Her feelings somewhat relieved by this explosion of resentment, Roma laughed harshly, murmuring to herself:
"He will be here the first thing in the morning to beg me to take him back, promising never to slight me so cruelly again. Of course, I will forgive him, after pouting a while, and making him very uneasy, but from this day forward he will have learned a lesson that I must be first with him in everything. I will never tolerate neglect, and he must learn that fact at once."
She was so agitated she could not go into thehouse just yet. She wandered about the grounds, trying to overcome her angry excitement before she went in, for she knew that her mother was sure to come to her room for a little chat before retiring, and she could not bear her questioning.
"Dear mamma, I know she idolizes me, but at times I find her very tiresome," she soliloquized. "How tired I get of her lecturing on the beauty of goodness, as if I were the wickedest girl in the world! I know I am not goody-goody, as she is, and I don't want to be! Good people don't have much fun in this world; they let the wicked ones get the advantage and run over them always. However, I shall be as sweet as sugar to her to-night, for I want her to help me tease papa to-morrow for that set of rubies I want!"
She leaned upon the gate, letting the cool wind caress her heated brow, waiting for her cheeks to cool, and her heart to thump less fiercely with anger before she went in to encounter her mother's searching gaze; but it would have been a thousand times better for her if she had gone to sob her grief out on that mother's gentle breast, than waited here for the fate that was swiftly approaching.
The dark, sinister-looking stranger who hadinsulted Liane Lester on the beach had rowed back to shore as soon as Devereaux was out of sight.
He was interested in Roma Clarke, as his questions to Liane had plainly shown.
He came slowly, cautiously, up to the gate, his heart leaping with hope as he saw a beautiful head leaning over it that he hoped and believed must be Roma's herself.
"What luck for me, and what a shock for her!" he muttered grimly, as he advanced.
At the same moment Mrs. Clarke was sending Roma's maid out with a message that it was so chilly she ought to come in, or she might take cold.
She would not listen to her husband's remonstrance that Roma was with her lover, and might not wish to be interrupted.
"Jesse can come in, too; I am sure he would not wish Roma to get sick out in the night air with nothing on her head!" cried the anxious mother.
"How you love that girl!" he cried testily, and she laughed sweetly.
"Are you getting jealous of my love for our daughter, dear? You need not, for the first place in my heart is yours, but remember how devotedI have always been to Roma, ever since she was born."
"I know, but has she ever seemed to show the right appreciation of your devotion?" he exclaimed abruptly.
A deep and bitter sigh quivered over the wife's lips, but she parried the question with a complaint:
"You are always insinuating some fault against my darling. Your heart is cold to her, Edmund."
He put his arms around her, and kissed the still lovely face with the passion of a lover.
"At least it is not cold to you, my darling!" he cried; and pleased at his love-making, she momentarily forgot Roma, and nestled confidingly against his breast.
He was glad that she could not know his secret thoughts, for they ran stubbornly:
"She is right. My heart is indeed cold to Roma. I shall be glad when Devereaux marries her and takes her away, and I do not believe it will break my wife's heart, either; for she seemed to bear it well enough when her daughter was away at boarding school those three years."
Meanwhile Sophie went away most reluctantly with her message, thinking:
"I am sure Miss Roma will not thank me for breaking up her tête-à-tête with her lover, for, of course, she is staying out just to keep him all to herself. But I cannot disobey Mrs. Clarke's commands, though I'll saunter along as slowly as I can, so as to give Miss Roma a little more time."
Sophie was an intelligent and good-hearted girl, and might have been invaluable to Roma, if she could have appreciated such a treasure; but by her selfishness and arrogance she had completely antagonized the young woman, who only stayed, as she had frankly told Liane, for Mrs. Clarke's sake.
As she strolled along, picking a flower here and there, and giving Roma all the time she could, she thought of Liane with pity and admiration.
"There's a lovely girl for you! If she had been rich instead of Miss Roma, I fancy she'd make a better mistress," she murmured, and then the sound of subdued voices came to her ears.
"There she is at the gate with Mr. Devereaux, sure!" she thought, as she saw two heads together, the man's outside, while the murmur of excited voices came to her ears.
"I hope they aren't quarreling already! She had trouble enough hooking him, to be sure!" she thought as she went forward noiselessly, perhaps hoping to catch a word.
She was rewarded by hearing Roma say:
"I will come outside and talk with you. We must not run the risk of being overheard by any one from the house."
The gate latch clicked as she stepped outside and joined her companion, a tall, dark man, whom Sophie did not doubt must be Jesse Devereaux.
She led her companion out toward the high cliff, washed at its base by the surging sea, and Sophie stole after them, thinking curiously:
"Now, what secret have they got, these two, that no one from the house must overhear, I wonder? It is very strange, indeed, and I'll bet they have a mind to elope, just to make a sensation! These rich folks will do any foolish thing to get their names and pictures in the papers! They think it's fame, but any jailbird can get published in the papers. Well, I'll follow you, my lady, and there's one from the house who will hear your secret in spite of your precautions."
She crept along after them, so near that if they had turned their heads they must have seen theskulking figure; but neither Roma nor the man looked back, but kept along the edge of the cliff on the narrow path, talking angrily, it seemed to Sophie, though their words were drowned by the roar of the sea, to the great chagrin of the curious maid.
"But they are certainly quarreling! Ah, now they are stopping! I don't want to interrupt them yet; so I'll hide!" she thought, darting behind a convenient ledge.
In the clear and brilliant moonlight the two figures faced each other, perilously near to the edge of the cliff, and Sophie, peering at them from her concealment, suddenly saw a terrible thing happen.
The man had his back to the sea, facing Roma, and both were talking vehemently, it seemed, from their gestures; when all at once the girl thrust out her foot and struck her companion's knee, causing him to lose his balance. The result was inevitable.
