AT A FIEND'S MERCY.
Doctor Jay listened with breathless attention, and so did Roma.
Pale as a breathing statue, her great eyes dilated with dismay and horror, her heart beating heavily and slow, Roma crouched in her chair and listened to the awful words that told her who and what she was, the base-born child of Cora Jenks, and granddaughter of old granny, whose very name was a synonym for contempt in Stonecliff.
She, Roma, who despised poor people, who treated them no better than the dust beneath her well-shod feet, belonged to the common herd, and was usurping the place of beautiful Liane, whom she had despised for her lowly estate and hated for her beauty, but who had become first her rival in love and now in fortune.
To the day of her death beautiful, wicked Roma never forgot that bleak November night, that blasted all her pride and flung her down into the dust of humiliation and despair, her toweringpride crushed, all the worst passions of her evil nature aroused into pernicious activity.
Stiller than chiseled marble, the stricken girl crouched there, listening, fearing to lose even a single word, though each one quivered like a dagger in her heart.
Her greatest enemy could not have wished her a keener punishment than this knowledge of her position in the Clarke household—an adopted daughter, secretly despised and only tolerated for the mother's sake, holding her place only until the real heiress should be discovered.
No words could paint her rage, her humiliation, her terrors of the future, that held a sword that might at any moment fall.
Oh, how she hated the world, and every one in it, and most of all Liane Lester, her guiltless rival.
While she listened, she wished the girl dead a hundred times, and all at once a throbbing memory came to her of the fierce words Granny Jenks had spoken in her rage against Liane.
"I would beat her; yes, I would kill her, before she should steal your grand lover from you darling!"
Roma could understand now the old hag's devotionto herself. It was the tie of their kinship asserting itself. She shuddered with disgust as she recalled the old woman's fulsome admiration and adoration, and how she had been willing to sell her very soul for one kiss from those fresh, rosy lips.
How eagerly she had said:
"I will scold Liane, and whip her, too. I will do anything to please you, beautiful lady!"
No wonder!
Roma was bitterly sorry now that she had not let granny kill Liane when she had been so anxious to do it. She felt that she had made a great mistake, for her position at Cliffdene would never be assured until Liane was dead.
Edmund Clarke was certain now that Liane was his own child, and he swore to Doctor Jay that he would find her soon, if it took the last dollar of his fortune.
The old doctor replied:
"I do not blame you, my friend, for it does, indeed, appear plausible that this Liane Lester must be your own lost child, and I can conceive how galling it must be to your pride to call Nurse Jenks' grandchild your daughter, while, as for your noble wife, it is cruel to think of the impositionpracticed on her motherly love all these years. But it is certain that she must have died but for the terrible deception we had to practice."
Edmund Clarke knew that it was true. He remembered how she had been drifting from him out on the waves of the shoreless sea, and how the piping cry of the little infant had called her back to life and hope.
"Yes, it was a terrible necessity," he groaned, adding:
"And only think, dear doctor, how sad it is that Roma, with a devilish cunning, that must be a keen instinct, has always hated sweet Liane, and has succeeded in poisoning my wife's mind against her, arousing a mean jealousy in my uncomprehended interest in the girl! Think of such a sweet mother being set against her own sweet daughter!"
"It is horrible," assented Doctor Jay, and he continued:
"But this excitement is telling on your nerves, dear friend, weakened by your recent severe illness. Let me persuade you to retire to bed, with a sedative now, and to-morrow we will further discuss your plan of employing a detective to trace Liane and the fiendish Nurse Jenks."
"I believe I will take your advice," Roma heard Edmund Clarke respond wearily, and Doctor Jay insisted on preparing a sedative, which he said should be mixed in a glass of water, half the dose to be taken on retiring, and the remainder in two hours, if the patient proved wakeful.
"I wish it was a dose of poison," Roma thought vindictively, as she hurried from the room and gained her own unperceived, where she found her maid waiting most impatiently to assist her in her bath.
"Never mind, Dolly, you can go to bed now. I went to mamma's room for a little chat, and we talked longer than I expected, so I will wait on myself this once," she said, with unwonted kindness in her eagerness to be alone; so Dolly curtsied and retired, though she said to herself:
"She is lying. She was not in her mother's room at all, for I went there to see, and Mrs. Clarke had retired. She must have been up to some mischief and don't want to be found out. She had a guilty look."
Meanwhile Roma flung herself into the easy-chair before the glowing fire, stretched out her slippered feet on the thick fur rug, and gave herself up to the bitterest reflections.
"There are four people who are terribly in my way, and whom I would like to see dead! They are Liane Lester, Granny Jenks, old Doctor Jay, and Edmund Clarke, the man I have heretofore regarded as my father," she muttered vindictively.
She knew that the two last named would know neither rest nor peace till they found Liane and reinstated her in her place at Cliffdene as daughter and heiress, ousting without remorse the usurper.
"Ah, if I only knew where to find her, granny would soon put her out of my way forever!" she thought, regretting bitterly now that she had not made the old hag keep her informed of her whereabouts.
The spirit of murder was rife in Roma's heart, and she longed to end the lives of all those who stood in her way.
"I wish that Edmund Clarke would die to-night! How easy it would be if some arsenic were dropped into his sedative—some of that solution I was taking a while ago to improve my complexion," she thought darkly, resolving to wait until all was quiet and herself attempt the hellish deed.
One death already lay on her conscience, and the form of the man she had remorselessly thrust over the bluff stalked grimly through her dreams. To her soul, already black with crime, what did the commission of other deeds of darkness matter?
The death of Edmund Clarke so quickly decreed, she began to plan that of the old doctor.
