"THE QUEEN ROSE."
"What impudence! She thanks me for my offer, but finds it quite impossible to accept. And her note is worded as if written to an equal!" cried Roma angrily, as she tossed Liane's answer to her mother.
Mrs. Clarke examined it somewhat curiously, commenting on the neatness and correctness of the writing.
"She has made good use of her limited opportunities for education," she said.
"But, mamma, the idea of her refusing my offer, to remain with Miss Bray at three dollars a week."
"Perhaps there is a little pride mixed up with her position. She may consider her present place more genteel, my dear."
"I really do not see any difference to speak of. Poor people are all alike to me," Roma cried scornfully. "As for Liane Lester, I should like to shake her! I suppose her pretty face has quite turned her head with vanity! Why, mamma, sheand those other sewing girls at Miss Bray's have even sent their pictures to the Beauty Show."
"The competition was free to all, my dear, and poverty is no bar to beauty. I have seen some of the prettiest faces in the world among working girls. But still, I do not suppose any of Miss Bray's employees can compete with you in looks," returned Mrs. Clarke, with a complacent glance at her handsome daughter.
"Thank you, mamma, but you haven't seen this Lester girl, have you? She is really quite out of the ordinary, with the most classic features, while I—well, I confess my features are the weak point in my beauty. I don't see why I didn't inherit your regular features!" complained Roma.
"You do not resemble me, but you are not lacking in beauty, dear. I suppose you must be more like your father's family, though I never saw any of them. But don't begin to worry, darling, lest you should lose the prize. I feel sure of your success," soothed the gentle lady.
"But, mamma, there is Jesse, who will be sure to vote against me for spite, and I'm afraid that papa is the only one of the judges I can count upon."
"You cannot count upon him, Roma, because hehas declined to serve, fearing to be accused of partiality if he votes for you."
"Then I shall have to go entirely on my own merits," Roma returned, with pretended carelessness, but at heart she was furious at her father's defection, only she knew it was useless to protest against his decision. She had learned long ago that she could not "wind him around her little finger," as she could her adoring mother.
Again her hopes recurred to Jesse Devereaux. She must make every effort to lure him back.
Her mother's patient maid grew very tired dressing Miss Roma for the show when the night came.
"She was as fussy and particular as some old maid! I did up her hair three times in succession before it suited! My! But she was cross as a wet hen! I believe she would have slapped me in the face if she had dared! I hope to goodness she may fail to get the prize, though I wouldn't have dear Mrs. Clarke hear me say so for anything in the world! But I'm just hoping and praying that some poor girl that needs the money may get that hundred dollars!" exclaimed the maid to her confidante, the housekeeper.
There was not one among the servants but dislikedthe arrogant heiress, who treated them as if they were no more than the dust beneath her dainty feet. They whispered among themselves that it was strange that such a sweet, kind lady as Mrs. Clarke should have such a proud, hateful daughter.
While Roma was arraying herself in the finest of silk and lace, set off by the coveted new rubies, Liane Lester was making her simple toilet at the home of Mary Lang, with whom she had promised to attend the show.
Granny had most grudgingly given her consent to Liane's spending the night with Mary, since she dared not offer any violent opposition. Since Liane had threatened open rebellion to her tyranny, the old woman was somewhat cowed.
Liane put up her beautiful, curling tresses into the simplest of knots, but she did not need an elaborate coiffure for the chestnut glory of rippling, sun-flecked locks. It was a crown of beauty in itself.
She put on the crisp, white gown she had bought with Mrs. Clarke's gift, and Mary helped to tie the soft ribbons at her waist and neck.
"Oh, you lovely thing! You look sweet enough to eat!" she cried. "Now, then, put on the rosesyour mysterious admirer sent you to wear, and we will be off."
Liane blushed divinely as she fastened at her waist a great bunch of heavy-headed pink roses, that had been sent to Miss Bray's late that afternoon, with an anonymous card that simply read:
Fair Queen Rose: Please wear these sister flowers at the Beauty Show to-night.
Fair Queen Rose: Please wear these sister flowers at the Beauty Show to-night.
No name was signed, but the merry girls all declared that Liane had caught a beau at last, and that he would be sure to declare himself to-night. They persuaded her to wear the roses, though she was frightened at the very idea.
"Suppose some great, ugly ogre comes up to claim me!" she exclaimed apprehensively, as she pinned them on and set off, all in a flutter of excitement, for the town hall, clinging to Mary's arm, for she was quite nervous over the prospect of the evening's pleasure.
Now, as she passed along the lighted streets to the festive scene, and saw others, also gayly bedecked, hurrying to the same destination, she felt a thrill of pleasant participation quite new and exhilarating.
"Just see what I have missed all my life,through granny's hardness!" she murmured plaintively to Mary, who squeezed her arm lovingly, and answered:
"Poor dear!"
The hall was already crowded with people, and the supper of the Methodist ladies was busily in progress when they entered the place that was gayly decorated with flowers and bunting, framing the pictures that lined the walls.
"Let us walk around and look at the beauties," Mary said, and, following the example of the other visitors, they mingled with the crowd and feasted their eyes on the five hundred pretty faces that were deemed worthy to compete for the prize.
They soon found out that Miss Clarke's portrait and the group of six sewing girls claimed more attention than any others.
But there were many eyes that turned from the pictured to the living beauty, and whispers went round that drew many eyes to Liane, wondering at her marvelous grace.
Liane had never appeared at a public function in the town before, and many of the people thought she was a stranger. Curious whispers ran from lip to lip:
"Who is the lovely girl with the pink roses?"
Roma, in her rich gown and sparkling rubies, heard the question, and bit her lips till the blood almost started.
"It is only one of the dressmaker's sewing girls!" she said haughtily, and started across the room to her mother, who had paused to speak to Jesse Devereaux.