The tall figure lurched backward, swayed an instant, trying to recover itself, toppled over with a shriek of rage, and went over the cliff a hundred feet down into the foaming waters.
AFTER THE CRIME.
Sophie Nutter could hardly believe the evidence of her own startled eyes when she saw the terrible crime of her young mistress.
She knew that Roma was selfish and cruel, but she had never realized that such depths of wickedness were concealed beneath her beautiful exterior.
When she saw Roma push the supposed Jesse Devereaux over the face of the cliff to a dreadful death, the hair seemed to rise on her head with horror, and from her lips burst an uncontrollable shriek of dismay and remonstrance, while she tried to spring forward with outstretched arms in a futile impulse to avert the man's awful fate.
Too late! The writhing, struggling body went hurtling down over the high cliff, and struck the water with a loud thud that dashed the spray high in air. Then Sophie's limbs relaxed beneath her, and she fell in a heap like one paralyzed, behind the ledge of stones, while her terrified shriek went wandering forth on the air of night like a wailing banshee.
But Roma had shrieked, wildly, too—perhaps in nature's recoil from her own sin—so Sophie's protesting cry lost itself in dismal echoes. Then all grew still save for the voice of the sea and the dash of water churning itself to fury at the foot of the bluff.
The maid, crouching low in her concealment, heard Roma flying with terror-haunted footsteps from the scene of her awful crime, and muttered distractedly:
"She has murdered her handsome lover, the beautiful fiend! God in heaven alone knows why! I thought she loved the very ground he trod on!"
The maid was suffering from severe nervous shock. She sobbed hysterically as she thought of handsome Jesse Devereaux lying drowned at the foot of the cliff, and beaten by the cruel waves that would wash him out to sea when the tide turned, so that Roma's sin would be forever hidden from the sight of men.
"I will go and inform on her at once! She shall suffer the penalty!" she vowed at first; but when she thought of gentle, loving Mrs. Clarke her resolution wavered.
"It will kill her to learn of her child's wickedness, the good, gentle lady who has been so kindand generous to me! I do not know what to do! I would like to punish the daughter, and spare the mother, but I cannot do both," she groaned, in a state of miserable indecision.
It was some time before her trembling limbs permitted her to drag herself from the spot; and when she gained the house and her bed she could not rest. She tossed and groaned, and at length was seized with hysterical spasms, obliging the housemaid to call for assistance.
In the meantime Roma, far less excited than Sophie, had also retired to her room and flung herself down by the open window to await impatiently the inevitable good-night chat with her mother.
"I wish she would not come. Her affection grows really tiresome at times," she muttered rebelliously, as she heard the light footsteps outside her door.
Mrs. Clarke entered and sat down close to her daughter, putting her white hand tenderly on the girl's shoulder.
"Good girl, to come in when mamma sent for you," she said caressingly, as to a child.
"You—sent—for—me!" Roma faltered, in surprise.
"Yes, by Sophie. I feared you would take cold, bareheaded out in the night air."
"I have not seen Sophie," Roma muttered sullenly, with a downcast face.
"Why did Jesse leave so soon?" continued the mother curiously.
"He did not come. I have been walking in the grounds alone."
"But your papa said, dear——"
"Yes, I know; papa told you I was waiting for Jesse at the gate, but he never came. He disappointed me!"
"Why, that is very strange, dear. And you are grieved over it, I see. Your face is pale, and your whole frame trembles under my touch. Do not take it so hard, darling. Of course Jesse was detained. He will come to-morrow."
"He should have sent me an excuse, mamma!"
"He must have been prevented. I am sure he would not neglect you purposely. He will explain to-morrow."
Roma tossed her proud head, with a bitter laugh.
"I tell you, mamma, I will not brook such negligence. I have broken our engagement."
"Roma!"
The girl gave a reckless laugh of wounded pride.
"Yes; I sent him a note, with his ring, just now, setting him free."
"You were precipitate, Roma; you should have waited for an explanation."
"I did not choose to wait!"
"I fear you will regret it."
"I do not think it likely."
Mrs. Clarke gazed at her in sorrowful silence, whose reproach goaded Roma into adding haughtily:
"I wished to teach Jesse, early, a lesson that I am not to be neglected for anything; that I must be foremost always in his thoughts."
"But have you not gone too far in giving him this lesson? His thoughts will not belong to you now."
"He will bring back his ring, and beg me to take it back to-morrow."
"Are you certain, Roma?"
"As sure as I am of my life!" with a confident laugh.
"Well, perhaps you know him better than I do, Roma, but I fancied Jesse Devereaux very high-spirited—too high-spirited to bear dictation."
"He will have to bend to my will!" Roma cried arrogantly, and the gentle lady sighed, for she knew that her daughter made this her own motto in life. Power and dominion were hers by the force of "might makes right."
Mrs. Clarke rose with a sigh and touched Roma's cheeks with her lips, saying kindly:
"Well, I hope it will all come right, dear. Good night."
She returned to her own room, thinking: "Poor girl, she is the miserable victim of her own caprice. I could see that she is too terribly agitated to sleep an hour to-night."
GRANNY'S REVENGE.
The half dozen pretty young girls who served for Miss Bray were light-hearted, hopeful young creatures in spite of their poverty, and at their daily work they sociably discussed their personal affairs with the freedom and intimacy of friends. Beaus and dress were the choice topics just as in higher circles of society. Liane Lester was the only quiet one among them, granny's edicts barring her both from lovers and finery.
Dolly Dorr was turning them all green with envy the next morning by boasting of the attentions she had received from the grand Mr. Devereaux, when one of the girls, Lottie Day, interposed:
"He is not likely to call on you again very soon, for I heard Brother Tom saying at breakfast this morning that Mr. Devereaux had broken his arm by a fall last night."