This was not so easy. He did not have a convenient glass of sedative ready by his bedside. But she had noticed at supper that he was fond of a glass of wine.
"I must poison a draught for him before he leaves Cliffdene," she thought, regretting that she could not accomplish it to-night.
But Edmund Clarke's speedy death would delay the search for Liane a while, even if it did not postpone it forever.
For the old physician was not likely to prosecute it after the death of his patron. He could have no interest in doing so, though she would make sure he did not by putting him out of the way if she could.
Her mind a chaos of evil thoughts, Roma rested in her chair, waiting till she thought every one must be asleep before she stole from the room topoison the draught for the man she had regarded until this hour as her own father, and to whose wealth she owed her luxurious life of eighteen years.
Neither pity nor gratitude warmed her cold heart. She had never loved him in her life, and she hated him now.
In her rage and despair she had forgotten Jesse Devereaux's letter to her father until, in a restless movement, she heard the rustle of paper in her corsage.
An evil gleam lightened in her eyes, and she drew the letter forth, muttering:
"Ah, this will beguile my weary waiting!"
In five minutes she was mistress of the contents.
It was the letter Devereaux had written to acquaint Edmund Clarke with Liane's address—the fateful letter that was to betray the girl into the hands of her bitterest foe.
Ah, the hellish gleam of wicked joy in the cruel red-brown eyes; the stormy heaving of Roma's breast as she realized her great good fortune; all her enemies in her power, at her mercy! The mercy the ravenous wolf shows to the helpless lamb!
She laughed low and long in her glee, and that laughter was an awful thing to hear.
"Oh, how can I wait till to-morrow?" she muttered. "Yet I cannot go to Boston to-night, nor to-morrow, if Edmund Clarke dies to-night. Shall I spare his life till I go to Boston, and have his daughter put out of the way?"
A MURDEROUS FURY.
Hours slipped away while the beautiful fiend, so young in years, so old in the conception of crime, crouched in her seat, waiting, musing, pondering on the best schemes for ridding herself of those who stood in her way.
She was eager as a wild beast to strike quickly and finish the awful work she had set herself to do.
It seemed to her that she might never have another such opportunity for ending Edmund Clarke's life as was offered to her by the conditions of the present moment.
It was most important to get rid of him, she knew, and the sooner the better for the safety of her position as heiress of the Clarke millions. Let him die first, and she could attend to the others afterward.
At the dark, gloomy hour of midnight, while the icy winds wailed around the house like a banshee, Roma went groping through the pitch-black corridors toward the room where Mr.Clarke lay sleeping with his gentle, loving wife by his side.
Like a sleek, beautiful panther the girl crept into the unlocked door, knowing the room so well that she could find her way to the bedside in the darkness, and put out her stealthy, murderous hand, with the bottle of poison in it, seeking for the glass that held the sleeping potion Doctor Jay had prescribed.
Her heart beat with evil exultation, for it seemed to her that her errand could scarcely fail of success. Edmund Clarke was sound asleep, she knew by his deep breathing, and she decided that, after pouring the poison into the glass, she would make enough noise in escaping from the room to arouse him fully, so that he would be sure to swallow the second dose ere sleeping again.
It was a clever plan, cleverly conceived, and in another moment it would be executed, and no earthly power could save the victim from untimely death.
But in her haste Roma made one fatal mistake.
In groping for the glass, she held the vial with the arsenic clasped in her hand.
And she was very nervous, her white handstrembling as they fluttered over the little medicine stand by the head of the bed.
That was why, the next moment, there came the sharp clink of glass against glass as her hands came in contact with what she sought, overturning and breaking both, with such a sharp, keen, crystalline tinkle that both the sleepers were aroused suddenly and quickly, and Mr. Clarke flung out his arms, clutching Roma ere she could escape, and demanding bewilderedly:
"What is the matter? Who is this?"
"Edmund! Edmund!" cried his equally startled wife, hastily lighting a night lamp close to her arm, in time to see Roma writhing and struggling in her father's arms.
"Roma!" he panted.
"Roma!" echoed his wife.
It was a situation to strike terror to the girl's guilty heart.
But in her scheming she had not failed to take into account any possible contretemps.
Failing in her efforts to escape before her identity was detected, Roma laughed aloud, hysterically:
"Dear papa, do not squeeze me so hard, please;you take away my breath! Why, you must take me for a burglar!"
Edmund Clarke, releasing her and not yet fully awake, stammered drowsily:
"Yes—I—took—you—for—a—burglar. What do you want, Roma?"
"Yes, what is the matter, my dear?" added Mrs. Clarke wonderingly, while Roma, mistress of the situation still, pressed her hand to her cheek, groaning hysterically:
"Oh, papa, mamma, forgive me for arousing you, but I am suffering so much with a wretched toothache, and I came to ask you for some medicine to ease it!"
"Poor dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Clarke, with immediate maternal sympathy, as she rose quickly from her bed and motioned Roma into her dressing room, searching for remedies within a little medicine case while she plied her with questions.
"When did it begin to ache, dear? Why didn't you send Dolly for the medicine? It will make you worse, coming along the cold corridors!"
"For goodness' sake, don't tease! Give me the medicine quick as you can!" Roma answered crossly, dropping into a chair and hiding her facein her hands, her whole form shaking with fury at the failure of her scheme to kill Edmund Clarke.
A blind, terrible rage possessed her, and she would have liked to spring upon him and clutch his throat with murderous hands.
But she dare not give way to her murderous impulse; she must wait and try her luck again, for die he must, and that very soon.
