our struggle on the edge of the pit the -woman uttered some angry words, in her own voice, which I instantly -recognized. Then I clutched at her, and as I fell I knew I had -something clutched in my frantic grasp that I had torn from her gown. -It was this piece of lace that Mrs. Cline, simple soul, not dreaming -of the mute witness it bore against my would-be murderer, disentangled -from my unconscious fingers and kept for me. But it did not need this -mute witness for me, for as I fell I saw my enemy’s face and heard her -taunting voice, and I knew you, Miss Montague, for what you were, a -guilty sinner, wreaking a terrible revenge on a hapless rival. Then -when Charley sprang down to my rescue, you flew back and tried to -destroy him also by a cowardly bullet, for the Clines saw the white -figure running away from the scene of the double crime.” - -She heard low, startled cries all around her, and lifting her accusing -eyes she looked at Rosalind. - -Out of her dead-white face her blue eyes glared like two points of -steel, with murder in their gleam, and from between her stiff, white -lips came bleakly: - -“You lie! Had this charge been true, you would have told the secret -long ago.” - -Berenice, paling, trembling, continued: - -“You are mistaken, for an impulse of generous pity -made me keep your hideous secret locked fast in my own -breast, until now. I never meant to speak until--last -night--when--I--heard--you--with--your--lover--beneath--the trees!” - -“Liar! Viper! Oh, let me tear her false tongue from her lips!” snarled -Rosalind, but strong hands pinioned her and held her back, that -Berenice might finish speaking. - -She turned her dark, solemn, truthful eyes upon her father-in-law. - -“Last night the nurse sent me out for a breath of fresh air, and while -I rested under the trees a man passed by on horseback and reined up -before the cottage gate. He came back presently with Rosalind, and -not dreaming of my presence they talked over their terrible secrets -together. Those two lovers, Senator Bonair, ridiculed you, laughed at -you as old Moneybags, plotted to remain lovers after her marriage to -you, and to make way with you as quickly as possible that she might -take him for a second husband. Then they sealed their terrible bargain -with a hundred kisses and caresses, and went away, unconscious of a -listener, who, to save you, sir, from their cruel machinations, has -broken the silence of more than a year to warn you of lurking danger, -if you marry Rosalind Montague.” - -The voice ceased and Berenice waited with a beating heart for them all -to denounce her and take Rosalind’s part. - -Then Senator Bonair said dully, as if shocked into apathy: - -“Now, Rosalind, for your defense!” - -She answered, with angry evasion: - -“If you can take that low creature’s word against mine, why need I -attempt a defense?” - -Marie’s husband spoke up quickly: - -“I can corroborate Mrs. Bonair’s word in one thing. Last night I saw -the horseman she spoke of ride up to the gate, saw Miss Montague meet -him and walk away with him. Afterward witnessed their return and -parting, with a kiss. You remember, Dallas, I told you and asked your -advice?” - -“And I counseled secrecy over what seemed the close of perhaps a -harmless flirtation,” Dallas Dreem replied. - -“You should have told us!” pouted the young wives, darting angry -glances at Rosalind, who, seeing the game was all up, cleared her -throat and said angrily, defiantly: - -“Take your hands off me, sirs; I shall not touch the little liar. I am -only going to say that I admit everything, and am only sorry I did not -kill both her and Charley in the bear pit.” - -Her blue eyes blazed fury, and Senator Bonair cried wrathfully: - -“I shall be forever grateful to Berenice for unmasking you and saving -me from a detested marriage. Now go to your lover; we must be rid of -you as soon as possible!” - -“Would you send me away penniless?” cried Rosalind, angry and -humiliated at the utter failure of her schemes. “I sold my jewels to -come to you, and my lover is a poor man!” - -The senator plucked a great roll of bills from his pocket and tossed -them at her feet. - -“There are three thousand dollars. It is the price of never seeing your -face again,” he thundered. “Now go and leave us to the happiness of a -reunited family!” - -She snatched up the money and the lace gown and rushed from the room. -Three days later she and Adrian Vance appeared before Mrs. Brander, in -Paris. - -“We are married and settled in Paris,” she announced calmly. “Old -Moneybags was so homely, with his smallpox scars, that I threw him over -and married my poor, handsome Adrian. I have written to mamma, but I -fear she will never forgive us.” - -Mrs. Brander thought it all very strange, but later on the truth leaked -out, and she knew the false beauty for what she really was--a reckless, -disappointed schemer. - -But Charley Bonair did not learn all that happened until many days -after, when his convalescence was an assured thing and he could hear, -without danger to his health, the happy news that Rosalind had been -banished in disgrace, and that the senator had reinstated him in his -good graces, and given the Washington palace to Berenice as a wedding -gift. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. TROUBLE BEGINS AGAIN. - - -When Charley had fully recovered, he and his lovely young wife decided -to go to England where the first part of their married life had flowed -along on mingled currents of joy and sorrow. They hoped to revisit the -happier scenes; and, moreover, Charley had still another motive in -returning. News had reached Senator Bonair that an old English estate -was for sale; and, in the full tide of rejoicing over his deliverance -from Rosalind, and his pride in his “united family,” he offered to buy -the estate for his son. - -“No, it’s too much for you to do for me, dad!” exclaimed Charley, when -the astounding proposition was made. “I don’t deserve such generosity!” - -“Perhaps not,” was his father’s laconic answer. “But if I’m of the -opinion that you do--well, that should be sufficient. What do _you_ -say, Berry?” - -“Oh, you know I think nothing is too good for Charley!” answered Berry, -with a smile. “But, of course, we both appreciate how dear and generous -you are.” - -“Nonsense!” laughed the senator. “I confess I myself have a desire for -this Erda estate, but, as I have all I can manage, with my duties in -Washington and my country seat in California, I’m quite willing to -buy this estate for Charles, if he wishes to join the ranks of the -American-English ‘landed gentry.’” - -Charles was more than willing, as his father knew. He was also -profoundly grateful for his father’s generosity in making such a gift, -which was all the more impressive as it was destined to be the last. - -Hardly had the negotiations for the sale been completed, and the Erda -estate came into Charles Bonair’s proud possession, when the senator, -whose health had for some time been failing, fell seriously ill. All -that the best English physicians could do proved unavailing; for, after -a brief illness, he died, and was taken to America for burial near his -beautiful California estate. - -When Charles and his wife finally returned to England, after this sad -interruption of their plans, they found surprising news awaiting them -at Crumplesea, a summer resort near Thetford Towers, as the Erda estate -was called. The news was conveyed in a letter from Rosalind, who had -not even had the grace to send condolences to any of the Bonair family. - -It was addressed to Berry, and ran as follows: - - “You may, or may not, be surprised to know that my husband is your - stepbrother, Adrian Vance. He informed me of this fact not long ago, - indeed before we were married, but I found I loved him well enough to - forgive his humble ancestry, even though in marrying him I was forced - to claim kinship with you! We are, therefore, by stretching a point, - sisters-in-law, and it is quite likely that, after all, we may meet - again.” - -“I hope not!” said Berry, after a pause. - -“Amen to that!” answered Charles. “But we seem to be fated to meet that -woman, in one way or another, wherever we go! I wonder how she found -out that we are here?” - -“She must have seen, in the newspapers, notices of the sale of Thetford -Towers.” - -“Of course! And probably she will expect us to ask them to visit us, -in her new capacity as sister-in-law! Oh, she is quite capable of -that! Especially now that father is dead. Well, she will be woefully -disappointed, if _we_ have anything to say about it!” - -Berry smiled. “We may have less to say than we think, dear; the matter -may be taken quite out of our hands by Rosalind herself. I foresee -trouble. Another thing: Adrian is a mere adventurer, a gambler, and if -he married her only for her money, how long do you suppose that will -last?” - -“What a worldly-wise little pessimist you