A chorus of compassionate remarks followed this announcement, and Dolly exclaimed vivaciously:
"I wish I might be allowed to nurse the poor fellow!"
Nan Brooks replied chaffingly:
"Miss Roma Clarke might have some objection to that scheme. They say she is engaged to him."
"That's why I want a good chance to cut her out. The proud, stuck-up thing!" cried Dolly indignantly, and from the remarks that followed it was plainly to be seen that Miss Clarke was not a favorite among the pretty sewing girls.
Roma had never lost an opportunity to impress them with the difference in their stations and her own, as if she were made of quite a superior sort of clay, and the high-spirited young creatures bitterly resented her false pride.
Not one of them but would have been glad to see Dolly "cut her out," as they phrased it, with the handsome Devereaux, but they frankly believed that there could be no such luck.
In their gay chatter, Liane alone remained silent, her beautiful head bent low over her sewing to hide the tears that had sprung to her eyes while they talked of Jesse Devereaux's accident.
"It was for my sake!" she thought gratefully, with rising blushes, though her heart sank likelead when she heard them saying he was engaged to Miss Clarke.
"He belongs to that proud, cruel girl! How I pity him!" she thought. "Yet, no doubt, he admires her very much. She does not show him the mean, selfish side of her character, as she does to us poor sewing girls."
She would have given anything if only she had not yielded to her passionate gratitude, and kissed his hand.
"He was disgusted at my boldness. He believed I had given him my love unasked, and he turned away in scorn. Yet how could I help it, he was so kind to me; first saving me from that ruffian, then from granny's blows? Oh, how could I help but love him? And I wish, like Dolly, that I might be permitted to nurse him as some reparation for his goodness," she thought, her cheeks burning and her heart throbbing wildly with the tenderness she could not stifle.
Every way she looked it seemed to her she could see his dark face, with its dazzling black eyes, looking at her with an admiration and tenderness they should not have shown, if he were indeed betrothed to another. Those glances andsmiles had lured Liane's heart from her own keeping and doomed her to passionate unrest.
She listened to everything in silence, nursing her sweet, painful secret in her heart, afraid lest a breath should betray her, until suddenly Ethel Barry, the girl next her, exclaimed:
"How quiet Liane is this morning, not taking the least interest in anything we say!"
"No interest! Oh, Heaven!" thought Liane, but Dolly Dorr interposed:
"You would be quiet, too, if you had been beaten as Liane was by granny last night, and forced to seek refuge with a friend."
Liane crimsoned painfully at having her own troubles discussed, but granny's faults were public property, and she could not deny the truth.
"She is old and cross," she said, generously trying to offer some excuse.
"You need not take up for her, Liane. She doesn't deserve it!" cried one and all, while Mary Lang, the oldest and most staid of the six girls, quickly offered to share her own room with Liane if she would never return to the old woman.
She was an orphan, and rented a room with a widow, living cozily at what she called "room-keeping,"and the girls had many jolly visits taking tea with Mary.
Liane thanked her warmly for her offer.
"But will you come?" asked Mary.
"I cannot."
"But why?"
The girl sighed heavily as she explained:
"Granny came to Mrs. Dorr's this morning, all penitence for her fault, and begged me to come home, promising never to beat me again."
"Do not trust her; do not go!" cried they all; but it was useless.
"She is old and poor. How could she get along without me? She would have to go to the poorhouse, and think how cruelly that would disgrace me!" cried Liane, who had no love for the old wretch, but supported her through mingled pride and pity.
And she actually returned to the shanty that day when her work was done, much to the relief of the old woman, who feared she had driven her meek slave off forever.
"So you are back? That's a good girl!" she said approvingly, and added: "They may tell you, those foolish girls, that I am too strict with you, Liane, but I'm an old woman, and I knowwhat's best for you, girl. It was through letting your mother have her own way that she went to her ruin; that's why I'm so strict on you."
"My mother went to her—ruin!" faltered Liane, flushing crimson, but very curious, for she had never been able to extract a word from granny about her parents, except that they were both dead and had been no credit to her while living.
"Yes, her ruin," granny replied, with a malicious side glance at the startled girl. "She ran away from me to be an actress when she wasn't but seventeen, and a year later she came back to me with a baby in her arms—you! She had been deceived and deserted, and you, poor thing, had no lawful name but the one she had picked out of a book—Liane Lester."
"Oh, Heaven!" sobbed the girl, burying her white face in her hands, thinking that this blow was more cruel even than one of the old woman's beatings.
At heart Liane had a strange pride, and she was bitterly ashamed of her low origin and her cruel grandmother, whom no one respected because of her vile temper.
To be told now that she had no lawful name,that her mother had been deceived and deserted, was like a sword thrust in the poor girl's heart.
She sobbed bitterly, as granny added:
"I didn't never mean to tell you the truth, but now that you are getting wild and willful, like your mother was, it's best for you to know it, and take her fate as a warning."
Liane knew the accusation was not true, but she did not contradict it; she only sobbed:
"Did my mother die of a broken heart?"
"No, indeed, the minx; she got well and ran away again, and left you on my hands."
"Is she living now?"
"She is, for all I know to the contrary. But she takes good care never to come near me, nor to send me a dollar for your support."
"I take care of myself, and you, too, granny."
"Yes, the best you can; but she ought to help—the ungrateful creature!" granny exclaimed so earnestly that she could scarcely doubt the truth of her story.
It was a cruel blow to Liane's pride, and up in her bare little chamber under the eaves that night she lay awake many hours sobbing hopelessly over her fate.