She could only wreak her pent-up rage by cross answers to the gentle lady she called mother, and Mrs. Clarke, with a patient sigh of wounded feeling, turned to her, replying:
"I did not mean to tease you, Roma, but here is some medicine. Put five drops of it upon this bit of cotton and press it into the cavity of your tooth, and it will give you speedy relief. In the morning you must visit a dentist."
Roma lifted her pale face, and answered:
"Yes, I will visit a dentist, but not one at Stonecliff. I will go to Boston by the early train."
"I will go with you and do some shopping," said her mother, who had a very feminine love of finery.
"Very well," the girl answered, scowling behind her hand, for she preferred to go alone on her mission to Granny Jenks.
But she realized that it would not do to offend the only person who seemed to have any real fondness for her, so, making a wry face behind her hand, she went up to Mrs. Clarke, saying gently:
"I did not mean to be cross to you, dear mamma, but I am in such agony with this pain that I could not help my impatience. I want you to forgive me and try not to love me any less for my faults, please."
Mrs. Clarke could not help wondering what favor Roma was planning to ask for now, but she answered sweetly:
"I forgive you, dear, and, of course, I shall always love my daughter."
"But papa does not love me much. I often meet his glance fixed on me in cold disapproval, and at times he is very stern to me!" complained Roma.
"That must be your fancy, dear. He could not help loving you, his own daughter, dearly and fondly," soothed the lady, though she knew that she had herself noticed and complained of the same thing in her husband.
"You do not love Roma as I do," she had said to him, reproachfully, many times, getting always an evasive, unsatisfactory reply.
So she could not offer her much comfort on this score; she could only put her arm about the form of the arch traitress, murmuring kind, tender words, actually getting in return a loving caress that surprised her very much, it was so unusual.
But Roma for the first time in her life comprehended the necessity of fortifying her position by a staunch ally like her mother.
"I will go back to my room now. I must not keep you up any longer in the cold, dear, patient mamma," she cried gushingly, as she kissed her and left the room.
Mrs. Clarke was grateful for the caress, but she retired to bed with the firm conviction that it would take a very large check indeed to gratify Roma's desires in Boston to-morrow. Her affectionate spells were always very costly to her parents.
"Do you think I had better take the second dose of that sedative? I am very nervous from my sudden awakening, and wish we had locked the door on retiring," her husband said petulantly.
"It would be very unkind to lock the door on our own daughter. Roma was just now lamenting your sternness and lack of love and sympathy," returned the lady.
Edmund Clarke stifled an imprecation between his teeth, then demanded earnestly:
"Have I ever failed in love and sympathy to you, dear Elinor?"
"Never, my darling husband," she answered, fondly clasping his hand.
"And never will my love fail you, dearest; but I cannot say as much for Roma, whose nature is so unlike yours that I confess she repels instead of attracts me," he exclaimed, reaching out for the medicine and exclaiming impatiently on finding the glass broken and the draught lost.
Ah, how nearly it had been a fatal draught, had not Heaven interposed to save his life!
As he set it back on the table, he added:
"Why, here is a broken vial on the table beside the glass. I wonder how it came there!"
"I do not know; but it really does not matter, dear. There, now, shut your eyes, and try to sleep," advised his wife, knowing the importance of sound, healthful sleep to the convalescent.
But to her dismay he arose and turned the key in the lock, saying as he lay down again:
"I'll try to sleep now; but I'll make sure first of not being disturbed again."
A STRAND OF RUDDY HAIR.
At early daylight the next morning a servant tapped at Edmund Clarke's door with a message from Doctor Jay.
He found himself quite ill this morning, and must go home at once. Would Mr. Clarke grant him a few parting words?
Mr. Clarke was up and dressed. He had just said good-by to his wife and Roma, who had taken an early train to Boston.
He went at once to Doctor Jay's room, finding him seated by the window, looking ill and aged from a bad night.
"Good morning, my dear old friend. You look ill, and I fear you have not rested well."
"No; my night was troubled by ghastly dreams. I could scarcely wait till morning to bid you good-by."
"I am very sorry for this, for I had counted on a pleasant day with you. My wife and Roma are gone to Boston for the day, leaving their regrets for you, and kindly wishes to find you here on their return."
The doctor started with surprise, exclaiming:
"It must have been an unexpected trip."
Edmund Clarke then explained about Roma's midnight sufferings from toothache, necessitating a visit to her dentist.
"My wife would not have left me, but she felt sure I should not be lonely, having you for company," he added regretfully.
"My dear friend, I should like to remain with you, and, rather than disappoint you, I will wait until the late afternoon train; but—all my friendship for you could not tempt me to spend another night at Cliffdene!"
"You amaze me, doctor! This is very strange! Why do you look so pale and strange? Why did you spend so uncomfortable a night, when I tried to surround you with every comfort?"
"You did, my dear friend, and every luxury besides—even a key to my door, which I forgot to use," returned Doctor Jay, so significantly that Edmund Clarke reddened, exclaiming:
"It is not possible you have been robbed! I believe that all my servants are honest!"
He thought that the old physician must be losing his senses when he answered, with terrible gravity:
"Nevertheless, I was nearly robbed of my life last night!"
"Great heavens!"
Doctor Jay's brow was beaded with damp as he loosened his cravat and collar, and pointed to his bared neck.
Edmund Clarke leaned forward, and saw on the old man's throat some dark purple discolorations, like finger prints.
"Have you in your household any persons subject to vicious aberrations of mind?" demanded Doctor Jay.
"No one!" answered his startled host, and he was astounded when his guest replied:
"Nevertheless, a fiend in human form entered this room last night under cover of the darkness and attempted to murder me by vicious strangling!"