are, dear!” responded -Charles, with a laugh. “Come, tear up this insulting troublesome -letter, and let’s drive over to the Towers. What’s the use of vexing -ourselves with a mere chance that may not occur for a dozen years?” - -This easy-going philosophy proved to be the wrong one, for they heard -again from Rosalind, two years later. This time it was to announce the -birth of a daughter, who was to be named Dora. Why Rosalind had taken -the trouble to send this announcement to the Bonairs, in spite of their -continued indifference to her existence, was not clear to Berry, who -merely remarked: “I suppose she has reasons of her own.” But Charles -saw through this move clearly enough. He readily guessed that Rosalind -and her husband had not given up hope of being received at Thetford -Towers; all the more now, for the sake of their daughter, Berry’s -niece, and also because their fortunes were known to be on the wane. - -His understanding was aided by reports of Adrian’s reckless -speculations which he had heard from time to time, during his -occasional visits in London. - -On one of these occasions, he had, unknown to Berry, received a letter -from Adrian Vance, requesting the loan of a large sum of money with -which to pay several importunate creditors; and he had even gone so -far as to lend Adrian half the amount, hoping thereby to avoid further -difficulties with the Vance family. In this hope he was destined to be -disappointed; for Adrian suddenly appeared at Thetford Towers, early in -the following summer, and sought an interview with Charles and Berry. - -The meeting was not pleasant to any of the three. Charles was -frankly indignant, Berry cool and reserved, Adrian in a tumult of -embarrassment, envy, and resentment. - -“Rosalind is well, I dare say,” he said, in answer to their perfunctory -question. “I’ve not seen her for several months. She’s studying to go -on the stage--you’ll have her again for a rival, Berry, in your former -sphere.” - -The covert insolence of this seemingly playful remark was not lost upon -its hearers, who took no notice of it, however, and soon afterward -managed to bring the interview to a close. Adrian departed, no richer -than he had come. - -Before the end of the summer, he was killed in a railroad accident on -the Continent, and Rosalind, the heiress whom he had reduced to poverty -and driven to the stage, left the country, and was not again seen in -England for many years. When she returned to trouble and harass her -“relatives,” it was in an unexpected and disgraceful way. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. IN NEW GUISE. - - -Years passed, fourteen happy and uneventful years, during most of which -the Bonairs lived quietly on their English estate, among their friends -in England and from America. Charles’ sisters, Lucile and Marie, -with their families, spent alternate summers at Thetford Towers, or -traveling on the Continent, while during the winters the Bonairs fled -to California. - -One day, in early summer, Berry intended to drive over to Crumplesea, -in her motor car, to say good-by to her old friends, the Westons, -who were leaving the next morning. Willis Weston had married a -charming American heiress years ago, and had become one of the leading -dramatists and managers of America. - -Charles was absent from England, at this time, having gone to New York -on business which would detain him there. - -It was a perfect summer day, warm and sunny, and Berry could not help -feeling happy and secure from trouble or harm. But as in every life, -clouds sometimes gather on the horizon and overshadow it for a while; -so now, had she only known it, another storm was impending. - -The first sign thereof was a slight mishap which brought the motor car -to a standstill halfway on the road to Crumplesea. - -Berry, who was somewhat of a fatalist in her way, always declared that -the thing was foreordained. Mellish, chauffeur, simply said--sotto -voce, of course--that it was “cursed bad luck, though no more than he -had expected when Mrs. Bonair would have the car out to-day, after -she’d been told that it ought to be sent to the garage yesterday, and -she might just as well have used the victoria as not.” - -The facts of the case may be related in a few words: The motor car had -come up over the brow of the hill on its way back from Thetford Towers, -and was rolling sedately through the drowsy stillness of Crumplesea, -when a sharp metallic “zing-g-g!” sounded, and off came the tire of -the left forewheel. Crumplesea boasted of three hotels and no end of -“apartments,” but it could only lay claim to one garage, at the other -end of the town, close to where the new hall--dignified by the name -of opera house--had recently been erected. Mellish, who had learned -this fact from the small gathering of idlers which the accident had -collected--and to whom Berry was known, by sight and by name, about as -well as the town clock itself--imparted the knowledge to his mistress, -and was rather surprised that she took it with such equanimity. - -“Very well, send for the man and have the thing set right at once,” -she said. “It is only a step to the Crumplesea Hotel, and I dare say -that Mercy Blint can manage to make me comfortable and get me a cup -of tea while I am waiting. You can come back there for me when the -tire has been put on again. But don’t be any longer than is absolutely -necessary; I want to get home before dark, if possible!” - -And then with the utmost serenity she alighted and walked straightway -to the Crumplesea Hotel, which establishment was run by a woman who had -once been her maid, and who, on the occasion of her marriage with the -under butler, had been pensioned off some years ago. - -Inquiry brought forth the intelligence that Mercy herself was absent -for the day, but Mercy’s husband was there, and himself showed her -ladyship into what was known as the coffee room--every other room in -the house being engaged at the time--and rushed away in person to get -tea for her. - -And here it was that Berry saw another sign of trouble--the glaring, -brightly colored aggressively prominent sign which always made her -think that to-day’s accident had been foreordained. - -It took the shape of a bill announcing the forthcoming opening of -the new Crumplesea Opera House, when--to quote the announcement -verbatim--“Mr. Milton Dante’s celebrated company of London artists -would present the world-famous musical play, ‘The Beauty of Gotham,’ -headed by the gifted and beautiful American actress and prima donna, -Miss Rosalind Montague-Vance.” - -A slow pallor, creeping like a snail, came steadily down over Berry’s -face as she saw that bill. She stood for a long time looking fixedly at -the printed words and not saying one word, not making one sound. - -So she was still standing when, some twenty minutes later, her tea was -brought into her by the obsequious Blint himself. - -She sat down and drank the tea and ate the buttered toast she had -ordered, and then rang the bell and called the man back to the room. - -“Blint,” she said, pointing to the bill hanging upon the wall, “have -those people come to Crumplesea as yet? I see they are advertised to -open the new hall next Thursday. Have they come here yet?” - -“No, my lady, not yet, of course; it’s best part of a week until -Thursday. The advance agent will be here to-morrow, though, to make -arrangements for rooms and the like. Hamer--him as runs the Cliff -Hotel, as you may remember, seeing that he’s a tenant of yours--got -word to that effect this afternoon, and come over to see if I’d any -rooms vacant; him not being able to put up the whole party.” - -Berry pushed back her empty teacup, and rose. - -“See that they don’t get any, then,” she said, in a singularly dry -voice. “See that every room in every hotel in the place is engaged for -me. I don’t care what it costs, I want them all. Engage them for me.” - -“I beg pardon, ma’am, but--but can you really mean it?” - -“Am I in the habit of saying things that I do not mean? I see that -they are billed to appear for three nights. Take all the vacant rooms -in all the hotels for that period, in my name. Shut them out of every -accommodation and force them to go elsewhere, if you can, and that -woman, above all!” - -The man gave a nervous start and looked as though he had received a -shock. - -“My lady!” he said, with a frightened look. “Heaven preserve us! it’s -not her? It’s never the--the Yankee woman who married your--your -brother, Mr. Vance?” - -“Yes, it is. I never want to see her, but I recognize the name; as -Mercy would have done, had she been at home. Now go and do what I have -told you, and see that the woman finds no place to stop here. If you -think the manager of the hall can be bought to cancel the engagement of -the company----” - -“It is not possible, my lady; the thing was arranged months ago.” - -“So much the worse for me, then. However, I’ll do what I can. Go