"I would rather be dead than the daughter of awoman who was deceived and deserted! Mr. Devereaux would never give me a second thought if he knew," she sighed, with burning cheeks, as she sank into a restless sleep, troubled with dreams in which her hero's magnetic, dark eyes played the principal part—dreams so sweet that she grieved when the cold gray light of dawn glimmered upon her face and roused her to reality and another day of toil.
Very eagerly the girls questioned her when she reached Miss Bray's as to granny's mood, and she answered quietly:
"No, she did not scold me or strike me this time; she was kind in her way."
But she did not tell them granny's way of kindness, for her heart sank with shame as she looked around the group of her light-hearted friends, thinking how different their lot was from hers; all of them having honorable parentage, and dreading lest they would not wish to associate with her if they knew she had no right to her pretty name, Liane Lester, that her wronged mother had simply picked it out of a story book.
Miss Bray had a hurry order this morning—a white gown ruffled to the waist—so she set all the girls to work, and as they worked theirtongues flew—they knew pretty nearly everything that had happened in the village since yesterday.
The choice bit of gossip was that Miss Clarke's maid, Sophie Nutter, had left her, and gone to Boston.
"They say she had a sick spell night before last, and went out of her head, talking awful things, so that the servants were quite frightened, and called up their mistress herself. Sophie had hysterical spasms, and accused Miss Roma of dreadful crimes right before her mother's face," said Mary Lang.
"Miss Roma must have been very angry—she has such a temper," cried Dolly, as she threaded her needle.
"Oh, Miss Roma wasn't present, and her mother took steps never to let her find it out, you may be sure."
"It must have been something awful," said Lottie Day.
"I should say so! She declared to Mrs. Clarke she had seen Miss Roma push Mr. Devereaux over the bluff and drown him! Just think—when Mr. Devereaux had not been near the place, but was lying at his hotel with a broken arm!"
"It was all a dream," said Miss Bray from her cutting board.
"Yes, but she could hardly be convinced yesterday morning that she had not really seen Miss Roma commit a murder. They had to send for the doctor to tell her that Mr. Devereaux was really alive at his hotel, having broken his arm by a fall on the sands. They say she went off into more hysterics when she heard that, and muttered: 'A fall over the cliff was more likely, but how he escaped death and got to shore again puzzles me. And why did she do it, anyway? It must have been a lovers' quarrel. I must get away from here. She will be pushing me over the bluff next.' And she had her trunk packed and went off to Boston, though she looked too ill to leave her bed," added Mary Lang, who had had the whole story straight from the housekeeper at Cliffdene.
THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT.
"Oh, how rash and foolish I have been!" thought Roma, the next day, when she heard of Jesse Devereaux's accident.
"His arm broken by a fall on the sands last night—most probably on his way to see me, poor fellow! And in my angry resentment at my disappointment I have broken our engagement! How rash and foolish I am, and how much I regret it! I must make it up with him at once, my darling!" she cried repentantly, and hurried to her mother.
"Mamma, you were right last night. I regret my hasty action in dismissing Jesse without a hearing. How can I make it up with him?"
"You can send another note of explanation, asking his forgiveness," suggested Mrs. Clarke.
"Oh, mamma, if I could only go to him myself!" she cried, impatient for the reconciliation.
"It would not be exactly proper, my dear."
"But we are engaged."
"You have broken the engagement."
Roma uttered a cry of grief and chagrin that touched her mother's heart.
"Poor dear, you are suffering, as I foreboded, for last night's folly," she sighed.
"Please don't lecture me, mamma. I'm wretched enough without that!"
"I only meant to sympathize with you, dear."
"Then help me—that is the best sort of sympathy. I suppose it wouldn't be improper for you to call on Jesse, at his hotel, would it?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Then I will write my note to him, and you can take it—will you?"
Mrs. Clarke assented, and was on the point of starting when a messenger arrived with a note for Roma, replying to hers of the night before.
In spite of his broken right arm, Jesse Devereaux had managed a scrawl with his left hand, and Roma tore it open with a burning face and wildly beating heart, quickly mastering its contents, which read:
Mr. Devereaux accepts his dismissal with equanimity, feeling sure from this display of Miss Clarke's hasty temper that he has had a lucky escape.
Mr. Devereaux accepts his dismissal with equanimity, feeling sure from this display of Miss Clarke's hasty temper that he has had a lucky escape.
It was cool, curt, airy, almost to insolence;a fitting match for her own; and Roma gasped and almost fainted.
Where was all her boasting, now, that she would teach him a lesson; that he would be back in a day begging her to take back his ring?
She had met her match; she realized it now; remembering, all too late, how hard he had been to win; a lukewarm lover, after all, and perhaps glad now of his release.
Oh, if she could but have recalled that silly note, she would have given anything she possessed, for all the heart she had had been lavished on him.
With a genuine sob of choking regret, she flung the humiliating note to her mother, and sank into a chair, her face hidden in her hands.
Mrs. Clarke read, and exclaimed:
"Really, he need not comment on your temper while displaying an equally hasty one so plainly. He must certainly be very angry, but I suppose his suffering adds to his impatience."
"He—he—will forgive me when he reads my second note!" sobbed Roma.
"But you do not intend to send it now, Roma!" exclaimed Mrs. Clarke, with a certain resentment of her own at Jesse's brusqueness.
But Roma could be very inconsistent—overbearingwhen it was permitted to her; humble when cowed.
She lifted up a miserable face, replying eagerly:
"Oh, yes, mamma, for I was plainly in the wrong, and deserve that he should be angry with me. But he will be only too glad to forgive me when he reads my note of repentance. Please go at once, dear mamma, and make my peace with Jesse! You will know how to plead with him in my behalf! Oh, don't look so cold and disapproving, mamma, for I love him so it would break my heart to lose him now. And—and—if he made love to any other girl, I should like to—to—see her lying dead at my feet! Oh, go; go quickly, and hasten back to me with my ring again and Jesse's forgiveness!"