"Heavens! Is this so?"
"You have the evidence!" exclaimed the physician, pointing to his bared throat with the print of the strangler's fingers.
"This is most mysterious!" ejaculated Edmund Clarke, in wonder and distress, while the physician continued:
"Last night I retired and slept soundly untilafter midnight, when I was aroused by the horrible sensation of steely fingers gripping my throat with deadly force. Vainly gasping for my failing breath, I struggled with the intruder, who held on with a maniacal strength, panting with fury as I clutched in my arms a form that I immediately knew to be that of a woman, soft, warm, palpitating, though her strength was certainly equal to that of a man. We grappled in a terrible struggle, and I clutched my fingers in her long hair, causing her such pain that, with a stifled moan, she released my throat, struck me in the face, and fled before I could regain my senses, that deserted me at the critical moment."
"This is most mysterious, most shocking! No wonder you are anxious to leave Cliffdene, where you so nearly met your death. But this must be sifted to the bottom at once, and the lunatic identified, for it could be no other than a lunatic. I will have the whole household summoned. We will question every servant closely!" cried Clarke eagerly, turning to ring the bell.
But Doctor Jay stopped him, saying:
"Wait till I question you on the subject. Have you in your employ a woman with red hair?"
"What a question! But, no. My women servantsare all gray-haired or black-haired, with one exception. That is Roma's maid, a pretty little blonde, with the palest flaxen curls."
He looked inquiringly at the doctor, who replied:
"After my struggle was over and I was able to light a lamp, I found entangled in my fingers some threads of hair—beautiful long strands of ruddy hair, copperish red in the full light."
He took an envelope from his breast, and drew from it a ruddy strand of long hair, holding it up to the light of the window, where it shone with a rich copper tint.
"My God!" groaned Edmund Clarke.
"You recognize the hair?" cried Doctor Jay.
"It is Roma's hair!" was the anguished answer.
"I thought so!"
"You thought so! Is the girl, then, a lunatic, or a fiend? And what motive could she have to take your life—an old man, who has never harmed her in his blameless life?" cried the host, in consternation.
Edmund Clarke had never been confronted with such a terrible problem of crime in his life.His face paled to an ashen hue, and his eyes almost glared as he stared helplessly at his friend.
"I have a theory!" cried Doctor Jay.
"What is it?"
"The girl must have overheard our conversation last night."
"Impossible!"
"Why?"
Mr. Clarke revolved the matter silently in his mind for a moment, then answered:
"Well, of course, not impossible, but quite improbable."
"Is there not a curtained alcove or anteroom next the library?"
"Yes; but why should the girl have suspected us—why concealed herself there to listen?"
"Heaven only knows, but it is possible that some accident brought her there—perhaps an errand of some kind—maybe to get medicine from me for her aching tooth. She caught a few words that aroused her curiosity, kept silence, and listened, overhearing the truth about herself."
"It must indeed have happened that way!"
"And the shock drove her mad," continued Doctor Jay. "Her resentment flamed againstme for knowing so much of her low origin. In her first senseless fury she sought my life."
"It is a terrible situation!" cried his friend, and both were silent for a moment, gazing at the lock of hair as if it had been a writhing serpent; then Clarke continued:
"It is a wonder the fiend incarnate did not seek my life also, thus removing from her path the two who were plotting to oust her from her position and reinstate the real heiress!"
But even as he spoke he remembered last night's accident when he had been aroused by the clink of breaking glass and found Roma in hysterics by his bedside.
He told Doctor Jay the whole story, adding:
"I could not imagine how the bottle came there. It was certainly not on the stand when I retired to bed, and when I read the label this morning, it ran: 'Poison—arsenic.'"
"I should like to see the bottle."
"Come with me," returned Mr. Clarke, leading the way to his room.
Fortunately the chambermaid had not disturbed anything yet, so the fragments of the bottle and glass were found upon the table.
"It is a fearfully strong solution of arsenic,and I fancy she intended to pour it into your sedative, so that in case you drank it you would be silenced forever," affirmed the doctor.
They could only stare aghast at each other, feeling that Providence had surely preserved their lives last night.
"She was nervous in the dark, jostling the bottle against the glass, breaking both, and thus defeating her murderous game! The toothache was probably a clever feint to explain her presence in your room," continued the old doctor, who had a wonderful insight into men and motives, and seemed to read Roma like an open book.
A sudden terror seized on Mr. Clarke.
"She has taken my darling wife away with her! What if she means to murder her, too? I must follow them on the next train and separate them forever!" he cried frantically.
"I believe you are right, my friend."
After further thought and consultation, they decided that, although Roma and Mrs. Clarke must be immediately separated, it would not be prudent to reveal the truth to her yet, for the shock would be sufficient to dethrone her reason. Therefore it would not be prudent to arrest Roma yet for her attempted crimes.
"We have just time enough for a hasty breakfast before catching the next train. Come!" cried Edmund Clarke, leading the way from the room.
In the corridor they encountered Dolly Dorr mincing along, with her yellow head on one side like a pert canary; and her master, stopping her, exclaimed:
"Your mistress had a bad time with the toothache, I fear, last night, Dolly!"
Dolly, dropping a curtsy, answered slyly:
"Indeed she did, sir, and the medicine she got when she went after Doctor Jay didn't help her one bit, for she walked the floor groaning and sobbing all night."
They glared at her in amazement, while she continued, with pretended sympathy:
"She would not let me sit up with her, poor thing, but I was stealing back to her room to see if I could help her any when I met her flying out of Doctor Jay's room, and she said she had gone for a remedy for the toothache, and he burned her gums with iodine and almost set her crazy with the pain. Then she scolded me for being up so late, and sent me back to my room to stay."