and -engage every vacant room you can hear of, and go at once, please.” - -Blint, in a state of shaking nervousness, flew to obey, and when, half -an hour afterward, he came back to announce that he had done as he -had been bidden, he found the repaired motor car at the door and her -ladyship sitting in it. - -“Thank you,” she said, as Blint came back with the list of the rooms he -had engaged in her name. “Reckon up the sum total and I will send you a -check for the amount. Home, Mellish.” - -And then the motor car swung out into the roadway and rolled off -through the fast deepening Kentish dusk. - -And this was how it was that when Mr. Milton Dante’s advance agent came -down to Crumplesea to arrange accommodations for the company, he found -every available inch of room in the several hotels engaged for a week -to come. - -“Company’ll have to go into apartments, that’s all,” he said, in -his airy, offhand way to Mr. Bodwin, the proprietor and manager of -the newly erected Crumplesea Opera House. “Dante won’t like that, -of course, for he’s struck a rich thing in getting the provincial -rights to the ‘Beauty of Gotham,’ and he’s putting on no end of -side, and insisting on all the members of the company putting up at -hotels, instead of lodging houses and the like. It’s hard on some -of ’em--especially the low-salaried ‘utility people’--but he’s in a -position to dictate, and it’s that or nothing for most of ’em, poor -devils! I dare say there’ll be many of ’em who’ll be as pleased as -Punch over the mishap; but if the Montague doesn’t raise the roof, when -she learns that she will have to go into apartments, you can write me -down as an ass.” - -“Dear me! is she a very violent person, then?” queried the manager -apprehensively. “We are a very circumspect people here in Crumplesea, -Mr. Billet, although the place is gaining renown as a seaside resort, -and you quite alarm me with these hints.” - -“Oh, don’t let that worry you. She won’t be in the town twenty-four -hours before every man in it is gone on her and willing to swear that -she’s the sweetest thing that ever happened. If ever she manages to get -a hearing in London--and she will yet; she’s not the kind of woman to -be kept in the provinces forever--somebody’s title will come her way, -I warrant you. And it won’t be a mere empty title, either; it will be -one well backed up with capital--trust her for that! She’s a highflyer, -and she comes from a country where they know how to get full value for -everything. Wait till she gets to London, that’s all. She’s not too old -to hook a fish worth landing, even yet.” - -“How old is she, Mr. Billet?” - -“Ask me something easier! On the stage she looks about twenty, on the -street about--oh, well, I’m too old a hand at this business to be -caught belying the posters,” returned Mr. Billet, with a laugh and a -wink. “But look here; draw your own conclusions. She owns up to five -and twenty, and when a woman does that--especially a woman in the -theatrical profession--you can safely add anything from five to ten -to her figures, and not feel that you are doing her any injustice. -Now then, show me the way to the post office, will you? I want to -send a wire to Dante to prepare him for this little muddle about the -accommodations; and, look here, Mr. Bodwin! take a fool’s advice and -don’t you waste your time in going off your head over fair Rosalind -when you see her--though, I dare say, you will, for all that; she seems -born to make men do it wherever she goes--but just remember that you -haven’t the ghost of a chance; and wouldn’t have if you owned all -Crumplesea. Remember, I have warned you.” - -“Thank you, but it is useless warning. I am already a married man.” - -Mr. Billet looked up into his face, and laughed. - -“So was Anthony,” he said. “Now come and show me the way to the post -office.” - - * * * * * - -The curtain had fallen upon the close of the second act of “The Beauty -of Gotham,” and Miss Montague-Vance had disappeared for the nonce from -the enraptured gaze of Oakhampton--it was at the Oakhampton Theater -that the company was appearing to-night--when Mr. Milton Dante--his -baptismal certificate read “Peter Burridge,” by the way--came round -behind the scenes in a state of angry excitement and rapped loudly upon -Miss Montague-Vance’s dressing-room door. - -“It’s me--Milt,” he said, in the quiet original grammar of his native -Battersea. “I’ve got something to show you. Can I come in?” - -“No. If it’s anything important, just wait five minutes and I’ll be -out.” - -The five minutes passed and the door opened, and out of it issued a -creature so lovely, that even Mr. Milton Dante--who ought by this time -to be used to it, Heaven knows--felt a little thrill as the vision -dawned upon him. - -“Scotland! but you do look scrummy to-night!” he said admiringly. - -“Never mind how I look,” returned “the vision,” with an exceedingly -earthy air. “You didn’t come here to pay me silly compliments, I fancy; -or if you did, you are wasting your time and mine, to no purpose. What -is it you want to say to me? Is it anything nice, or the reverse?” - -“The reverse, I’m afraid. Our next ‘stand’ is Crumplesea, and the -company will have to go into apartments when we get there.” - -“Oh! no, it won’t; at least I won’t. None of your seaside apartments -for me, if you please! Let others do what they like--or what you like; -I suppose it amounts to that--but I want the best hotel in the place.” - -“Well, I’m afraid we can’t get in. Billet has just wired me that every -hotel in the place is engaged by some old fool of a woman called Mrs. -Bonair, and that--I say! great Scott! are you ill? Thunder! you’re as -white as a ghost.” - -“Never mind what I am or what I am not,” she answered, in a singularly -hard and singularly uneven voice. “So that woman has heard of my -coming and has tried like this to shut me out, has she?” - -“What woman? What the dickens are you talking about? And I say, -whatever has come over you? I expected you to raise the roof and to shy -things when you heard of this, and I’m blessed if you’re not taking it -as meek as Moses.” - -“No, not quite so meek--as you will learn before this affair is over. -So that woman is going to try to shut me out, is she? Well, it will -be a bad day’s work for her--I promise you that. I would have let her -alone if she had been sensible and let me alone. But she chooses to -show her claws, and so I’ll show mine.” - -“Who the dickens are you talking about?” - -“About this woman, this Mrs. Bonair, who is going to try the trick of -shutting me out of Crumplesea.” - -“Great Scott! do you know her?” - -“Oh, yes, I know her--and what’s more, she shall know me in a few days, -and better than she ever knew me before in her life. Look here, here’s -something for you to know about me as well--I’ve a daughter.” - -“You?” - -“Yes. You’ve often wondered where I sent so much of my salary, and now -you know. I’ve a daughter who’s nearly sixteen years old.” - -“The dickens you say! It can’t be true.” - -“Oh, yes, and what’s more, it is. She’s at school, and I haven’t seen -her--no, and haven’t wanted to, either--since she was old enough to -walk alone. I’m going to see her now, however, and Mrs. Bonair is going -to see her, too--see her and hear of her for the first time. Shut me -out, will she? Show her claws like that, eh, after I’ve let her alone -for all these years? Well, if ever--get out of the way, for goodness’ -sake! That’s the curtain bell, and that little beast of a call boy -never notified me that it was time to begin.” - -And then, without another word, she turned and ran up the stairs to the -stage as fast as her little satin-shod feet could go. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. AT SCHOOL. - - -“Fifteen, love,” said Dora mechanically, as she jotted down the score. -“No, I beg pardon, it isn’t; it’s fifteen all.” - -“Nothing of the sort,” snapped her pet aversion, Gwen Morley, turning -on her with a flash of angry resentment. “You’re not paying attention. -It’s thirty, fifteen; that last ball was a fault, if it’s all the same -to you, Miss Vance, and our side had scored a point before that. It’s -thirty, fifteen, if you please.” - -“Oh, very well,” said Dora--she made a point of never bandying words -with Gwen Morley. “If it is thirty, fifteen, I’ll set it down that way. -No doubt I made a mistake; my head aches. Go on with the game, please, -and I will try to keep the score properly--if I can.” - -“If you can? Well, I like that! What are you here for? I don’t suppose -Miss Skimmers sent you out here to twiddle your thumbs and look at the -sky, although that’s about all you have done since we started playing. -If you can’t keep the score correctly, say so, and we’ll get some other -gifted and condescending pupil teacher to do it for you.” - -Dora swallowed the affront with no more outward show of her feelings -than a slight heightening of her color, and presently the white balls -were skimming over the tennis net and flying through the hot, still air -again. - -But if she said nothing, she thought a great deal, and the term “pupil -teacher” rankled, though why it should have done so--unless it was -because of the sneering tone in which it had been spoken--she could not -tell. For a pupil teacher she undoubtedly was, and had been for this -many a long day. - -“It is your mother’s desire that, as she cannot afford to give you -the full advantages enjoyed by more fortunate pupils, you should do -something yourself to assist in paying for your education,” explained -Miss Skimmers, with something of a sneer, when Dora was old enough and -advanced enough to enter upon this stage of her existence. “You will -divide your time in future between receiving lessons and in imparting -them. You are quite advanced enough now to teach the little children of -the third form, and I will write and tell your mother so.” - -“Oh, yes, do, please,” Dora had said, when she was told this. “If my -mother is poor, Miss Skimmers--and I suppose from what you say, she -must be--I don’t want to be a drag on her, and I should like very -much to do something to help pay for my education. But what is my -mother? You see, I was such a little thing when I first came here that -I don’t remember living anywhere else or belonging to any one else, -and I thought--oh, Miss Skimmers, I didn’t know until this minute that -I belonged to anybody or had a single relation in the world. But a -mother! How delightful! Have I a father, too?” - -“No; I was told that your mother was a widow when you were brought to -me; a widow in good circumstances was how the man--he claimed to be her -solicitor--who brought you here put it, and I was not undeceived until -a year later, when she wrote me to the contrary, and said that, when -you were old enough, she desired you to do something toward reducing -the expenses of your education.” - -Casting back her memory, when she heard this, Dora could readily guess -when that time was; for she had a distinct recollection of coming -suddenly--and for some reason unexplained at the time--down from the -giddy eminence of “show pupil,” who was trotted out to be exhibited -whenever a possible new client made his or her appearance, to the -undignified position of something that ought to be--and was--kept in -the background and translated from the splendors of a bedroom on the -first floor to one that had broken furniture and discolored walls and -nothing but a thin layer of leaky slates between it and heaven. She -had suffered in that upper-story bedroom--suffered agonies of heat -in summer and tortures of cold in winter, and the dread of scurrying -plaster-disturbing rats at all seasons, whether hot or cold--but it all -sank into insignificance now before the glory of having a mother. - -“Who is my mother?” she asked of Miss Skimmers, in the gladness of her -heart and the joy of finding that she possessed such a glorious thing. -“Where is she? What is she? Oh, tell me, please.” - -“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Miss Skimmers answered, as she shrugged -her shoulders and walked away. “All my dealings with her have been -through a third party. But she is evidently not a person of my class or -the class and standing of my other patrons.” - -And considering that Miss Skimmers’ parents had been in the -green-grocer line, and that her pupils were the daughters of successful -drapers, butchers, milliners, and publicans, Dora was rather glad to -hear it. - -In some strange indefinable way she felt herself of a different clay -from the rest of Miss Skimmers’ pupils, and held herself aloof from -them. And they felt it, too, and hated her for it, hardly knowing -why--only that she always reminded them of a rose in a bed of -dandelions, and, try as they would to remember that the dandelions -were gifted with the hue of gold, they could not forget that they were -little, undersized, glaring, stiff-stalked, piggish, close-to-the-earth -things and that the rose was always the rose, and that it was nature’s -law that it should hold its head above them and be a nobler flower than -they. - -For a time, the knowledge that she had a mother somewhere in the world -filled Dora with a sense of a joy that was sufficient in itself, and -she used to lie awake nights and dream of the time when that wonderful -mother would come and take her away, or perhaps call in the mid-term -just to see her, as the other girls’ mothers sometimes did. But as the -weeks and the months and the years rolled by and brought no realization -of the dream, it died slowly down into the dead level of her daily life -and was forgotten entirely--or if not actually forgotten, at least -laid away, as children lay away the fables and the fairy tales of the -nursery when they have grown too old to believe in them as possible -things. - -“There wasn’t any truth in it; it was all a ‘make-believe’ of Miss -Skimmers, and I haven’t any mother at all,” she said to herself -whenever the phantom of that dead hope came back to haunt her. “If -I had, she would not have left me so utterly alone for all these -years--it isn’t human. She will never come--I know it now--because she -doesn’t exist. I seem fated to pass my life enduring the cold insolence -of brewers’ daughters, like Gwen Morley, and the sneers of people like -Miss Skimmers. I won’t, however. I’ll get out of it all, as soon as I -am old enough to go away, and I’ll earn my living and make a place for -myself in the world, somehow.” - -That had been her determination months and months ago, she was thinking -of it now as she sat, a dreary, shabby, spiritless figure, in the -grounds of Miss Skimmers’ “School for Young Ladies,” and watched the -tennis balls fly to and fro through the hot, still air of the summer -afternoon. - -The hot sun beating down upon her made her head ache, and the glare -of the white dresses of the tennis players hurt her eyes; even the -whistling of a thrush in a near-by tree seemed to irritate her to-day, -and the loud laughter of the girls was positively maddening. But she -kept on with the distasteful task of umpiring the match, and said never -a word, until suddenly a shadow lengthened across the grass, fell upon -her score book, and made her look up. Then she saw that one of the -housemaids was standing beside her, and became conscious that the girl -was saying something to her. - -“You will have to get some one else to umpire for a time,” she said, as -she rose from her seat and laid the score book down beside Gwen Morley. -“Miss Skimmers has sent word that she wants to see me at once.” - -She was unspeakably glad to get out of the heat and the blinding glare -of the sun, and she walked away instantly, going straight to the -cool, shadowy, little room where Miss Skimmers passed her hours of -relaxation, and where the maid had told her that lady was waiting for -her. - -She opened the door and walked in--wondering the while what she was -going to be taken to task for now; a summons to Miss Skimmers’ presence -usually meaning that. She was not at all surprised when she beheld that -large plethoric female pacing the room in a state of violent excitement -and wheezing like an asthmatical dragon. - -“Shameful, I call it, Miss Vance!” she blurted out, without any -preface, as Dora came into the room. “After all the sacrifices I have -made for you, after all the consideration I have shown you both! And in -the middle of the term, too, without a word of notice or a chance to -supply the vacancy”--her voice rising to a sort of shriek, as she flung -her unwieldy body about the room. “Shameful, I call it; outrageous, I -call it, and wanting in all respect, all decency, all consideration for -me.” - -“If you will tell me what all this is the prelude to, Miss Skimmers, -perhaps I shall be able to understand what you mean,” said Dora, in -that calm, low, reposeful voice, which was one of nature’s birth gifts -to her, and which even fourteen years in the Skimmers’ establishment -had not been able to destroy. “Will you tell me, please, what has -happened and let me draw my own conclusions with regard to what you are -pleased to term the ‘shamefulness’ of it; I suppose it has something to -do with me, or you would not have sent for me.” - -“It has everything to do with you,” cried Miss Skimmers, in what Dora, -in unholy moments of secret mirth, was wont to call her “here’s your -fine cauliflowers and nice fresh radishes” voice. “It has everything to -do with you and with that inconsiderate person, your mother.” - -“My mother? Let us leave that phantom out of the matter, Miss Skimmers. -I am eighteen years of age--or I shall be in a month--and it is hardly -complimentary to my intelligence to expect me to have faith in fairy -tales now.” - -“I don’t know what you mean,” said Miss Skimmers. “You were always a -queer girl, and I never could understand you. I dare say that your -mother is like you, or