She was half mad with anxiety and impatience, and she almost thrust Mrs. Clarke from the room in her eagerness for her return.
It mattered not that she could see plainly how distasteful it was to the gentle lady to go on such a mission; she insisted on obedience, and waited with passionate impatience for her mother's return, saying to herself:
"He is certainly very angry, but she will coaxhim to make up, and hereafter I will be very careful not to let him slip me again. I can be humble until we are married, and rule afterward. Mamma will not dare leave him without getting his forgiveness for me. She knows my temper, and that I would blame her always if she failed of success."
But there are some things that even a loving, slavish mother cannot accomplish, even at the risk of a child's anger. Jesse Devereaux's reconciliation to Roma was one of them.
The mother returned after a time, pale and trembling, to Roma, saying nervously:
"Call your pride to your aid, dear Roma, for Jesse was obdurate, and would not consent to renew the engagement. I am indeed sorry that I humbled myself to ask it."
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.
Jesse Devereaux had never spent a more unpleasant half hour in his life than during Mrs. Clarke's visit. He admired and esteemed the gentle lady very much, and it pained him to tell her that he no longer loved her daughter, and was glad of his release.
Yet he did so kindly and courteously, though he was well aware that no gentleness could really soften the blow to her love and pride.
"I have been betrothed to your daughter only two weeks, dear madam, but in that short time I have discovered traits in her character that could never harmonize with mine. We have both been spoiled by indulgent parents; both are willful and headstrong. Such natures do best wedded to gentle, yielding ones. It is best for our future happiness that we should separate, although I should have kept faith with Roma, had she not yielded to her hasty temper and broken the engagement," he said.
She looked at his pale, handsome face as herested on the sofa, and decided that he was only holding out for pride's sake. Surely he must love beautiful Roma still—he could not hate her so soon.
"Roma is not headstrong, as you think; only hasty and impulsive," she faltered. "See how she has humbled herself to you in the depths of her love. Why, I left her weeping most bitterly over her fault, and praying for your forgiveness. How can I go back and tell her you refuse it; that you scorn her love?"
She was frightened, indeed, to return from an unsuccessful mission to Roma. There were tears in her imploring eyes as she gazed at him.
"I do not refuse her my forgiveness; I accord it to her freely," he replied. "Neither do I scorn her love, but I do not believe it can be very deep, else she could not have been so angry with me last night. And I am free to confess that my love was not of the strongest, either, for I realize now that I am glad of my freedom, if you will pardon me for my frankness, dear lady."
How could she pardon aught that must wound her daughter vitally? An angry flush rose into her cheek, her blue eyes flashed.
"You are cruelly frank!" she cried; and he answered:
"I lament the painful necessity, but circumstances leave me no alternative, Mrs. Clarke. I feel that I entered into an engagement too hastily, and that its sudden rupture is a relief. I tender my friendship to your daughter with profound gratitude for her kindness, but I can never again be her lover."
In the face of such frankness she sat dumb. What was there to say that could move him?
Her heart sank at the thought of Roma's disappointment. She rose unsteadily to her feet, blinded by angry tears.
"I may still retain your friendship?" he pleaded, but her lip curled in scorn.
"No, you are cruel and unjust to Roma. I despise you!" she answered, in wrath, as she stumbled from the room, wondering at his heartlessness.
She would not have wondered so much if she could have known that Roma had never really filled his heart, but that the glamour of her fascinations and her open preference had somehow drawn him into a proposal that had brought him no happiness, save a sort of pride in winning thebeautiful belle and heiress from many competitors. All the while he did not really love her; it was just his pride and vanity that were flattered.
There had come a sudden, painful awakening that fateful day, when rescuing Liane Lester's veil. He had looked deep into those shy, lovely eyes of hers, and felt his heart leap wildly, quickened by a glance into new life.
Roma's eyes had never thrilled him that way; he had never wondered at her great beauty; he had never longed to take her in his arms and clasp her to his heart at first sight. This was love—real love, such as he had never felt for the proud beauty he had rashly promised to marry.
In that first hour of his meeting with Liane, he cursed himself for his madness in proposing to Roma.
Yet, he was the soul of honor. He did not even contemplate retreating from his position as Roma's affianced husband. He only felt that he must avoid the fatal beauty of Liane, lest he go mad with despair at his cruel fate.
Then had followed the meeting with her again, that night when he had so fortunately saved her from the insults of a stranger and the brutality of her old grandmother. How proud and glad hehad been to defend her, even at the pain of a broken arm; how he had loved her in that moment, longed to shelter her on his breast from the assaults of the cruel world.
He could never forget that moment when, overcome by gratitude, the girl had bent and kissed his hand, sending mad thrills of love through his trembling frame.
Had he been free, he would have poured out his full heart to her that moment, and the tender stars would have looked down on a scene of the purest love, where two hearts acknowledged each other's sway in ecstasy.
But he was bound in the cruel fetters of another's love, from which he could not in honor get free. His heart must break in silence.
He had to hurry away from her abruptly to hide the love he must not confess.
In his sorrow and suffering that night, judge what happiness came to him with Roma's angry letter, sent by special messenger, restoring his ring and his freedom!
His heart sang pæans of joy as he let his thoughts cling lovingly to Liane, realizing that now he might woo and win the shy, sweet maiden for his own.
Very early in the morning he penned his note to Roma, making it purposely curt and cold, that she might not attempt a reconciliation.
He felt so grateful to her that he was not at all angry, and thanked her in his heart for her summary rejection.
The unpleasant interview with Mrs. Clarke over, he dismissed the whole matter from his mind, and gave all his thoughts to Liane, chafing at the delay that must ensue from his forced confinement to his room.