She gave Doctor Jay a quizzical glance from her saucy blue eyes, but his face was entirely noncommittal as he replied:
"I am very sorry I burned her so badly with the iodine, but I thought it would give the quickest relief."
"Well, she has gone to a dentist in Boston now, and he may soon help the pain," said Edmund Clarke, passing on, while Dolly Dorr muttered suspiciously:
"There were mysterious carryings on in this house last night, for sure!"
A TRUE FRIEND.
Liane Lester, late that afternoon, when coming home from her work with her friend, Lizzie White, saw again the handsome face and dark, flashing eyes of Jesse Devereaux. He had believed himself unseen, but he was mistaken.
Some subtle instinct had turned Liane's timid glance straight to the spot where he was watching, unseen, as he believed.
The quick, passionate throb of her heart sent the blood bounding to her cheeks and made her hands tremble as they clasped the envelope with her slender weekly earnings.
But at the same instant Liane dropped the thick, curling fringe of her lashes quickly over her eyes, for in his alert glance she met no sign of recognition, and her heart sank heavily again as she remembered his cold, careless greeting the day she had passed his house with Mrs. Brinkley.
The good woman was right. He might have amused himself with her in the country, but he was indifferent to her in town. He would noteven take the trouble to bow when they met by chance, as now.
But Liane had the most loyal heart in the world, and she could never forget that night by the sea when Devereaux had saved her from the insulting caresses of the dark-browed stranger, and afterward from granny's blow, breaking his arm in her defense.
"How brave and noble he was that night! He was so handsome and adorable that my heart went out to him, never to be recalled, in spite of all that has happened since," she thought sadly.
With lowered lashes and a heart sinking heavily with its hopeless love and pain, Liane passed on with her friend, little dreaming that she was followed to her home by Devereaux, nor what dire consequences would follow on his learning her address.
She was restless that night, and he haunted her dreams persistently, and on the morrow she rose tired, and pale, and sad, almost wishing she had not met him again, to have all the old pain and regret revived within her breast.
The long day dragged away, and when she went home that evening she found awaiting her the Philadelphia magazine that had her beautifulface on the outside cover. Accompanying this was a batch of novels, together with a basket of fruit and a bunch of roses.
"Hothouse roses and tropical fruit—you must have caught a rich beau, Liane!" cried Mrs. Brinkley, as she delivered the gifts.
"Oh, no; there must be some mistake," she answered quickly, but her heart throbbed as she remembered the meeting with Devereaux yesterday, and she wondered if he could possibly be the donor.
"Impossible!" she sighed to herself, as the woman continued:
"There cannot be any mistake, for there is the card, tied to the basket, with 'Miss Liane Lester, with kind wishes of a true friend,' written on it. They came by a neat messenger boy, who would not answer a single question I asked him."
"A charming mystery! Oh, what magnificent roses for the last of November!" cried Lizzie, inhaling their fragrance with delight, while Liane handed around the basket, generously sharing the luscious fruit with her friends.
She was thinking all the while of the words Jesse Devereaux had said to her on the beach that never-to-be-forgotten night:
"I will be a true friend to you."
The card on the basket read the same: "A True Friend."
It was enough to send the tremulous color flying to Liane's cheek, while a new, faint hope throbbed at her heart.
Granny was out somewhere, or she would have got a scolding on suspicion of knowing the donor of the presents. She wisely kept the truth to herself, dividing the fruit with her friends, placing the books in her trunk, and the roses in a vase in Lizzie's room, though she longed very much to have them in her own.
That night her dreams were sweet and rose-colored.
She went to work with a blithe heart next morning, and, although it was the first day of December, and a light covering of snow lay on the roofs and pavements, she did not feel the biting wind pierce through her thin jacket; her pulse was bounding and her being in a glow because of the great scarlet rose pinned on her breast, seeming to shed a summer warmth and sweetness on the icy air—the warmth of hope and love.
All day her visions were rose-colored, and her thoughts hovered about Devereaux until she almostforgot where she was, and was recalled unpleasantly to reality by a proud, impatient voice exclaiming:
"I have spoken to you twice, and you have not heard me! Your thoughts must be very far away. Show me your best kid gloves—five and a half size!"
At the same moment a small hand had gently pressed her arm, sending an odd thrill through her whole frame, causing her to start and look up at a handsome, richly dressed woman, whose dark-blue eyes were fixed on her in surprise and dislike.
She knew the proud, cold face instantly. It belonged to a woman she had seen on Edmund Clarke's arm the night of the beauty contest. It was his wife, the mother of haughty Roma, and Liane comprehended instantly her glance of anger—it was because she had taken the prize over Roma's head.
Wounded and abashed by the lady's scorn, Liane attended to her wants in timid silence, only speaking when necessary, her cheeks flushed, her soft eyes downcast, her white hands fluttering nervously over the gloves.
Mrs. Clarke selected a box of gloves, paid forthem, and said in a supercilious tone, quite different from her usual gentle manner:
"I will take the gloves with me. You may bring them out to my carriage on the opposite side of the street."
She was purposely humbling Liane, and the girl felt it intuitively. Her bosom heaved, and her blue eyes brimmed with dew, but she did not resent the proud command, only took up the box of gloves and followed her customer out of the store to the thickly crowded pavement and over the crossing, where a carriage waited in a throng of vehicles on the other side.
All at once something terrible happened.
Mrs. Clarke, keeping proudly in front of Liane, and not noticing closely enough her environment of vehicles and street cars, suddenly found herself right in the path of an electric car that in another moment would have crushed out her life had not two small hands reached out and hurled her swiftly aside.