she wouldn’t be treating me in this shameful -way and sending for you in the middle of the term and not giving me a -moment’s notice to get some one to fill your place.” - -Dora’s head swam and she staggered a little as though the heat had -overcome her. - -“My mother,” she said faintly. “You say that my mother has sent -for--oh, Miss Skimmers, are you losing your senses or am I? My mother? -Mine? She exists? And has sent for me? Oh, Miss Skimmers, is it really -true?” - -“Yes, it is; and very uncommon shabby of her I call it, too--sending -for you like this, and not giving me time to fill your place. Here’s -her letter, if you want to see it. She’s stopping at a place called -Minorca Villa, in Crumplesea, on the Kentish coast, and she writes -that you’re to go to her there at once, and not to delay a moment in -starting. And here’s a five-pound note she inclosed for you to get a -new frock and to pay your railway ticket, and here’s a card, too, with -the address on it, ‘Minorca Villa, Nightingale Road, Crumplesea, Kent.’” - -Dora took both the letter and the card, read each--in a state of -blissful excitement--and then took possession of the five-pound note. - -“To think of my mother being a really existing person!” she said, with -a happy little laugh. “Oh, Miss Skimmers, I can scarcely believe it. I -shall go at once, at once.” - -She was as good as her word. Within the space of half an hour, she -had packed her small belongings into a shabby valise--a relic of -her “first-floor” days--sent them over to the railway station by a -housemaid, said good-by to the house cat, her only friend and companion -in the dreary days she was leaving behind her, and had shaken the dust -of the Skimmers’ establishment from her feet forever. - -The day no longer seemed hot and suffocating, and the sun no longer -hurt her eyes as she walked down the dusty, glaring, treeless road to -the railway station--she was going to her mother, that poor, sorely -tried, wonderful mother, who was an existent, after all, and whose -poverty had kept them so long apart. For by some strange process of -reasoning which was not compatible with the facts of the case, she had -arrived at the conclusion that poverty was the sole explanation of her -mother’s long neglect of her. - -“Poor little mother!” she thought, as she hurried out; “it took all -she could spare to pay for my education, of course, and she could not -afford to waste money in coming to see me. What a dear she is to -have done so much! But never mind, I’ll make it all up to you, and -there will be two now to fight the battle, and as the proverb says, -‘Many hands make light work.’ I can teach music, and no end of things, -and--you’ll see!--it won’t be long before I find pupils and am in -a position to give you a nice little home and at least some of the -comforts a lady should have.” - -For, of course, her mother was a lady; there could be no possible -doubt of that, considering that in the old days she had had her -affairs attended to by a family solicitor and was spoken of as a -person of considerable importance--a lady in reduced circumstances, it -is true, but still a lady. In her mind’s eye, Dora could almost see -her already--a sweet-faced, sweet-voiced motherly old lady with gray -hair and mild eyes; a dear, soft-treading, soft-speaking, gentle old -darling, with a tiny white cap on her head and such beautiful shapely -old hands. - -“How I shall love her; how I shall love her!” said the girl, with a -little rush of happy tears; then she laughed aloud in her happiness, -and, catching sight of the station at last, quickened her steps, until -she was almost running when she finally entered it. Going up to the -ticket office, she purchased her ticket. - -“Have to change at Morecome Junction,” said the clerk, in answer to her -query; “and if you catch the connection, you ought to be at Crumplesea -about six-forty. If you miss it, you’ll have to stop at Morecome the -night; there’s no other trains to Crumplesea until the morning. Train -for Morecome’s coming in now. - -“Number four platform--and you’ll have to step lively if you want to -catch it.” - -“Thank you,” said Dora, as she gathered up her ticket and the change. -In another moment, she was flying down the stairs to the train and to -the beginning of the strange new life that lay before her. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. THE MEETING. - - -For once, in a way, fortune favored Dora. She managed to catch the -connecting train at Morecome Junction, and, as a consequence, arrived -at Crumplesea--tired and dusty, but still full of enthusiasm--at a -quarter to seven that same evening. - -It was the night of the opening of the Crumplesea Opera House, and -she found the whole town placarded with gaudy posters of “The Beauty -of Gotham”--glaring, highly colored things, depicting women with -impossible tresses of an impossible shade of yellow, frisking about in -skirts above their knees. - -But in that first glance she had seen the name, “Miss Rosalind -Montague-Vance,” emblazoned over the boldest and the most conspicuous -of them all, and she had felt an added shame because of that. - -Not that she had any idea that the bearer of it could be in any way, -even the remotest, connected with herself--for there were hundreds of -“Vances” in the world; even Miss Skimmers having had more than one of -them enrolled among her pupils in Dora’s time--but that the knowledge -of there being a woman bearing a name the same as her own, who could -let her pictures be shown in public, made the shame of it seem a -personal matter. - -“How it must shock poor little mother, if she has seen it, too,” she -said to herself. “Fancy having one’s name flaunted about by a creature -like that, and in the very town where one lives! It must be awful.” - -The change of the five-pound note that had been sent her was still in -her pocket--there had not been time to stop anywhere and buy the new -frock she had been told to do--and hastily summoning a cabman to her -aid, she gave him the necessary directions, and was soon speeding away -to Minorca Villa with her shabby old valise on the top of the vehicle. - -Her destination was a rather shabby little brick house in a side -street--there were such things as “apartments” to be had in Crumplesea, -and all the available ones were engaged for Mr. Milton Dante’s -company--and here at this flat-fronted, dejected-looking little -building, Dora’s long journey from Miss Skimmers’ seat of learning came -to an end. - -“Come in, miss,” said the landlady--who opened the door in person. -“The maid, she’s away--’aving been sent a’ errand by your sweet ma. -You’re Miss Montague-Vance’s daughter, of course; anybody could see -that at a glance, for you’re the livin’ image of ’er. ’Ere, Sarah! come -and take the young lady’s luggage and carry it up to the room Miss -Montague-Vance selected for ’er. Come in, miss; your sweet ma, she’s -awaitin’ of yer--’aving but recent come back from a drive round the -town with Mr. Bodwin, as owns the opera ’ouse, and Mr. Dante, as runs -the company.” - -All this was Greek to Dora. As a matter of fact, she hardly heard -it, for her mind was in a whirl between settling with the cabman and -realizing that she was now under the same roof with her unknown mother. -She scarcely knew what was said or done, until she was led down a short -and narrow passage, and the woman beside her was knocking at the door -before which they both stood. - -“The young lady, mum,” said the woman, as, in answer to a nonchalant, -“Come in,” she turned the knob, and, letting a strong odor of Turkish -cigarettes stream out into the passage, thrust open the door, “the -young lady, mum, and I’m a-showin’ of ’er straight in like you asked.” - -Dora waited for nothing more. - -“Mother!” she said, with a little throb in her voice as she pressed -past the landlady and entered the room, shutting the door behind her. - -It seemed so holy, this meeting for the first time since infancy with -the mother who had borne her! “It is I; it is Dora; it is----” - -Here she stopped. The room was full of smoke, and through the dense -aromatic cloud, she saw a figure curled up in a deep armchair beside a -table littered with papers, magazines, and cigarette ashes--a figure -clad in a beautiful lace tea gown, and with a lovely, alluring face -framed in a loose mass of disheveled wine-gold hair. - -“Oh! I beg your pardon,” said Dora, coloring and instinctively fumbling -for the knob of the door. “Such an absurd mistake. Pray forgive me; the -fault was not mine. I expected to find my mother here.” - -“Well, so you have done. If you are Dora--and what an absurdly big -creature you have grown! I am your mother.” - -“You? Absurd! Oh, pardon me, I don’t mean to be rude, but really this -is too silly. You can’t be more than a year or two older than I am -myself--and I am nearly eighteen years of age.” - -“Nearly sixteen, please; I’ve told Dante that, and we may