He had just entered, looking pale and superbly handsome; but with his right arm in a sling, and the lady, for Roma's sake, resolved to forget her resentment and try to propitiate him.
"I am afraid I was too hasty that morning," she said gently. "Will you forgive me and be friends again, Jesse?"
"Gladly," he replied, for he valued her good opinion, little as he cared for her proud, overbearing daughter.
The next moment Roma, coming up to them, heard her mother exclaim, to her infinite chagrin:
"Tell me, Jesse, who is that perfectly lovely girl in the white gown with the pink roses at her waist?"
Jesse looked quickly, and saw Liane again for the first time since that eventful evening on the beach, when he had saved her from insult and injury.His heart gave a strangling throb of joy and love, mingled with pride in her peerless loveliness.
"You are right. She is peerless," he answered, in a deep voice, freighted with emotion. "Her name is Liane Lester."
"Impossible!" almost shrieked the lady in her surprise; but at that moment Roma confronted them, her proud face pale, her eyes gleaming, murmuring:
"Oh, Jesse, how glad I am to see you out again! No wonder you were cross with me, suffering as you were with your poor arm. But I forgive you all."
"I thank you," he replied courteously, and Roma took her station at his side quite as if she had the old right.
He was vexed, for he was anxious to cross over to Liane and ask her to have an ice with him. Then he would keep at her side all the rest of the evening. He would see her home, too, and before they parted he would tell her all his love, and ask for her hand.
With these ecstatic anticipations in his mind, it was cruel torture to be kept away from her against his will by the two ladies, and, worst ofall, with an air as if they had a right to monopolize him all the evening.
In desperation he asked them to take an ice with him, vowing to himself he would escape directly afterward.
But Roma was thirsty that evening, it seemed. She took two ices, and trifled over them, her mother waiting patiently, while Jesse, outwardly cool and courteous, inwardly cursed his untoward fate, for he saw other men seeking introductions to Liane, and loading her with attentions, carried away by the charm of her beauty.
Still he could not shake off Roma without absolute rudeness, for she clung to his arm persistently, though it was near the hour for the announcement of the award of the evening, and yet he had not spoken one word to fair Liane, the queen of his heart.
Suddenly Malcolm Dean ascended the rostrum, and the gay, laughing groups about the hall became intensely still, waiting for his verdict.
"I am no orator," he smiled. "So I will briefly announce, as a member of the committee of the beauty contest, that we examined the pictures in detail to-day, and unanimously award the prize for most perfect beauty to Miss Liane Lester!"
A breathless hush had fallen on the crowd as Malcolm Dean's voice was heard speaking, and every ear was strained, not to lose a word—for many a fair young girl was listening in feverish excitement, hoping to hear her own name.
Roma's heart gave a wild leap, her eyes flashed, her cheeks paled, and she half rose from her seat in uncontrollable excitement.
But the suspense of the aspirants for the prize lasted but a moment, for Malcolm Dean purposely made his announcement audible to every one in the hall:
"Miss Liane Lester!"
The name ran from lip to lip in excited tones, while many a young heart sank with disappointment, so many had hoped to be chosen queen of beauty, caring more for the honor even than the money.
Then the voices swelled into plaudits, and Liane, shrinking with bashful joy, heard her name shouted from eager lips:
"Miss Lester! Miss Lester!"
Roma had uttered a stifling gasp of disappointment, and sank heavily back into her seat.
"She is the most beautiful girl I ever saw!" cried Jesse impulsively. It was cruel to tell Romathis, and he realized it, but his heart was on his lips. He could not check it, though he saw the deadly fire of hate leap into her flashing eyes.
Mrs. Clarke touched her daughter's arm caressingly, saying:
"Do not feel so badly over it, Roma, darling. No doubt the committee were governed somewhat by partiality, thinking that the prize ought to be given some poor girl who needed the money."
Jesse felt the delicate thrust, and answered quickly:
"You were struck with her beauty yourself, Mrs. Clarke!"
"Yes, she is a very pretty girl," she replied, rather carelessly, then paused, as Malcolm Dean lifted his hand for silence, and said in the hush that followed:
"Will Miss Lester please come forward and receive the prize?"
A wild impulse came to Devereaux to escort Liane forward. How proud he would be to take that little fluttering hand and lead her to the rostrum to receive the award! He knew that every eye would be on them, that it would be a virtual declaration of his sentiments toward her,but he gloried in the thought. He rose quickly, exclaiming:
"Excuse me, please!"
But Mrs. Clarke's voice, cold and grating, fell on his ear:
"Please escort Roma to the open air—to the carriage! Do you not see that she is almost fainting?"
Roma was indeed drooping heavily against her mother, in pretended weakness. Her ruse had its effect. Jesse had to offer his arm and lead her from the room, followed by her mother. After some little delay their carriage was found, and, while placing them in it, Mrs. Clarke said coolly:
"Now if you will find my husband and send him to us, you will add greatly to the obligation you have placed us under."
He bowed silently and hurried away, meeting Mr. Clarke, fortunately, coming out. A hasty explanation, and they parted, Devereaux returning to the room, wild to speak to Liane after all this baffling delay.
But the prize had been presented, and Liane was surrounded by an obsequious crowd, offering eager congratulations.
By her side stood the handsome young artist,Malcolm Dean, gazing with rapt admiration on her shy, blushing face, and then Devereaux remembered that the artist had said, while they were deciding on the pictures that afternoon, that this was surely the fairest face in the whole world, and he should not rest until he knew the original.
"If the counterfeit presentiment can be so charming, how much more lovely, the original!" he exclaimed.
And now by his looks Devereaux saw that his anticipations were more than realized. The ethereal charm of Liane's beauty held him as by a spell.