Hundreds of eyes had seen the lady's imminent peril, and marked with kindling admiration the girl's heroic deed.
Without a selfish thought, though she was exposing herself to deadly danger, Liane boundedwildly upon the track and seized the dazed and immovable woman with frantic hands, dragging her by main force off the track of the car that, in the succeeding moment, whizzed by at its highest speed, just as the two, Liane and the rescued woman, fell to the ground outside the wheels.
Eager, sympathetic men bore them to the pavement, where it was found that Mrs. Clarke was in a swoon, so deathlike that it frightened Liane, who sobbed and wrung her hands.
"Oh, she is dead! The terrible shock has killed her! Can no one do anything to bring back her life? She must not die! She has a loving husband and a beautiful daughter, who would break their hearts over their terrible loss!"
"Who is she?" they asked the sobbing girl, and she answered:
"She is Mrs. Clarke, a wealthy lady of Stonecliff, and must be visiting in the city."
At that moment the lady's eyes fluttered open, she gazed with a dazed air on the curious faces that surrounded her, and murmured:
"Where am I? What has happened?"
There were not lacking a dozen voices to tell her everything, loud in praise of the lovely girlwho had saved her life at the imminent risk of her own.
"I—I did no more than my duty!" she sobbed, blushing crimson while they all gazed on her with the warmest admiration. There are so few who do their duty even in this cold, hard world, and one man exclaimed:
"It was not your duty to risk your life so nearly. Why, the car fender brushed your skirt as you fell. It was an act of the purest heroism!"
Mrs. Clarke pressed her hand to her brow bewilderingly, murmuring:
"I remember it all now! I stepped thoughtlessly on the track, and when I saw the car rushing down on me, I was so dazed with fear and horror I could not move or speak! No, though my very life depended on it, I could not move or speak! I could only stand like a statue, a breathing statue of horror, facing death! My feet were glued to the rail, my eyes stared before me in mute despair! Horrible anticipations thronged my mind! Suddenly I was caught by frantic hands and dragged aside! I realized I was saved, and consciousness fled."
At that moment the carriage driver, who hadgot down from his box and was waiting on the curb, advanced, and said anxiously:
"Shall I take you back to the hotel, madam?"
"Yes, yes." She glanced around at Liane, and put out a yearning hand. "Come with me, dear girl. I—I am too ill to go alone. Let me lean on your strength."
Somehow Liane could not refuse the request. She felt a strange, sweet tenderness flooding her heart for the proud lady who, up to the present time, had used her so cruelly in unfair resentment.
She sent a message explaining her absence across to the store, and led Mrs. Clarke's faltering steps to the carriage.
"Oh, I dropped the box of gloves in my rush to drag you from the track! I must go back for them!" she cried, in dismay.
"No, miss, here they are. An honest man picked them up and handed them up on the box this instant," said the driver, producing the gloves.
"Oh, my dear girl, no need to think of gloves at a moment like this! How can I ever thank you and bless you enough for your noble heroism that saved my life!" cried Mrs. Clarke fervently.
She gazed in gratitude and admiration at the exquisite face that owed none of its charm to extraneous adornment. The wealth of sun-flecked, chestnut locks rippled back in rich waves from the pure white brow, the great purplish-blue eyes, the exquisite features, the dainty coloring of the skin; above all, the expression of innocence and sweetness pervading all, thrilled Mrs. Clarke's heart with such keen pleasure that she quite forgot it was this radiant beauty that had rivaled Roma in the contest for the prize. She said to herself that here was the loveliest and the bravest girl in the whole world.
The carriage rattled along the busy streets, and Liane timidly disclaimed any need of praise; she had but tried to do her duty.
"Duty!" cried Mrs. Clarke, and somehow her cold, nervous hand stole into Liane's, and nestled there like a trembling bird, while she continued with keen self-reproach:
"You have returned good for evil in the most generous fashion. I was treating you in the most haughty and resentful manner, trying to sting your girlish pride and make you conscious of your inferiority. Did you understand my motive?"
"You were naturally a little vexed with me because I had carried off the prize for which your lovely daughter competed," Liane murmured bashfully.
"Yes, and I was wickedly unjust. You deserved the prize. Roma, with all her gifts of birth and fortune, is not one-half so beautiful as you, Liane Lester, the poor girl," cried Mrs. Clarke warmly. "Do you know I am quite proud that my husband says you resemble me in my girlhood; but, to be frank, I am sure I was never half so pretty."
Liane blushed with delight at her kindness, and bashfully told her of her meeting on the beach with Mr. Clarke, when he had impulsively called her Elinor.
"He told me then that I greatly resembled his wife!" she added, gazing admiringly at the still handsome woman, and feeling proud in her heart to look like her, so strangely was her heart interested.
Mrs. Clarke could not help saying, so greatly were her feelings changed toward Liane:
"My husband admires you greatly; did you know it? He wishes to befriend you, making you an honored member of our household. I believehe would permit me to adopt you as a daughter, so strong will be his gratitude for your act of to-day."
"Oh, madam!" faltered Liane, in grateful bewilderment, feeling that she could be very happy with these kind people, only for proud, willful Roma, and she added:
"Your handsome daughter would not want me as a sister!"
Mrs. Clarke hesitated, then answered reassuringly:
"Oh, yes, yes, when she learns how you saved my life to-day, Roma cannot help but love you dearly!"
The carriage stopped in front of a grand hotel, and she added:
"I want you to come in and stay all day with me, Liane, dear. I am too nervous to be left alone, and Roma has gone to a dentist and will not be back until late afternoon."