"You must let me get out of here as soon as possible, doctor. I have something very important to do!" he cried eagerly.
"Love-making, eh?" bantered the doctor, thinking of Roma. "All right, my dear fellow. I shall have you walking about in a few days, I trust; but I warn you it will be a long while before you can do any but left-handed hugging!"
"Pshaw!" exclaimed his patient; but he colored up to his brows. He was indeed thinking of how impassionedly he would make love to Liane when he saw her again.
"I shall ask her to marry me on the spot!" he decided joyfully, "and—I hope I'm not vain—but I don't believe she will say no. We must be marriedvery soon, so I can take her away from her wretched surroundings. That old grandmother can be pensioned off. She shall never see Liane again after she is my wife. Of course, the world will say I've made a mésalliance, but I'm rich enough to please myself, and my darling is beautiful enough to wear a crown."
The doctor found him the most impatient patient in the world. He never complained of the pain in his arm, though it was excruciating. He only chafed at his confinement.
"I want to get out," he said. "Doctor, you know I'm one of the judges at the Beauty Show to-morrow night."
"I'm going to let you go with your arm in a sling. Hang it all, I wouldn't miss it myself for anything! Say, there's more than one beauty in Stonecliff, but it goes without saying that you judges will award the prize to Miss Clarke, eh?" cried the jocose physician.
ROMA SEEKS A NEW MAID.
Roma's rage and grief at her mother's failure to set matters straight between her and Devereaux were beyond all expression.
But, for very pride's sake, she concealed the deepest bitterness of her heart.
She could not accuse her gentle mother of wanton carelessness, for the tears stood in her deep-blue eyes as she told the story of her interview, concluding sadly:
"Do not think, my darling, that I did not do my best to bring him to reason, putting pride away, and telling him how devotedly you loved him, and that it would break your heart to lose him now. He was cold and unresponsive to all my pleadings, and as good as said he was glad to be free of you. I confess I lost my temper at the last, and told him I despised him, before I came away."
Roma did not speak, she only tapped the rich carpet with a restless foot, indicative of a white heat of repressed anger; but Mrs. Clarke did not read her mood aright; she thought she was bearing the blow with fortitude.
In her keen sympathy she exclaimed:
"It is a cruel blow to your pride and love, my daughter, and I only wish I knew how to comfort you."
Roma lifted her white face and glittering eyes to Mrs. Clarke's anxious scrutiny, and actually laughed—a strange, mirthless laugh, that chilled her mother's blood. Then she said, with seeming coolness:
"You can comfort me right off, mamma, by begging papa to give me those rubies I've wanted so long! As for Jesse, he is only holding off from pride! I shall win him back, never fear!"
"You shall have your rubies, dear," her mother answered kindly, though she thought: "What a strange girl? How can she think of rubies at such a moment?"
"Thank you, mamma, you are very good to me!" Roma answered prettily, in her gratitude for the rubies; then, as Mrs. Clarke was going out, she added: "I wonder if Sophie is well enough to get up and wait on me. I am in need of her services."
Mrs. Clarke paused in some embarrassment, and answered:
"I shall have to lend you my own maid till Ican get you another. Sophie Nutter left quite abruptly this morning."
"I'm glad of it. I disliked the girl, and I suspected her of telling tales of me to you!" cried Roma.
Mrs. Clarke neither affirmed nor denied the charge. She simply said:
"We should be kind to our servants, Roma, if we expect them to bear good witness for us."
"Kindness is wasted on the ungrateful things!" Roma answered impatiently. "I must have another maid immediately."
"But where shall we find her? Not in this little town, I fear. So we must send to Boston."
"Wait! I have an idea, mamma!"
"Well?"
"I should like to have that neat little sewing girl that altered my cape that night. She is so clever with her needle, she would be a real treasure to me, and save you many dressmaking bills."
"Would she be willing to come?"
"We can find out by asking the old woman she lives with—you know, mamma, that old tumble-down shanty at the end of town, coming out of Cliffdene? It is a little more than a mile from here. Liane Lester lives there with an old grandmotherthat beats her every day, I've heard, and I've no doubt she would jump at the chance of a situation here!"
Mrs. Clarke forbore to remind her daughter that she, too, had been accused of beating her maid; she only said warningly:
"You would have to be kinder to her than you were to Sophie, or she would not be likely to stay, my dear."
"How could you believe Sophie's fibs on me?" cried Roma petulantly; but Mrs. Clarke turned the exclamation aside by saying:
"Perhaps you had better go and see about the new maid at once."
"Oh, mamma, I think you might do it yourself! I—I am too nervous and unhappy to attend to it just now. Won't you just drive down into town again and see about the girl?" answered Roma.
Mrs. Clarke did not relish the task, but she was so used to bearing Roma's burdens that she assented without a murmur, and went out again to see about the new maid, sadly troubled in her mind about what had happened last night, when the delirious maid had told such shocking stories on her daughter.
"It could not be true; of course not, but it isshocking that Sophie should even have imagined such awful things! It all came of Roma being cross and impatient with her, and making a bad impression on her mind. Now, if this young sewing girl should consent to serve Roma, I shall make it a point to see that she is not ill-used," she thought, as her handsome carriage stopped at Liane's humble home, and the footman opened the door and helped her out.
She swept up the narrow walk to the door, an imposing figure, thinking compassionately:
"What a wretched abode! It will be a pleasing change to Liane Lester if the girl will consent to come to Cliffdene."
She tapped on the open door, but no one replied, though she saw the old woman's figure moving about in the room beyond.
"She is deaf and cannot hear me. I will just step in," she thought, suiting the action to the word.
Granny was sweeping up the floor, but she turned with a start, dropping her broom as a soft hand touched her shoulder, and, confronting the beautiful intruder, asked:
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Mrs. Clarke smiled, as she replied:
"I am Mrs. Clarke, of Cliffdene. I wish to see Liane Lester."