It seemed to Liane as if she had fallen asleep and waked in a brighter world.
But an hour ago she had been poor little Liane Lester, the humble sewing girl, who had spent her little fortune, five dollars, the largest sum she had ever possessed at once in her life, on this simple white gown for the festal occasion. Now she stood there, the centre of admiring congratulations, receiving introductions and alternately bowing and smiling like some great beauty and heiress.
She felt like an heiress, indeed, with that crispnew hundred-dollar bill tucked into her belt, and her cheeks glowed with shy pride and joy, for she had dared to indulge some trembling daydreams over gaining the prize, and now she hoped they might be realized.
There were sad hearts there, too, for many a vain little maiden was disappointed, among them Dolly Dorr, who stifled her chagrin, however, and kissed Liane very sweetly, saying:
"Don't forget that I persuaded you to compete for the prize, although I was afraid all the time you would carry it off from us all."
Every one laughed at Dolly's naïve speech. She was such a frank, pretty little thing, and, next to Liane, the prettiest girl in Miss Bray's employ.
But among all the disappointed ones, no one had been so vexed as to leave the scene like Roma, and it was soon whispered through the room that she had scolded her lover for giving his vote to Liane instead of herself.
"I heard them quarreling; I was just behind Mrs. Clarke," said the lady who had started the report, and she added that Roma had been taken almost fainting to her carriage, unwilling to remain and witness her rival's triumph.
There were many who rejoiced over Roma's defeat, and others who wondered at Devereaux's disloyalty.
He should have paid her the compliment of his vote, since it could have made no difference in the result, they said.
But Devereaux, returning to the hall, eager to speak to Liane, and indifferent to comments on his actions, was forced to stand on the verge of the crowd waiting his turn, till Dolly Dorr, espying him, hastened to his side.
She said to herself that here was one prize, at least, that Liane had not won yet, and she would lose no time trying to make good a claim.
"If he has quarreled with Miss Clarke, so much the better. Hearts are often caught in the rebound," she thought eagerly, as she engaged his attention with some bantering words.
Devereaux smiled kindly on the sunny-haired little maiden, but she found it impossible to engross his attention.
She soon saw that his whole mind was fixed on Liane, and he could not keep from watching her face, until Dolly said quite crossly:
"You are like all the rest! You cannot keepyour eyes from off Liane Lester, now that she has taken the beauty prize!"
Devereaux answered dreamily:
"I could look at her forever!"
His brilliant, dark eyes glowed and softened with tenderness, and a passionate flush reddened his smooth olive cheek.
Dolly stared, and said sharply:
"Perhaps Miss Clarke wouldn't like that so well!"
"What has she to do with my looking at Miss Lester?" he cried impatiently.
"But aren't you engaged to Miss Clarke?"
"No, I am not!"
"But everybody says so!"
"Everybody is mistaken."
Dolly's eyes beamed with joy as she cried gayly:
"Then you are free, Mr. Devereaux?"
He answered with a happy laugh:
"Free as the wind—free to look at Miss Lester as much as I choose—or as long as she will allow me."
This did not please Dolly at all, so she said spitefully:
"I dare say she doesn't care whether you lookat her or not! She has no eager eyes for any one but that handsome Mr. Dean, and he has been standing beside her ever since he gave her the prize, and walked back to her seat with her, just as if they were lovers."
"You are trying to make me jealous, Miss Dolly!" he laughed, unwilling for her to perceive the pain she gave him.
And he added, as some of the crowd around Liane moved aside:
"Please excuse me while I speak to Miss Lester."
Dolly made an angry little pout at him as he moved away. She had forgiven Liane for winning the prize of beauty, but if she carried off Devereaux's heart, too, why, that would be quite different. Liane knew how Dolly had set her heart on him. It would be mean if she came between them, she thought.
She managed to get near them when they met, and marked Liane's blush and smile of pleasure.
"And she always pretended not to care for flirting! But I suppose she will turn over a new leaf from to-night," she muttered jealously, as she edged nearer, trying to overhear everything that passed between the pair.
She had one triumph, at least, when she heard Devereaux prefer a low request to walk home with Liane that evening.
"I am very sorry, but—I have already promised Mr. Dean," the girl murmured back, in regretful tones.
EDMUND CLARKE'S SUSPICION.
Roma Clarke gave her parents a very uncomfortable quarter of an hour riding home that evening.
She threw pride to the winds, and raved in grief and anger at her defeat in the contest for the beauty prize, charging it most bitterly at the door of Jesse Devereaux.
Mr. Clarke learned for the first time now of the broken engagement, and, on finding that it was Roma's fault, he could not help censuring her severely for the folly by which she had lost her lover.
He thought bitterly in his heart: "Ah, how different my own sweet daughter must have been from this ill-tempered, coarse-grained girl who betrays her low origin in spite of the good bringing up and fine education she has received! My poor wife! How disappointed she must feel at heart, in spite of her brave show of affection and sympathy! And, as for Jesse Devereaux, he is a splendid young fellow, and has had a lucky escapefrom Roma's toils. I cannot feel that she will make any man a lovable wife, though I shall be glad enough to have her married off my hands!"
When Roma had gone, sobbing, to her room, he talked very earnestly to her mother, somewhat blaming her for encouraging the girl's willful temper.
"She is spoiled and selfish," he declared. "I for one am willing to own that the prize was well given to Miss Lester. She is very lovely—far lovelier than Roma!"
"How can you say so of our dear girl?" Mrs. Clarke cried reproachfully.
"Because, my dear wife, my eyes are not blinded, like yours, by love and partiality, and thus I can do justice to others," he answered firmly.
"You have never loved our daughter as you should. Therefore, I have felt it my duty to love and cherish her the more!" she sobbed.