Liane went with her new friend into the grand hotel, and they spent a happy day together, the tie of blood, undreamed of by either, strongly asserting itself.
Mrs. Clarke found Liane a charming and congenialcompanion, as different from selfish, hateful Roma as daylight from darkness.
In spite of her loyalty, she could not help contrasting them in her mind, so greatly to Roma's disadvantage that she murmured to herself:
"I would give half my fortune if Roma were like this charming girl!"
She lay on the sofa and talked, while Liane stroked her aching temples with cool, magnetic fingers, so enchanting Mrs. Clarke that she caught them once and pressed them to her lips.
"I love you, dear, you are so sweet and noble. Bend down your head, let me kiss you for saving my life!" and Liane's dewy lips gave the longed-for caress so fervently that it thrilled the lady's heart with keen pleasure. How cold and reluctant Roma's lips were, even in her warmest, most deceitful moods.
But ere the day was far advanced Edmund Clarke suddenly burst in upon them, pale with anxiety lest wicked Roma had already harmed his gentle wife.
He was astonished when he found her in company with Liane Lester.
Explanations followed, and surprise was succeeded by delight.
He was so sure that Liane was his own daughter that he longed to clasp her in his arms, kiss her sweet, rosy lips, and claim her for his own.
But he did not dare risk the shock to his delicate, nervous wife.
"I must wait a little, till I can get proof to back up my assertion," he decided, so his greeting to Liane, though grateful and friendly, was repressed in its ardor, while he thought gladly:
"Thank Heaven! She has won her way, unaided, to her mother's heart, and that makes everything easier. I shall not have to encounter her opposition in ousting Roma from the place so long wrongfully occupied."
"Do you know what I am thinking of, Edmund, dear?" said his wife. "I wish to adopt Liane for a daughter."
He started with surprise and pleasure, his fine eyes beaming:
"A happy idea!" he exclaimed; "but do you think Roma would care for a sister?"
She hesitated a moment, then answered:
"Frankly, I do not, but I have fallen so deeply in love with this dear girl, and she seems already so necessary to my happiness, that Roma must yield to my will in the matter."
At this moment Liane arose, saying sweetly:
"I am your debtor for a charming day, Mrs. Clarke, but it is time for me to go now, or my grandmother will be uneasy about me."
"Then you must promise me to come here again to-morrow morning; for I shall never let you work for a living again. Edmund, you must send her home in the carriage," cried Mrs. Clarke, kissing her charming guest farewell.
TREMBLING HOPES.
Mrs. Brinkley was amazed to see Liane coming home in an elegant carriage, and when she entered she could not help exclaiming:
"Really, my dear, I shall believe presently that you and Mistress Jenks must be rich folks in disguise! Here was your granny receiving a visit from a grand young lady in a carriage this morning, and now you coming home in another one, just when I was expecting you and Lizzie to come trudging home, afoot, from work. It's rather strange, I think, and, coupled with your gifts yesterday, it looks like you were fooling with some rich young man that means nothing but trifling, though I hope for your own sake it ain't so!"
There was a sharp note of suspicion in her voice, but Liane, inured to harshness, dared not resent it, only shrank sensitively, as from a blow, and meekly explained the happenings of the day, giving the bare facts only, but withholding the promises Mrs. Clarke had made, too incredulous of good fortune coming to her to make any boast.
Mrs. Brinkley flushed, and exclaimed:
"That was a brave thing you did, my dear, and I want you to excuse me if I hurt your feelings just now. I spoke for your own good, wishing to be as careful over your welfare as I am over my own sister Lizzie's!"
"I understand, and I thank you!" the young girl answered sweetly, emboldening Mrs. Brinkley to ask curiously:
"Did the rich lady whose life you saved give you any reward?"
"She asked me very particularly to return to the hotel to-morrow, and intimated that I should not have to work for my living any more!"
"Then your fortune's made, my dear girl. Let me congratulate you," cried Mrs. Brinkley. "I've news for you, too. I was lucky enough to secure two new boarders for my two empty rooms this morning."
Liane feigned a polite interest, and she added:
"One was a man, a language teacher in a boarding school. I didn't like his looks much. He is dark and Spanish looking, but he paid my price in advance, so that reconciled me to his scowling brow and black whiskers. The other is a seamstress, very neat and ladylike, and I believe I shallfind her real pleasant. Her name is Sophie Nutter, and his is Carlos Cisneros."
Liane's eyes brightened as she exclaimed:
"There used to be a lady's maid at Cliffdene named Sophie Nutter. I wonder if it can be the same?"
"You might make a little call on her and see. Her room is next yours, and your granny has gone out to buy some baked beans for her supper."
Liane was glad that granny had not seen her come home in the carriage, she hated having to explain everything to the ill-natured old crone, and she started to go upstairs, but looked back to ask:
"Who was granny's caller?"
"I don't know. She was in such a bad temper when she went away, I didn't dare ask. The young lady was all in silk and fur, with a thick veil over her face, but some locks of hair peeped out at the back of her neck, and they were thick and red as copper. She stayed upstairs with granny as much as an hour, and when she left the old woman seemed to be perfectly devilish in her temper. Seems to me I'd be afraid to live with her if I was you, Liane!"
"So I am, Mrs. Brinkley, but she is old and poor, and it would be wicked for me to desert her, you know!"
"I wonder what God leaves such as her in the world for to torment good people, while He takes away good, useful ones, that can ill be spared!" soliloquized the landlady; but Liane sighed without replying, and, running upstairs, tapped lightly on the new boarder's door.