as well stick -to it. It’s bad enough to have to confess that I’m old enough to have a -daughter nearly sixteen, without adding two years to it, for the sake -of truth. What in the world has made you grow like this? Of course, -I know that your father was tall, but if I had thought that you were -as big and as old-looking as you are, I don’t believe I should had -have courage enough to send to that Skimmers woman for you--although I -don’t know; it’s worth something to have a dig at your aunt! What are -you staring at me like this for? For pity’s sake, sit down. Why didn’t -you get a new dress? I sent money for you to do so. But perhaps the -Skimmers woman didn’t give it to you? Did she? Why don’t you answer? -I hate people who stare and say nothing. Sit down and talk to me, for -goodness’ sake. I haven’t much time to waste with you, anyway; I’ve got -to be off to the theater in a few minutes. I’m opening the new opera -house to-night, you know--or, perhaps, you don’t know! But the town is -well billed, and if you have any eyes at all you must have seen my name -on the boardings.” - -Dora drew back with a sudden influx of memory and with a shuddering -sense of repulsion. “Oh, you don’t mean--you can’t mean that you--you -are that woman? And that you are my mother as well?” - -“Why can’t I mean it? Look here! that Skimmers woman hasn’t raised you -like some Puritanical old granny, has she? I’m going to put you on the -stage, you know, and have a ‘go’ at your spiteful aunt, in that way. -She always treated her brother and me very shabbily. I don’t suppose -you ever heard much about your father? Well, he was the unfortunate -stepbrother to the richest woman in this part of the country: Mrs. -Charles Bonair. He’s dead, by the way, so you won’t be worried by him. -Although I wrote her, she wouldn’t give a farthing to me. Stingy old -cat! I told her about you--oh, make no mistake about that--and I’ll -make her pay dear for what she has tried to do against me in this town. -She would not let sleeping dogs lie, and now that she has waked ’em up, -she’ll have to pay the price for it, if I know myself.” - -Something that was like the pressure of a strong hand gripped Dora’s -throat. She did not speak; she could not--all strength, mental as -well as physical, seemed somehow to have died within her, and, in a -sort of collapse, she sank down on the edge of a convenient seat, and -stared dumbly at the shining figure before her; a sense of shuddering -repulsion biting into her soul and mirroring itself, in spite of her, -in her fixed eyes. For, somehow, this woman, her newly found mother, -reminded her of a snake curled up in rose leaves. - -“Don’t stare at me like that or I shall throw something at you, in a -minute!” blazed wrathfully the object of her attention, reading that -look and starting suddenly up in a temper. “I can see how it is: you -hate me. No; don’t trouble yourself to tell a polite lie--that sort -of thing is wasted on me--and besides, the sentiment is reciprocated. -I think I never saw a more ill-favored, unlovable creature in my life! -It positively makes me ill to look at you, with your way of looking -at people as though they were dirt beneath your feet. Upon my soul, -I’m half inclined to send you back to where you came from and to have -nothing more to do with you.” - -“I wish you would,” said Dora impulsively. “It was a hard life at Miss -Skimmers’ but--I wish you would.” - -“Oh, do you? Well, I won’t, then! I’m not the kind of person to invest -in stocks and then tear up the certificates. I may be like a hen who -has hatched out an eagle’s egg, but--the eagle is of some use to me at -present, and I’m not going to have it kicked out of the nest, simply -because it desires that sort of thing. I’ve made all my arrangements -with Milt Dante, and I’m going to put you on the stage.” - -“No, never!” said Dora, finding her voice suddenly. “I don’t want to go -on the stage; I prefer to be as I am.” - -“Oh, do you? Well, perhaps you haven’t any voice in the matter. You are -under age, and I am your legal guardian, and it strikes me that you -are going to do as you are bid, whether it meets with your approval -or not. I’ve made all arrangements with Mr. Dante, and you are going -to appear here--in this very town--to-morrow night, and are going to -be ‘featured’ on the bill as ‘Miss Vance, the niece of Mrs. Charles -Bonair, of Thetford Towers,’ and you are going, in that character, to -lead the March of the Amazons and to wear as little as the law allows -in the way of dress.” - -“I will never do it!” said Dora, starting to her feet, her whole body -shaking and her cheeks aflame, as she thought of the “ladies” she had -seen on the posters. “I don’t know whether you have told the truth or -not about my being the daughter of a gentleman, but--I will never do a -thing like that. I will run away first.” - -The figure in the chair rose unsteadily, in a froth of lace and a -billow of roseate silk, and laughingly drained out the last drop from a -champagne bottle on the table and drank it. - -“You won’t get the chance to run away,” she said, “I shall keep you -under my own eye until then. You will go with me to the theater -to-night, and I will put you under Milt Dante’s care whenever I am -obliged to leave you. As for your appearing on the stage to-morrow -night, you’ll do that if I have to chloroform you and have you carried -on. I’ll pay that woman for trying to shut me out of Crumplesea, make -no mistake about that. Now, come and help me dress; it’s time I was off -to the theater, and that fool of a Bodwin will be round here with his -carriage presently, to drive me there.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. A VIXEN. - - -What Mr. Milton Dante’s advance agent had predicted came to pass. Miss -Montague-Vance’s triumph was absolute before the curtain had fallen -upon the first act of “The Beauty of Gotham,” and by the time the first -night’s performance came to an end, all Crumplesea--all masculine -Crumplesea, that is to say--was, metaphorically, at her feet. - -Whatever she might be off the stage, there was no gainsaying the fact -that on it, hers was an alluring, lovely personality, and that her -beautiful face, and her soft dovelike eyes seemed created to make men -lose their heads and their hearts, and to become absolutely insane -over her. She could sing, too--not merely carry a tune and let the -orchestra furnish all the music, as so many of her kind do, but sing -intelligently, sweetly, and with a voice that showed cultivation as -well as the melody which had been put into it by nature--and as she -exerted herself that night as none of her colleagues had ever known her -to do before, it is scarcely to be wondered that she carried everything -before her, and that the reception accorded to her by delighted -Crumplesea partook of the nature of an ovation. - -In all the crowd that filled the new opera house and cheered and -shouted over her success, there was perhaps only one person--Dora--who -did not delight in her triumph. - -Seated in a proscenium box under the watchful eye and the close -guardianship of Mr. Milton Dante, the girl, dumb with shame, and -heartsick with despair, remained all the evening with her eyes cast -down, and never, even once, looked toward the stage. It was a relief -to her when the thing was over, and she was out in the cool night air -again, driving back to Minorca Villa, with Mr. Milton Dante on one side -of her, Mrs. Skivers--the wardrobe woman of the company, who had been -told to look after her in future and to share her room at the villa--on -the other, and her mother on the box with Mr. Bodwin, chattering and -laughing as they drove home through the fragrant sea-scented darkness. - -It was close to midnight when they came clattering up to Minorca -Villa, to find the landlady--whose palm had been rubbed with the magic -ointment of gold beforehand--awaiting them and a tempting little supper -on the table. - -“How sweet of you, dear Mrs. Burners,” said the siren of the evening, -as she jumped down and led the way into the house. “I am positively -famished. Are Miss Dora’s rooms ready? Thank you; she won’t sit up -to-night, I fancy.” - -“No, nor any other night,” supplemented Dora herself, in a low, firm -voice. “I have made up my mind that I will never do what you wish me to -do, and you may as well know that now as later. Let me go away; let me -go back to Miss Skimmers. I tell you I will never do that thing, never -while there is breath in my body.” - -“Oh, are you going to begin on that strain again? Take her up to bed, -Mrs. Skivers, and come down after she’s safely tucked in--and locked -in, too, mind--and chaperon me! One has to make some concession to that -awful British personage, Mrs. Grundy, you know.” And then with an airy -wave of the hand, she passed into the room where the supper was spread, -leaving Dora to trudge wearily and dejectedly up the stairs, in company -with Mrs. Skivers. - -“A glass of champagne and a cigarette, somebody! I feel like an eagle -that has been shut up for hours in a cage. Milt, don’t stop to carve -that chicken, when you must know that I’m on fire with impatience to -hear if you have done what I told you?” - -“About sending the wire to Mrs. Bonair, you mean? Oh, yes, I attended -to that, all right. But not exactly in the manner we first planned it. -Hasn’t Mr. Bodwin told you?” - -“Told me? He’s told me nothing. How could he, with that stupid girl -with us the whole time? What has been done? What was amiss with the -original scheme?” - -“Mr. Bodwin didn’t think it would work. He fancied Mrs. Bonair wouldn’t -take any notice of it, so to make sure, he drove over to the next town, -and as he knows the name of Mrs. Bonair’s lawyer, he hired a man to go -over by trap to Morecome Junction and wire back this: - - “‘Have missed connection, and am coming down by hired conveyance. - Look for me. Must see you to-night on a matter of life and death. - - “‘HAZLITT.’ - -“That will keep her up no matter how late the hour is, and she will see -you when you go.” - -“As she wouldn’t, I am convinced, dear Miss Montague, if you acted on -your original plan,” put in Mr. Bodwin. “I don’t mind telling you that -I owe her a grudge for trying to ruin the opening of the opera house; -and besides, I--I would do anything in the world for you.” - -“What a dear you are,” she said, with a laugh, and one of her arch -glances. “You shall take me for a ride to-morrow for that, and I will -take care that our dear, sweet friend never finds out that you had -anything to do with this business. Now another glass to the success of -the venture, Milt, and then away we go! Show her claws to me, will she, -the cat? Look here! there will be some fur flying to-night, unless I’m -out in my reckoning.” - -The second glass of champagne was poured out and drained, but--the -start was not yet; for just then Mrs. Skivers reappeared upon the scene -with word that she had seen Dora up to her room and locked her in, and -there had to be a third glass in consequence. - -“Stop here, Mrs. Skivers, and wait for us,” said Rosalind, when she -finally rose and let Mr. Bodwin again wrap her in the long cloak she -had discarded on entering. “I’m going for a short drive with the -gentlemen. You’ll find plenty to eat and drink, but mind you, don’t -take too much for your own good.” - -“I’ll look out for that,” said Dante, as he slid an unopened bottle -into each pocket of his coat and took possession of three clean glasses. - -“‘Lead on; I follow thee.’” - -Outside, Mr. Bodwin’s private carriage still stood waiting. They -trooped out and got into it and went skimming off through the darkness -again. - -Crumplesea was like a cemetery now, so still and black and lifeless it -was. They scudded through it and whirled out upon the cliffs, with the -sea droning and curling long zigzag lines of froth far down below them, -and the moonless sky stretching velvet-dark above. - -For twenty minutes or so they drove along with the wind in their faces, -the blown salt scent of the sea in their nostrils; then the carriage -swung suddenly round a curve that took it inland, bowled along a quiet -road hedged with brambles and overhung with trees, and, whirling at -length out of this, came full upon an immense double row of oaks -leading up to a building set in the midst of a sort of park. - -What it was like, this building, the darkness made it impossible to -ascertain with any degree of certainty, but in the lower windows of it -lights were burning and gave vague glimpses of a long, broad veranda -curtained with flowering vines and of a stone-railed terrace dotted at -regular intervals with urns that were full of flowers. - -“Here we are; this is Thetford Towers,” said Mr. Bodwin, in a whisper. -But before he could say more, a flash of nearer light revealed the -presence of a lodge--half lost in a wilderness of vines--and of a man -looming out to open the gates. - -“It’s you at last, sir,” the man said, as he made everything ready for -the vehicle to enter the grounds. “Mrs. Bonair has been watching for -you this long time, sir. I think you’ll find her in the veranda, sir. -It’s an uncommon hot night, and she is a rare one for fresh air, as no -doubt you know.” - -“Well, she will get something more than ‘fresh air’ in this case,” -said Rosalind, with a soft, low laugh, as the carriage swept by and -bowled up the broad driveway to the house. “Fancy the old cat living in -such luxury as this and never giving a farthing piece to me. You wait! -I’ll make her pay dear for it! She shall pour out sacks of money to -me before to-morrow night, or I’ll disgrace her so that she’ll never -show her face in public again. Look, will you? Look! There’s somebody -walking up and down that terrace, and it’s a woman, I can see her -passing by those lighted windows.” - -“’S-h-h-! it’s Mrs. Bonair herself,” whispered Mr. Bodwin. “I’ve seen -her too many years to be mistaken in her. My dear, if you wouldn’t mind -my stopping here----” - -“Of course, I don’t. Didn’t I say you shouldn’t be known in the affair? -Stop at once and let me go on alone. Milt, if there’s another glassful -left in that bottle I’ll take it.” - -“Better not, Rose; you’ve had enough, I’m thinking.” - -“Never mind what you are ‘thinking,’ I’m the best judge of what I want. -A fresh glassful and a fresh cigarette, please; I’m going to interview -my sister-in-law. Thank you so much! Here’s health and prosperity to -all of us. And now--for trouble.” - -Speaking, she scrambled down from the vehicle--a little unsteadily, as -both Mr. Bodwin and Mr. Dante observed--and, cigarette in mouth, ran -jauntily up to the veranda. - -“Good evening, my dear,” she said, as she skipped airily into the -veranda and confronted Mrs. Bonair. “You needn’t wait any longer for -Mr. Hazlitt, because he hasn’t the slightest knowledge of the wire that -was sent you, and I dare say that he has been in bed and asleep for -hours. Need I introduce myself?” - -Berry turned quickly, and faced her visitor. There was a brief pause; -then she answered with cold, calm, scornful dignity: - -“No, that is not in the least necessary. But you may tell me, if you -wish, why you presume to come here.” - -“I have come to either open your precious moneybags or to make you pay -dearly for trying to shut me out of Crumplesea.” - -Berry gave a sort of faint gasp--so low that it was scarcely -audible--then pulled herself together and tapped on the pane of the -nearest window. - -“Thompson,” she said imperatively; “Thompson, come out here at once and -take this creature away.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. A LAST DECISION. - - -Rosalind’s insolent face went red with wrath. - -“I don’t know who ‘Thompson’ is or whether it’s a man or a woman,” she -said threateningly, “but it will be a bad night’s business for both of -you, if either he or she tries anything of that sort. I’ve some friends -within call, and if I can’t take care of myself without them, I’ve only -to call, to get all the help I need.” - -Berry looked the unutterable disgust she felt, and she involuntarily -drew back a step from her unwelcome visitor. Fortunately for all -concerned, however, Thompson--who was one of the under footmen--was in -another part of the house at the time and did not, therefore, put in an -appearance in response to her ladyship’s request. - -Rosalind waited for a moment in expectation of hostilities of a -more formidable character than the mere resentment of an indignant -gentlewoman, and, finding that none were likely to come, stuck her -cigarette between her lips again and blew out a long writhing plume of -smoke. - -“I reckon that ‘Thompson’ knows when he’s well off, and has made -himself scarce,” she said with a laugh and a wave of one very much -bejeweled hand. “And as there’s no way for you to get into the house -unless I choose to step aside and let you, I also reckon you’ve got to -stand and face the music whether you like it or not. Turn about’s fair -play the world over. You tried to shut me out of Crumplesea, and now -I’m shutting you in--in your own veranda.” - -“What do you want of me, that you have had the impudence to come here -and to play me such a trick as you have done?” asked Berry, with cool -scorn. “No! don’t come any nearer; keep your distance, please; you are -quite too close for comfort as it is.” - -“Oh! you want to know what I’ve come for, do you? Well, you shall--and -in short order, too! Yes, and you’ll dance to a more expensive tune -than I first intended for treating me like this. Ten thousand would -have bought me off when first I came, but it’ll cost you fifty thousand -now, I promise you.” - -“There’s a mistake on your part--it won’t cost me a penny. If you -have any idea of blackmailing me because you are--well, what you are, -get that idea out of your mind at once. That my stepbrother married a -creature who was--and