He took her tenderly in his arms, and kissed the beautiful, quivering lips, exclaiming:
"Oh, my love, if our daughter were more like you, I could love her a hundredfold better! But, alas, she is so different, both in beauty and disposition, from my angel wife!"
"I have fancied she must be like your own relations, Edmund."
"Perhaps so," he replied evasively, continuing:
"This girl who took the prize this evening won my admiration, darling, because she has a wonderful likeness to you in your young days, Elinor; when we were first married."
"Oh, Edmund, I was never so exquisitely beautiful!" she cried, blushing like a girl.
"Oh, yes, indeed; quite as beautiful as Liane Lester—and very lovely still," he answered, gazing into her eyes with the admiration of a lover, giving her all the tenderness he withheld from Roma, his unloved daughter.
She nestled close to his breast, delighted at his praises, and presently she said:
"It is rather a coincidence, your fancying that Miss Lester looks like me, while I imagine that her grandmother—a dreadful old creature, by the way—resembles Mrs. Jenks, the old woman who nursed me when Roma was born."
Some startled questioning from her husband brought out the whole story of her visit to granny.
"Of course I was mistaken in taking her forMrs. Jenks, but the old crone needn't have been so vexed over it," she said.
Edmund Clarke was startled, agitated, by what she had told him, but he did not permit her to perceive it.
He thought:
"What if I have stumbled on the solution of a terrible mystery? The likeness of Liane Lester to my wife is most startling, and, coupled with other circumstances surrounding her, might almost point to her being my lost daughter!"
He trembled like a leaf with sudden excitement.
"I must see this old woman—and to-night! I cannot bear the suspense until to-morrow!" he thought, and said to his wife artfully:
"Perhaps I am selfish, keeping you from poor Roma in her distress."
"I will go to her at once, poor child," she said, lifting her fair head from his breast.
"And I will take a walk while I smoke," he replied, leaving her with a tender kiss.
He lighted a cigar, and started eagerly for the cottage of granny, hoping to find her alone ere Liane returned from the hall.
His whole soul was shaken with eager emotionfrom what his wife had told him about the old woman's identity.
In the cool, clean September moonlight he strode along the beach, eager-hearted as a boy, in the trembling hope of finding his lost child again.
What joy it would be to find her in the person of lovely Liane, who had already touched his heart with a subtle tenderness by the wonderful likeness that brought back so vividly his wife's lost youth in the days when they had first loved with that holy love that crowned their lives with lasting joy. Not one cloud had marred their happiness save the loss of their infant daughter.
He had restored what happiness he could to Elinor by the substitution of a spurious child, but for himself there must ever be an aching void in his heart till the lost was found again.
He stepped along briskly in the moonlight, and to his surprise and joy he found the old woman leaning over the front gate in a dejected attitude, as if loneliness had driven her outdoors to seek companionship with nature.
"Ah, Mrs. Jenks, good evening!" he exclaimed abruptly, pausing in front of her and lifting his hat.
Granny started wildly, and snapped:
"I don't know you!"
"You have a poor memory," laughed Mr. Clarke. "Now, I knew you at once as Mrs. Jenks, who nursed my wife when our daughter Roma was born. My name is Edmund Clarke. We used to live in Brookline. I sold my property there and moved away when Roma was an infant."
"I never heard of Brookline before, nor you, either!" snapped granny.
"Your memory is bad, as I said before, but you won't deny that your name is Jenks?" Mr. Clarke returned.
As the whole town knew her by that name, she felt that denial was useless, but she preserved a stubborn silence, and he continued:
"I came to ask you, granny, how you came by such a beautiful granddaughter."
"Humph! The same way as other people come by grandchildren, I s'pose. My daughter ran away to be an actress, and came back in a year without a wedding ring, and left her baby on my hands, while she disappeared again forever," returned granny, with an air of such apparent truthfulness that he was staggered.
He was silent a moment, then returned to the charge.
"How old is Liane?"
"Only seventeen her next birthday."
"I should have taken her for quite eighteen."
"Then you would have made a mistake."
"Is her mother dead?"
"I don't know. I never heard of her after she ran away and left her baby on my hands."
"Eighteen years ago?"
"No; not quite seventeen, I told you, sir."
"And you do not really remember Mrs. Clarke, whom you nursed at Brookline eighteen years ago? Come, it ought to be fresh in your memory. Do you not recall the distressing facts in the case? The infant was stolen from my wife's breast, and she was dying of the shock when a spurious daughter was imposed on her, and she recovered. You, Mrs. Jenks, were sent to the foundling asylum for the child, and laid it on Mrs. Clarke's breast, restoring her to hope again. You cannot have forgotten!"
Granny Jenks looked at him angrily in the moonlight.
"You must be crazy! I don't know you, and Idon't care anything about your family history! Go away!" she exclaimed fiercely.
Mr. Clarke was baffled, but not convinced. He stood his ground, saying firmly:
"You may bluster all you please, Granny Jenks, but you cannot shake my conviction that you are the wretch that stole my daughter, and placed a foundling in her place to deceive and make wretched my poor wife. This girl, Liane Lester, is the image of my wife, and I am almost persuaded she is my own daughter. If I have guessed the truth it will be wiser for you to confess the fraud at once, for denial now will be useless. I believe I am on the right track at last, and I will never stop till I uncover the truth. And—the more trouble you give me, the greater will be your punishment."
His dark eyes flashed menacingly, and the hardened old woman actually shivered with fear for an instant. Then she shook off the feeling, and turned from him angrily, reëntering her house, and snarling from the doorway:
"I know nothing about your child, you crazy fool! Go away!"
ROMA FINDS AN ALLY.
Dolly Dorr was right. Handsome Malcolm Dean had never quitted Liane's side since the moment he had clasped her hand in congratulating her on her triumph as queen of beauty.