"Liane's down to her work at Miss Bray's, ma'am, but you can tell me your business with her. I'm her grandmother," snarled granny crossly.
"My daughter Roma has lost her maid; she wishes to offer Liane the vacant place, with your approval. She will have a pleasant home, and much better wages than are paid to her by Miss Bray for sewing."
Mrs. Clarke had never seen Liane Lester, but she felt a deep sympathy for her from what she had heard, and was strangely eager to have her come to Cliffdene.
So she waited impatiently for granny's reply, and as she studied the homely figure before her, a sudden light beamed in her eyes, and she exclaimed:
"How strange! I recognize you all at once as the woman who nursed me when my daughter Roma was born. You have changed, but yet your features are quite familiar. Oh, how you bring back that awful time to me! Do you remember how my child was stolen, and that I would have died of a broken heart, only that she was restoredto me almost at the last moment, when my life was so quickly ebbing away?"
The quick tears of memory started to the lady's eyes, but granny's fairly glared at her as she muttered:
"You are mistaken!"
"Oh, no, I cannot be! I recall you perfectly," declared Mrs. Clarke, who had an astonishing memory for faces.
"I never saw you before in my whole life! I never was a sick nurse!" declared the old woman, so positively and angrily that Mrs. Clarke thought that, after all, she might be mistaken.
"Really, it does not matter. I was misled by a resemblance, and I thought you would be glad to hear of your nurse child again," she said.
A strange eagerness appeared on the old woman's face as she muttered:
"It's my misfortune that I haven't such a claim on your kindness, ma'am. God knows I'd be glad to meet with rich friends that would pity my poverty-stricken old age!"
Mrs. Clarke's white hand slipped readily into her pocket, taking the hint, and granny was made richer by a dollar, which she acknowledged with profuse gratitude.
"And as for Liane going as maid to your daughter, ma'am, I'd like to see this Miss Roma first, before I give my consent. I want to see if she looks like a kind young lady, that would not scold and slap my granddaughter," she declared cunningly.
Mrs. Clarke colored, wondering if Sophie's tales had reached the old woman's ears, but she said quickly:
"I would insure kind treatment to your grandchild if she came to serve my daughter."
"Thank you kindly, ma'am. I believe you, but will you humor an old woman's whim and persuade Miss Roma to come to me herself?" persisted granny, with veiled eagerness.
"I will do so if I can, but I cannot promise certainly," Mrs. Clarke replied, rather coldly, as she rustled through the door.
She was vexed and disappointed. Everything seemed to go against her that day. How angry Roma would be at the old woman's obstinacy, and how insolently she would talk to her, looking down on her from her height of pride and position. It was as well to give up the thought of having Liane come at all.
And how strangely like the old woman was toMrs. Jenks, the nurse she had had with her when Roma was born. She was mistaken, of course, since the old creature said so; but she had such a good memory for faces, and she had never thought of two such faces alike in the world.
But if Mrs. Clarke went away perturbed from this rencontre, she left granny sadly flustrated also.
The old creature sat down in the doorway, her chin in her hands, and gazed with starting eyes at the grand carriage from Cliffdene rolling away.
"Who would have dreamed such a thing?" she muttered. "Here I have lived two years neighbor to the Clarkes, and never suspected their identity, and never heard their girl's name spoken before! Well, well, well! And they want Liane to wait on Roma. Ha, ha, ha!"
She seemed to find the idea amusing, for she kept laughing at intervals in a grim, mocking fashion, while she watched the road to Cliffdene as if she had seen a ghost from the past.
"Will the girl come, as I wish? Will she condescend to cross old granny's humble threshold? I should like to see her in her pride and beauty. Perhaps she, too, might have a dollar to fling to a poor old wretch like me!" she muttered darkly.
THE BEAUTY SHOW.
Roma was indeed surprised and angry at granny's summons. She flatly refused to go, declaring:
"The insolence of the lower classes is indeed insufferable. Why, I offered that girl a situation much more profitable than the one she holds now, and here that crazy old witch, her grandmother, wishes to annoy me with all sorts of conditions! Call on her, indeed, in her old rookery of a house! I shall do nothing of the kind, but I will write a note to the girl, at Miss Bray's, and I have no doubt she will fairly jump at the chance, without saying 'by your leave' to that old hag!"
Delighted at the idea of outwitting the insolent old woman, as she deemed her, Roma quickly dispatched a patronizing, supercilious note to Liane, and waited impatiently for the reply.
She hardly gave another thought to poor Sophie Nutter, now that she was gone. Least of all did it enter her beautiful head that the maid had quit in fear and horror at the crime she had seen her commit that night.
Mrs. Clarke, in her tenderness over Roma's feelings, had bound all the servants never to betray Sophie's wild ravings to her daughter.
So, secure in her consciousness that her terrible deed had had no witness, Roma tried to dismiss the whole affair from her mind, believing that her victim lay at the bottom of the sea and could never rise again to menace her with threats of exposure, as he had done that night, bringing down on himself an awful fate.
The man she had remorselessly hurled from the cliff to a watery grave belonged to an episode of Roma's boarding-school days, that she hoped was forever hidden from the knowledge of the world. The thought of exposure and betrayal was intolerable. It was a moment when she dare not hesitate. Desperation made her reckless, branded her soul with crime.
The strongest love of her life had been given to Jesse Devereaux. Woe be to any one who came between her and that selfish love! Woe be to Devereaux himself when he scorned that love! Turbulent passion, that brooked no obstacle, burned fiercely in Roma's breast. Proud, vain, self-indulgent, she would brook no opposition in anything.