apparently still is--scarcely a fit associate for -one of my scullery maids and that I disowned him for it, are matters -that are known to every one who knows me, and I should scarcely be -likely to pay you money to keep secret a thing that is public property.” - -“Oh! that’s the ‘tack’ you’re going on, is it? Well, suppose I start -in telling something that everybody doesn’t know--not even you -yourself--what then? Look here, my Lady High and Mighty, you snuffed me -out as a wife and widow, but you can’t snuff me out as a mother--the -mother of your brother’s daughter, a child born in honorable wedlock -nearly eighteen years ago.” - -Save that it grew perhaps the fraction of a shade paler, Berry’s face -changed not one whit. - -She flung away her cigarette and fumbled for a moment among the folds -of her skirt, then her unsteady hand drew a packet of paper from her -pocket, loosened the bit of string that held it together, and flirted -off two documents from the top. - -“There’s her baptismal certificate, for one, and my marriage lines, -for another,” she said, “and here’s one of Adrian’s letters to me -acknowledging that he knew there was going to be a child. Solid -evidence that, isn’t it?” - -“Certainly; indisputable evidence. But again--quite unnecessary! Why -all this palaver? I really don’t see what you are driving at. Neither -I, nor my husband, nor any one else, ever doubted your announcement, -years ago. We simply had no interest in the matter. What is your -intention?” - -“Now look here: here’s what is going to happen to-morrow night, if you -don’t buy me off at my own price, and take that girl off my hands.” - -Speaking, she unfolded the last of the papers she held, filling the air -as she did so with the faint, sickly smell of fresh printer’s ink, and -shook out a still damp half-sheet poster. - -Berry did not notice it for a moment; she had taken up the baptismal -certificate and the faded letter. But she turned at last and saw the -bill that was held up for her inspection. And for the first time her -face became really pale. - -“Looks nice, doesn’t it?” said Rosalind, with a little babble of -splenetic mockery. “Your niece is going to lead the Amazon march, -and--in tights! She says she won’t, but she will, you know; she’ll -have to give in--people always have to do that where I’m concerned. -You’ll do it presently, like all the rest, and I shall leave this place -with your check for fifty thousand pounds in my pocket or else these -bills go up to-morrow morning, and what’s printed on them will happen -to-morrow night. It doesn’t do to run foul of me, does it, now?” - -“I don’t know,” said Berry, in a low, level voice; “and I really don’t -think that I care, either. If you have set your mind upon doing this -thing, you must do it, of course. And now, if you have said all that -you have to say, be good enough to relieve me of your presence. You -cannot extort one copper out of me, madam, no matter what you propose -to do.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. A VAIN THREAT. - - -“What!” she said, in a loud, aggressive voice, “you’ll let this thing -go on? You’ll let your brother’s daughter be put on the stage and made -a spectacle of, and you won’t pay me my price to prevent it?” - -“I will not pay you one penny--no, not even one farthing--to prevent -that or any other piece of blackguardism you may contemplate -committing. The girl is nothing to me, less than nothing since she is -your daughter. Do what you please with her; it is a matter of perfect -indifference to me, but I warn you that if you take liberties with my -name in the manner you propose to do, it will be actionable, and I -shall instruct my lawyer to prosecute.” - -For one moment Rosalind stood irresolute, rage tearing at her like a -ravenous wolf and the fumes of the wine she had drank mounting higher -and higher until her head swam. Then, of a sudden, she lurched away -from the rail of the veranda and leaped forward like a cat springing at -a mouse, her two hands reaching out and shutting upon Berry’s throat. - -“You’re a pig, you’re a stingy, spiteful, vicious old pig!” she -said, as she shook her with all her strength. “I’ll make you suffer -for this! I will, as I’m a living woman! Those bills go up in the -morning--do you hear me? and you can send some one to Crumplesea Opera -House to-morrow night, if you think I’m afraid of your threats of -prosecution and won’t disgrace your name as I said I would. Defy me, -will you? You’ll see what it costs, you’ll see, you’ll see!” - -And here, with one final shake, she pushed from her, and scudded out of -the veranda and ran dizzily down the path to the waiting vehicle. - -Mr. Bodwin and Mr. Milton Dante, who were anxiously awaiting her -return, saw her the very instant she appeared. - -“I say! it is really you at last,” said Mr. Dante, as she came -reeling up to the vehicle. “We began to think you were never coming, -and----Hello! what’s up? You look as though you were in a dickens of a -temper. Has the old girl been using you roughly, and wouldn’t she pay -the price, after all?” - -“She wouldn’t pay any price, even a farthing’s worth!” - -“You don’t mean to say that she intends to let it go on?” - -“Never mind what I intend to say, I’ll tell you in time enough. Turn -the horse round a bit, the wheel is in the way of the step and I want -to get in. What’s the matter with you two? Don’t you know how to -manage a horse? You keep the thing prancing about so much I can’t get -on the step.” - -“It--it’s not me, Miss Vance,” declared Mr. Bodwin; “it’s you; you’re -frightening it by rattling that bell and slipping off the step so -often, and it simply won’t stand still!” - -“Oh! it won’t, eh? Thinks it can play tricks on me like every one else -this evening, does it? I’ll show it--the beast!” - -Her temper was up now in real earnest. - -She lurched away from the side of the vehicle after still another -futile effort to keep her foothold upon the step, and by the time the -two men divined her intention she was halfway to the horse’s head. - -“Stop!” screeched out Mr. Milton Dante. - -“Miss Vance, for Heaven’s sake!” began Mr. Bodwin; but both cries fell -upon deaf ears. - -Blind with rage and maddened with drink, she rushed at the horse’s -head, caught at the bridle with one hand, and with the other struck it -full in the face. - -“Defy me, will you, you beast?” she began, and then--spoke never again! - -The reins that Mr. Bodwin was holding slackened suddenly and curved in -a loop between his knees for one instant before they drew taut again; -the horse reared in terror, an awful figure in the dark of the night, -over the small slight shape which for two seconds stood erect in the -pathway, then came a thud of descending hoofs and a little bleat of -agony, and in the winking of an eye men and vehicle were being whirled -off through the darkness by a runaway horse, and all that was mortal -of the woman whose loveliness had charmed all Crumplesea to-night lay -huddled up in the dust with one arm twisted under it and its skull -crushed in like an eggshell. - - * * * * * - -On the following day, Berry--who had lain awake all night, wondering -what she ought to do, and finally resolving to find her niece and save -her from the disgrace that threatened her--lost no time in tracing the -unhappy girl. - -To her surprise, she was charmed with her niece, after only an hour’s -talk with Dora. Childless herself, and loving children dearly, Berry -welcomed Dora to her heart and home; and when Charles returned from -America, he, too, rejoiced in Berry’s happiness. - -Thus Dora found in Berry a mother who deserved and won her love, and -in Charles a kind father, to take the place of one whom she had never -known. - -THE END. - -No. 1173 of the NEW EAGLE SERIES, by Charlotte May Stanley, is entitled -“Could He Have Known.” - - * * * * * - -Love Stories - -There is a great deal of difference between love stories and sex -stories. There is something about _love_ which commands respect and -reverence. - -There is nothing about the sex story which commands either. Most -decent-minded people are disgusted with the sort of literature that -some publishers are putting out in the guise of truth. - -If you want to know what a really decent, clean, wholesome love story -is, ask your dealer to sell you a copy of the _Bertha Clay Library_, or -the _Eagle Library_. - -In these two series, you will find everything that is necessary in -fiction to hold your interest, and a great deal that is preferable to -the sort of stuff which is being put out under camouflage by certain -publishers who are not very careful either about the way they make -money or what they publish. - - STREET & SMITH CORPORATION - 79 Seventh Avenue New York City - - * * * * * - -Only One Best - -The best paper-covered books are S. & S. NOVELS; consequently they are -imitated. - -When you ask for an S. & S. 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