He remained by her side, enraptured with her beauty and her bashful grace, and he lost no time in preferring a request to walk home with her that night, thinking to himself how sweet it would be to walk with her beneath the brilliant moonlight, the little hand resting on his arm, while the low, musical voice answered his remarks with the timidity that showed how unconscious she was of her own enchanting beauty.
He could scarcely credit what they had told him this afternoon when examining the portraits: that Liane Lester was only a poor sewing girl, with a cruel grandmother, who beat her upon the slightest pretext, and never permitted her to have a lover.
"She looks like a young princess. It is a wonder that some brave young man has not eloped with her before now," he declared.
"Every one is afraid of Granny Jenks," they replied; but Jesse Devereaux only remained gravely silent. He had decided to win sweet Liane for his own, in spite of a hundred vixenish grannies.
He had sent her the fragrant roses to wear, determining to disclose his identity that night, and to win her sweet promise to be his bride.
Now his plans were all spoiled by the artist's sudden infatuation, and he could have cursed Roma for the spiteful manœuvring that had kept him an unwilling captive, while Liane was drifting beyond his reach.
All his pleasure was over for to-night, yet he did not give up hope for the future. His dark eyes had not failed to detect the joy in her glance, and the blush on her cheek at their meeting, and his ears had caught the little regretful ring in her voice, as she whispered that she had already promised Mr. Dean.
Presently the people all began to go away, and with keen pain he saw Liane leaving with her new admirer, her little hand resting like a snowflake on his black coat sleeve.
"But it shall be my turn to-morrow," he vowed to himself, turning away with a jealous pang, andpretending not to see Dolly Dorr, who had lingered purposely in his way, hoping he would see her home.
Disappointed in her little scheme, she rather crossly accepted the offer of a dapper dry-goods clerk, and went off on his arm, laughing with forced gayety as she passed Devereaux, to let him see that she did not care.
Devereaux did not even hear the laughter of the piqued little flirt. He could think of nothing but his keen disappointment over Liane. He returned to his hotel in the sulks.
After all his pleasant anticipations, his disappointment was keen and bitter.
"How can I wait until to-morrow?" he muttered, throwing himself down disconsolately into a chair.
Suddenly a messenger entered with a telegram, and, tearing it hastily open, he read:
Come at once. Father has had a stroke of apoplexy.Lyde.
Come at once. Father has had a stroke of apoplexy.
Lyde.
Lyde was his only sister, married a year before, and a leader in society. He could fancy how helpless she would be at this juncture—the pretty, petted girl.
Filial grief and affection drove even the thought of Liane temporarily from his mind.
Calling in a man to pack his effects, he left on the earliest train for his home in Boston.
But as the train rushed on through the night and darkness, Liane blended with his troubled thoughts, and he resolved that he would write to her at the earliest opportunity. He would not leave the field clear for his enamored rival.
He realized, too, that the clever and handsome artist would be a dangerous rival; still, he felt sure that Liane had some preference for himself. On this he based his hopes for Malcolm Dean's failure.
"She will not forget that night upon the beach, and the opportune service I did her. Her grateful little heart will not turn from me," he thought hopefully.
Malcolm Dean was the only one he could think of as likely to come between him and Liane. He had not an apprehension as to Roma Clarke's baleful jealousy. And yet he should have remembered the hate that had flashed from her eyes and hissed in her voice when she taxed him with voting for Liane.
Again, she had nearly fainted when he was excusing himself to speak to her successful rival.
And even now, while the fast-flying train bore him swiftly from Stonecliff, Roma paced her chamber floor like one distraught, wringing her hands and alternately bewailing her fate and vowing vengeance.
Before Roma's angry eyes seemed to move constantly the vision of her rival in her exquisite beauty. Liane, in her girlish white gown, with the fragrant pink roses at her slender waist—Liane, the humble sewing girl she had despised, but who had now become her hated rival.
Jesse Devereaux admired her; thought her the loveliest girl in the world. Perhaps, even, he was in love with her. That was why he had taken so gladly the dismissal she had so rashly given.
A fever of unavailing regret burned in Roma's veins, the fires of jealous hate gleamed in her flashing eyes.
"I would gladly see her dead at my feet," she cried furiously.
Before she sought her pillow, she had resolved on a plan to forestall Devereaux's courtship.
She would go to-morrow morning to see the wicked old grandmother of Liane; she would havea good excuse, because the old woman had desired the visit, and she would tell her that Devereaux was engaged to herself, and warn her not to permit her granddaughter to accept attentions that could mean nothing but evil. She would even bribe the old woman, if necessary. She was ready to make any sacrifice to punish Jesse for what she called to herself his perfidy, ignoring the fact that she had set him free to woo whom he would.
Granny was tidying up her floor next morning, when a footstep on the threshold made her start and look around at a vision of elegance and beauty framed in sunshine that made the coppery waves of her hair shine lurid red as the girl bowed courteously, saying:
"I am Miss Clarke. Mamma said you wished to see me."
Granny dropped her broom and sank into a chair, staring with dazed eyes at the radiant beauty in her silken gown.
As no invitation to enter was forthcoming, Roma stepped in and seated herself, with a supercilious glance at the shabby surroundings. She thought to herself disdainfully:
"To think of being rivaled in both beauty and love by a low-born girl raised in a hovel!"
Yet she saw that everything was scrupulously clean and neat, as though Liane made the best of what she had.
The old woman, without speaking a word, stared at Roma with eager eyes, as if feasting on her beauty, a tribute to her vanity that pleased Roma well, so she smiled graciously and waited with unwonted patience until granny heaved a long sigh, and exclaimed:
"It is a pleasure to behold you at last, Miss Roma, as a beauty and an heiress! Ah, you must be very happy!"