Out of all the five hundred girls whose portraits had been accepted for the Beauty Show, there was not one more eager than Roma to win the prize—not for the money, but for the additional prestige it would add to her belleship.
Her handsomest portrait had been offered, and Roma had scrutinized it most anxiously, hour by hour, searching for the slightest flaw.
She had a wealth of rich coloring in eyes, hair, and complexion, but her features were not quite regular; her nose was a trifle too large, her mouth too wide. Aware of these defects, she would have been a little uneasy, only that she counted on the votes of her father and Devereaux as most certain. Besides, she considered that her brilliant social position must prove a trump card.
"The palm will surely be mine, both by reason of beauty and belleship," she thought triumphantly, sneering, as she added: "The town will surely choose one of its own maidens for the honor, and who would think of awarding the prize to any one here except myself? True, they say that all of Miss Bray's pretty sewing girls have had their pictures accepted, and it's true that some of them are rather pretty, especially that Liane Lester, but who would think of giving a vote to acommon sewing girl? I don't fear any of them, I'm sure! But, how I should hate any girl that took the prize from me!" she concluded, with a gleam of deadly jealousy in her great, flashing eyes, that could burn like live coals in their peculiar, reddish-brown shade.
But an element of uncertainty was added to the situation, now, in the defection of Jesse Devereaux.
"What if, in his passionate resentment against me, he should cast his vote for another?" she thought, in dismay so great that she determined to humble herself to the dust if she could but win him back.
She sent him flowers every day, and, accompanying them, love letters, in which she poured out her grief and repentance; but, alas, all her efforts fell on stony ground.
The recreant knight, busy with his new love dream, scarcely wasted a thought on Roma. He replied to her letters, thanking her for the flowers and her kindly sentiments, assuring her that he bore no malice, and forgave her for her folly; but he added unequivocally that his fancy for her was dead, and could never be resurrected.
"His fancy! He can call it a fancy now!" thegirl moaned bitterly, and in that moment she tasted, for the first time, the bitterness of a cruel defeat, where she had been so confident of success.
She could not realize that he loved her no more, that the fancy she had so carefully cultivated was dead so soon! The pain and humiliation were most bitter. She rued in dust and ashes her hasty severance of her engagement.
Added to the bitterness of losing his love was the pain of having him vote against her at the Beauty Show.
"He will be sure to do so out of pure spite, even if he thought me the most beautiful of all!" she thought bitterly. "Oh, I wonder for whom he will cast his vote! How I should hate her if I knew! I—I could trample her pretty face beneath my feet!"
In desperation she resolved to cultivate the acquaintance of the artist, Malcolm Dean. He was to be one of the judges, she knew. Perhaps she could win him over to her side.
Gradually she took heart of hope again.
It could not be possible Jesse's heart had turned against her so suddenly. No, no! When they met again she would be able to draw him back again.
She had heard that he was going to be present at the Beauty Show. She would wear her new rubies and her most becoming gown for his eyes.
There were other girls than Roma planning to look their prettiest that night, and one was Liane Lester.
Her girl friends had persuaded her to send in her picture with theirs, and all six had been photographed in a large group by the Stonecliff artist.
No one could gainsay the fact that it was a beautiful group, from the petite, flaxen-haired Dolly, to the tall, stately brunette, Mary Lang. Miss Bray was quite proud of them, and wished she had not been too old and homely to compete for the prize.
"How sweet they look in their plain white gowns—as pretty as any millionaire's daughters!" she said proudly. "Indeed, I don't see why one of them can't take the prize? What if they are just poor sewing girls? Almost any of them is as pretty as Miss Clarke, with her fame as a beauty! But her pa's money helped her to that! Look at Liane Lester, now; that girl's pretty enough for a princess, and if she had fine fixings, like Roma Clarke, she could outshine her as the sun outshines the stars! But, of course, Iwouldn't have Liane know I said it, because a poor girl must never cultivate vanity," she concluded to her crony, Widow Smith, who agreed to everything she said.
Liane had been almost frightened at first when the girls insisted on her going to the Beauty Show to see the exhibition of photographs, and hear the prize awarded.
"For if you should be chosen, you must be there to receive the prize," cried Dolly.
"I could never dream of being chosen," the girl cried, with a blush that made her lovelier than ever.
"You must come! Tell granny you have thrown off her yoke now, and intend to have a little fun, like other young girls. If she rebels, tell her you will leave her and live with me!" encouraged Mary Lang.
"You mustn't miss it for all the world!" cried Lottie Day vivaciously. "Did you know that the ladies of the Methodist church intend to have a supper in the town hall, also, that night?"
Little by little they tempted Liane to rebel against granny's arbitrary will and accompany them.
"But I have nothing to wear!" she sighed.
"Oh, a cheap, white muslin will do! It will look real sweet by gaslight, with a ribbon round your waist," suggested Miss Bray herself, and then Liane's heart gave a thump of joy. She told them about the five dollars Mrs. Clarke had given her for the work on Roma's cape, and how she had kept all knowledge of it from granny, longing to enjoy the money herself.
"You were quite right, since she takes every penny of your wages!" they all agreed, while Miss Bray added kindly:
"You can get a sweet pattern of white muslin and a ribbon for your waist and neck, with five dollars. I will cut and fit your gown for nothing."
"And we girls will take parts of it home at night and help you make it!" cried her young friends.
"Oh, how good you all are to me! I hope I may be able to return your favors some day," cried the girl, grateful tears crowding into her beautiful eyes.
And just then came the note from Roma Clarke, offering Liane a situation as her maid.
The girl shared the note with her friends, and they were unanimously indignant.
"The idea of thinking that any of us would stoop to be a maid!" they cried, while Liane, with flushing cheeks, quickly indited a brief, courteous, but very decided refusal of the young lady's offer.