The young girl sighed mournfully:
"Wealth and beauty cannot give happiness when one's lover is fickle, flirting with poor girls at the expense of their reputations."
"What do you mean?" gasped the old woman, and somehow Roma felt that she was making a favorable impression, and did not hesitate to add:
"I am speaking of your granddaughter, Liane Lester. The girl is rather pretty, and I suppose that her vanity makes her ambitious to marry rich. She flirts with every young man she sees, and lately she has been making eyes at my betrothed husband, Jesse Devereaux, a handsome young millionaire. He loves me as he does hislife, but he is a born flirt, and he is amusing himself with Liane in spite of my objections. So I thought I would come and ask you to scold the girl for her boldness."
"Scold her! That I will, and whip her, too, if you say so! I will do anything to please you, beautiful lady," whimpered granny, moving closer to Roma, and furtively stroking her rich dress with a skinny, clawlike hand, while she looked at the girl with eager eyes.
Roma frowned a little at this demonstration of tenderness, but she was glad the old woman took it so calmly about Liane, and answered coolly:
"So that you keep them apart, I do not care how much you whip her, for her boldness deserves a check, and I suppose that you cannot restrain her, except by beating."
She was surprised and almost shocked as granny whispered hoarsely:
"I would beat her—yes; I would kill her before she should steal your grand lover, darling!"
"A DYING MOTHER."
Even Roma's cruel heart was somewhat shocked at granny's malevolence toward her beautiful young granddaughter, but she did not rebuke the old hag; she only resolved to make capital of it. So she said:
"I don't want you to kill her, but I wish you could take her away from here, where Jesse Devereaux can never find her again. She is in my way, and I want her removed!"
"It would be worth money to you to get her out of your way," leered granny cunningly:
Roma hesitated a moment, then answered frankly:
"Yes, but I could not promise to pay you much. Papa makes me a very small allowance."
The old woman crept nearer to the beautiful, cruel creature, and gazed up into her face with an expression of humble adoration, while she murmured wheedlingly:
"I would take her away from here—far away—where she could never trouble you again, prettylady, for a reward that even you could afford to bestow."
"What is that?" cried Roma eagerly, and she was startled when granny answered nervously:
"A kiss!"
"A kiss!" the girl echoed wonderingly.
Granny was actually trembling with excitement, and she added pleadingly:
"You are so pretty, Miss Roma, that I have fallen in love with you, and for my love's sake I would like to kiss you once. If you grant my wish, I will be your slave for only one kind look and kiss!"
She was softened and agitated in a strange fashion, but she could not help seeing that Roma recoiled in surprise and disgust.
"Really, this is very strange! I—I am not fond of kissing old women. I scarcely ever kiss even my own mother. I would much rather pay you a little money!" she exclaimed.
Granny's face saddened with disappointment, and she muttered:
"So proud; so very proud! She could not bear a downfall!"
Roma flushed with annoyance, and added:
"You seem so very poor that even a small sum of money ought to be acceptable to you!"
"I am miserably poor, but I love you—I would rather have the kiss."
If Roma had known the old woman's miserly character she would have been even more surprised at her fancy. As it was, she hardly knew what to say. She gazed in disgust at the ugly, yellow-skinned and wrinkled old hag, and wondered if she could bring herself to touch that face with her own fresh, rosy lips.
"I—I would rather give you a hundred dollars than to kiss you!" she blurted out, in passionate disgust.
Instantly she saw she had made a grave mistake. Granny drew back angrily from the haughty girl, muttering:
"Hoity-toity, what pride! But pride always goes before a fall!"
"What do you mean?" flashed Roma.
A moment's silence, and granny answered cringingly:
"I only meant that you would be humiliated if that pretty Liane stole Devereaux's heart from you and married him. The other night I beatLiane for walking with him on the beach by moonlight!"
"Heavens! It is worse even than I thought!" cried Roma, springing to her feet, pale with passion.
She advanced toward granny, adding:
"Will you take her away by to-morrow, and never let him see her face again if I grant your wish?"
"I swear it, honey!"
"There, then!" and Roma held up her fresh, rosy lips, shuddering with disgust as the old crone gave her an affectionate kiss that smacked very strongly of an old pipe.
"Be sure that you keep your promise!" she cried, hastening from the house.
Granny watched her until she was out of sight, clasping her skinny arms across her breast, after the fashion of one fondling a beloved child.
"How proud, how beautiful!" she kept saying over to herself in delight. Then she went in and closed the door, while she sat down to make her plans for gratifying Roma's wish.
Not a breath of last night's happenings had reached her, for she seldom held communication with any one, being feared and hated by the wholecommunity, as much as Liane was loved and pitied. She knew nothing of the popular beauty contest, and that Liane had won the prize of a hundred dollars. If she had known, she would have managed to get possession of the money ere now. Liane, having spent the night with Mary Lang, had gone to her work from there, and was having an ovation from her girl friends, who put self aside and rejoiced with her over her triumph.
The proud and happy girl answered gratefully:
"But for your persuasions I should never have ventured to send in my picture for the contest. I want to testify my gratitude by giving each of you five dollars to buy a pretty keepsake."
They protested they would not take a penny of her little fortune, but the generous girl would not be denied.
"I have seventy-five dollars left! I am rich yet!" she cried gayly, for Liane was the happiest girl in the world to-day.
But it was neither her signal triumph nor the money that made her happy, it was because she had seen Jesse Devereaux again, and his radiant, dark eyes had told her the story of his love as plain as words.
Though she was grateful to the handsome artistfor his attentions, she was disappointed because he had kept Jesse from walking home with her last night.
But she looked eagerly for some demonstration from him to-day. Perhaps he would send her some more flowers, for he had whispered gladly as they parted:
"Thank you for wearing the roses I sent you!"
Liane's heart leaped with joy at hearing the flowers had come from Jesse, and she placed them carefully away that night, determined to keep them always, for his dear sake.
How her heart sank when Dolly Dorr, who had been rather quiet and sulky that morning, suddenly remarked:
"Mr. Devereaux went off, bag and baggage, they say, to Boston last night, so I suppose that is the last we shall see of him!"
Liane could not keep from exclaiming regretfully:
"Oh, dear!"
"You seem to be sorry!" Dolly cried significantly.
All eyes turned on Liane, and she blushed rosy red as she bent lower over the work she was sewing.
Dolly added curtly:
"I did not think you would be so ready to take away another girl's chance, Liane."
"But he has broken with Miss Clarke. They quarreled last night," said Lottie Day.
"I did not mean Miss Clarke. I meant myself. Liane knows he has paid me some attention, and that I have set my cap at him! I thought she was my true friend, but I caught her making eyes at him last night!" Dolly exclaimed ruefully.
The gay girls all laughed at Dolly's jealousy, but Liane could not say a word for embarrassment, knowing in her heart how baseless were Dolly's hopes.
The angry little maiden continued:
"He told me last night that he was free from Miss Clarke; and I believe I could win him if no one tried to spoil the sport. I would never have introduced him to Liane if I had thought she would try to cut me out."
"Oh, Dolly, you know I have not tried. Could I help his coming to speak to me last night?" cried Liane.
"No, but you needn't have encouraged him by flirting when he spoke to you, blushing and rolling up your eyes."
A derisive groan went around among the merry band at Dolly's charge, and Mary Lang spoke up spiritedly:
"Dolly Dorr, you are simply making yourself ridiculous, putting in a claim to Mr. Devereaux because he happened to speak to you once or twice! Any one with half an eye can see he's in love with Liane, and I'll state for your benefit that he told her last night he sent her that bouquet of roses, and he wanted to walk home with her, only Mr. Dean was ahead of him!"
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" ran the chorus of voices, Liane drooping her head in blushing confusion, and Dolly pouting with disappointment, while she cried spitefully:
"He's nothing but a wretched flirt! He flirted with Miss Clarke, and then with me, and next with Liane! I'm glad he got ashamed of himself, and sneaked off; and I hope he will never come back!"
Her little fit of temper spoiled the rest of the day for the girls, and Liane Lester was glad to get away at six o'clock, where, after a while, she could be alone with her own thoughts.
But granny was sniveling, with her apron toher eyes, when she entered the poverty-stricken room.
"What is it, granny? Are you ill?" she asked.
"No, I have bad news!"
"Bad news?"
"Yes; I've heard from my daughter, your mother, at last. She's dying down to Boston, and wants you and me to come," with an artful sob.
"But, of course, we cannot go!" Liane said, with strange reluctance.
"But, of course, we can. I've got a little money; enough for the trip. I've just been waiting for you to come and help me to pack our clothes."
"That will not take long. Our wardrobes are not extensive. But, I—I don't want to go!" declared Liane.
"You unnatural child, not to want to see your poor dying mother!" snapped the old woman.
"She has been an unnatural mother!" answered the girl warmly.
"No matter about that! She is my child, and I want to see her before she dies, and you've got to go, willy-nilly! So go along with you and get the tea ready; then we will get packed to go on the first train!" declared granny, with grim resolution.
A LOVE LETTER.
Liane's little sewing chair was vacant the next day, and there was grief and surprise among the five girls present when Miss Bray explained the reason.
Liane had sent her a little note the night before, she said, telling her that her grandmother was taking her to Boston to see a dying relative, and she did not know when she should be back, but hoped Miss Bray would have work for her on her return. She left her dear love for all the girls, and hoped she should see them soon again.
Every one expressed sorrow but Dolly Dorr, who from spite and envy had suddenly changed from a friend to an enemy of Liane.
Dolly tossed her pretty, flaxen head scornfully and insinuated ugly things about Liane following Jesse Devereaux to Boston. A dying relative was a good excuse, but it could not fool Dolly Dorr, she said significantly.
The other girls took the part of the absent one, and even Miss Bray gently reproved Dolly for herslanderous words. The upshot of the matter was that she grew red and angry, and developed the rage of a little termagant. Taking offense at Miss Bray's rebuke, she angrily resigned her position, tossed her jaunty cap on her fluffy, yellow head, and flew home.
The ambition to captivate Jesse Devereaux had quite turned the silly little noddle, and she was passionately angry at Liane for what she denominated "her unfair rivalry."
But on reaching home and finding that her father had just been thrown out of work, Dolly was a little flustrated at her own precipitancy in leaving her place, especially as Mrs. Dorr, a weak, hard-worked woman, bewailed their misfortunes in copious tears.
"Don't cry like that, mamma, I know of a better place than Miss Bray's, where I can find work. Miss Clarke wants a maid," cried Dolly eagerly.
Mrs. Dorr's pride rebelled at first from her pretty daughter going into service like that, but the notion had quite taken hold of Dolly, and in the end the worried mother yielded to her persuasions, especially as the wages were liberal, and would help them so much in their present strait.
Dolly hurried off to Cliffdene, and asked forMiss Clarke, offering her services for the vacant place, as Liane Lester had gone away.
Roma's red-brown eyes flashed with joyful fire as she cried:
"Where has she gone?"
"Her grandmother took her to Boston to see a dying relative, miss."
"Ah!" exclaimed Roma, and her heart leaped with joy as she realized that granny had kept her promise to take Liane far away.
"Now I may have some chance of winning Jesse back again," she thought.
But Dolly's next words threw a damper on her springing hopes.
"Liane can't fool me with a tale of a dying relative! I believe she had an understanding with Jesse Devereaux to follow him down to Boston," she exclaimed spitefully.
Roma started violently, her rich color paling to ashen gray.
"Jesse Devereaux gone!" she cried, in uncontrollable agitation that betrayed her jealous heart to Dolly's keen eyes.
The girl thought shrewdly:
"She loves him even if he did tell me he wasnot engaged. Whew! won't she hate Liane when she knows all!"
And, taking advantage of Roma's mood, she added:
"Liane has been flirting for some time with Mr. Devereaux, and the night she got the beauty prize he sent her roses to wear, and voted for her, and offered to walk home with her that night, only he was disappointed, because Mr. Malcolm Dean had asked her first."
Roma, inwardly furious with jealous rage, tossed her proud head carelessly, and answered:
"Mr. Devereaux cares nothing for the girl! He is engaged to me, but we had a little tiff, and he was just flirting with her to pique me because I would not make up with him just yet!"
Although she regarded Dolly as greatly her inferior, she was placing herself on a level with her by these confidences, encouraging Dolly to reply:
"Of course, I know he wouldn't marry Liane, but she was foolish enough to think so, and I feel certain she's down to Boston with him now."
Roma knew better, but she only smiled significantly, giving Dolly the impression that she agreed with her entirely, and then she said:
"I will agree to give you a week's trial, andmamma's maid can instruct you as to your duties. When can you come?"
"To-morrow, if you wish."
"Very well. I shall expect you," returned Roma, abruptly ending the interview.
When Dolly was going back the next day, she stopped in at the post office for her mail, and the smiling little clerk in the window, as he handed it out, exclaimed:
"Don't Miss Liane Lester work with you at Miss Bray's, Miss Dolly? There's a letter for her this morning, the first letter, I believe, that ever came for her, and now that I come to think about it, she never calls here for mail, anyhow!"
Dolly's cheeks flushed guiltily, and her heart gave a strangling thump of surprise, but she said, quite coolly:
"Yes, Liane works at Miss Bray's with me, and I'm going down there now, so I'll take her letter, if you please, and save her the trouble of calling for it."
The unsuspecting clerk readily handed it out, and Dolly clutched it with a trembling hand, hurrying out so as to read the superscription and gratify her curiosity.
"What a beautiful handwriting! A man's, too,and postmarked Boston. Now, it must be Devereaux or Dean writing to her!" she muttered, longing to open it, yet not quite daring to commit the crime.
She placed it at last in her pocket, thinking curiously:
"As I don't know where Liane is, of course I cannot forward this letter to her, and—I would give anything in the world to know what is in it, and who wrote it! Perhaps Miss Clarke would know the writing."
That evening, when she was brushing out the long tresses of Roma's hair, she ventured on the subject:
"To-day the postmaster gave me a letter from Boston to Liane Lester, but I don't know where to send it, and I am wondering who wrote it!"
She felt Roma give a quick start as she cried:
"Let me see it!"
Dolly giggled, and brought it out of her pocket.
"Oh! It is Mr. Devereaux's writing," cried Roma excitedly.
"So I thought, miss. Now I wonder what he wrote to her about? I must be mistaken thinking he knew she had gone to Boston," cried Dolly.
Roma turned the letter over and over in herhand, her eyes blazing, her cheeks crimson, her heart throbbing with jealous rage.
How dared he write to Liane? How dared he forget her, Roma, so insolently, and so soon? She would have liked to see them both stretched dead at her feet!
They looked guiltily at each other, the mistress and maid, one thought in either mind. Dare they open the letter?
Dolly twittered:
"I shouldn't think you would allow him to write to her! He belongs to you!"
She felt like making common cause with Roma against Liane, in her bitter envy forgetting how often she had inveighed against Roma's pride and cruelty. She continued artfully:
"The letter can never do her any good, because we don't know where to send it. And—and would it be any harm for us to take a peep at it?"
"I think I have a right," Roma answered, her bosom heaving stormily, then she clutched Dolly's arm:
"Girl, girl, if we do this thing—you and I—will you swear never to betray me?" she breathed hoarsely.
"I swear!" Dolly muttered fiercely, in her angerat Liane, and then Roma's impatience burst all bounds. She quickly broke the seal of the letter, her angry eyes running over the scented sheets, while Dolly coolly read it over her shoulder.
And if ever two cruel hearts were punished for their curiosity, they were Roma's, the mistress, and Dolly's, the maid.
It was an impassioned love letter that Devereaux had written to Liane, and it ended with the offer of his hand, as she already possessed his heart.
The young lover had chosen the sweetest words and phrases to declare his passion, and he explained everything that she might have misunderstood.
He had fallen in love with her at first sight, but he was bound by a promise to one he no longer even admired. In honor he could not speak to Liane, but his betrothed had herself broken the fetters that bound him, and he was free now to woo his darling. He had intended to tell her so that night of the beauty contest, but Malcolm Dean had rivaled him. Then had come the summons to his sick father, tearing him away from Stonecliff. He must remain some time in Boston with his sinking father, and his impatienceprompted this letter. Would Liane correspond with him? Would she be his beloved wife, the treasure of his heart and home? He should wait with burning impatience for her reply.
Roma threw the letter on the floor and stamped on it with her angry foot.
Not in such tender, passionate phrases had he wooed her when she promised him her hand, but in light, airy words, born of the flirtation through which she had successfully steered him to a proposal so quickly regretted, so gladly taken back. Oh, how she loved and hated him in a breath!
As for the girl, thank Heaven, granny had promised to keep her out of the way. Ay, even to kill her, if she commanded it. It was strange how the old woman had fallen so slavishly under her sway, but she was thankful for it, though she shuddered still with disgust at remembrance of granny's fond caress.
She said to herself that it were better for Liane Lester that she never had been born than to cross her path again, and to take from her the love of the man she had worked so hard to win, and then so rashly lost.