It opened quickly, and there were mutual exclamations of surprise and pleasure. It was, indeed, the Sophie Nutter of Cliffdene.
"Do come in my room and sit down, Miss Lester. I'm so proud to see you again!" cried the former maid.
Liane accepted the invitation, and they spent half an hour exchanging confidences.
"I saw in a Stonecliff paper that you got the prize for beauty, and no wonder! You are fairer than a flower, my dear young lady! But, my goodness, how mad Miss Roma must have been! By the way, I saw her getting out of a carriage here to-day, and she was closeted with your granny an hour in close conversation. Does she visit you often?"
"She has never been here before. I cannotimagine why she came, but I dare not ask granny unless she volunteers some information," confessed Liane, as she started up, exclaiming: "I hear her coming in now, so I will go and help her make the tea!"
"Bless you, my sweet young lady, you deserve a better fate than living with that cross old hag!" exclaimed Sophie Nutter impulsively.
She was surprised when Liane turned back to her and said with a sudden ripple of girlish laughter:
"Sophie, suppose my lot should change? Suppose Mrs. Clarke should do something grand for me in return for saving her life to-day? Suppose I were rich and grand, which it isn't likely I shall ever be! Could I employ you for my maid?"
"Yes, indeed, my dear Miss Lester, and I should be proud, and grateful for the chance to serve such a sweet, kind mistress!" cried Sophie earnestly.
"Thank you, and please consider yourself engaged, if the improbable happens!" laughed Liane, in girlish mockery, as she hurried out, meeting in the hall a dark-browed stranger, from whom she started back in dismay as he passed scowlingly to his room.
It was no wonder Liane recoiled in fear and dislike from Carlos Cisneros, the new boarder.
The sight of his somber, scowling face, with its dark beard, recalled to her that night upon the beach when Devereaux had saved her from a ruffian's insults.
For it was the selfsame face that had scowled upon her in the moonlight that night. It had terrified her too much ever to be forgotten.
He had evidently recognized her, too, from his start of surprise, and the angry bow with which he passed her by.
Trembling with the surprise of the unpleasant rencounter, Liane hastened to seclude herself within her own rooms.
Granny Jenks had just entered, and she was still in the vilest of humors, glaring murderously at Liane, without uttering a word, and giving vent to her temper by banging and slamming everything within her reach.
Liane, gentle, sorrowful, patient, her young heart full of the happenings of the day, and tremulous hopes for the morrow, moved softly about, laying the cloth for tea on the small table, and helping as much as the snapping, snarling old woman would permit.
The sight of her humility and patience ought to have melted the hardest heart, but Granny Jenks was implacable. She only saw in the lovely creature a rival to Roma, and an impediment that must be swept from her path.
Most exciting had been the interview that day between granny and her real granddaughter, and they had mutually agreed that Liane's continued life was a menace not to be borne longer. The beautiful, injured girl must die to insure Roma's continuance in her position.
When Roma left the house a devilish plot had been laid, whose barest details almost had been worked out, and the beautiful schemer's heart throbbed with triumph as she swept out to her carriage.
She had not noticed, on entering the house, a dark, scowling face at the parlor window, neither did she guess that, while she was with granny, the new boarder went out and slipped into the carriage, unobserved by the driver, calmly remaining there and awaiting her return.
When she entered the carriage and seated herself, looking up the next moment to find herself opposite Carlos Cisneros, she opened her lips toshriek aloud, but his hand closed firmly over her lips, and his hoarse voice muttered in her ear:
"Scream, and your wicked life shall end with a bullet in your heart, adventuress, false wife, murderess!"
The driver, unaware of his double fare, whipped up his horses and drove on, while the strange pair glared fiercely at each other, the man hissing savagely:
"I don't know how I keep my hands from your fair white throat, murderess, unless I am lenient because I remember burning kisses you once gave me before your false nature turned from me, and you fled from the school, where you had wedded the poor language teacher secretly while I lay ill of a fever. Cruel heart, to desert me while I was supposed to be dying!"
"A pity you had not died!" she muttered viciously between her red lips, and he snarled:
"It is not your fault that I am living! When I found you, after long, weary search, at Cliffdene, that night, and you toppled me so madly over the cliff, I am sure you meant to kill me!"
"Yes, I cannot see how I failed!" she muttered.
"If you wish to know, the explanation is easy.I was picked up more dead than alive by a passing yacht, and carried to the nearest town, where I spent weary months in a hospital from the blow I had received on my head in falling over the bluff. I have but lately recovered, and came here and found a position to teach in a school."
"You had wisely concluded to give up your pursuit of me?" she sneered.
"Yes, discouraged by the warm reception I got from you at Cliffdene; but, fate having thrown you across my path again, I believe I ought to make capital of it. You are my wife secretly, and you tried to murder me. Both are dangerous secrets. Perhaps you would pay me well to keep them?"
"I suppose that I must do so?" Roma answered, after a moment's hesitancy, with bitter chagrin.
"Very well. I will take what money you have about you now, and I must know what terms you will make for my silence. A liberal allowance monthly would suit me best."
Roma emptied her purse into his hands, saying:
"If we agree upon terms of silence, will you promise never to molest me again? Not even if I marry another man!"
"I promise! And I pity the fellow who gets you, if you treat him as you did me!"
"The less you say on that subject the better! Do not forget that you persuaded an innocent schoolgirl into a secret marriage, that she was bound to repent when she came to her sober senses," she cried bitterly. "But there, it is too late now for recriminations. I hoped you were dead, but, since you are not, I wish only to be rid of you!"
"You can buy my silence!" replied Carlos Cisneros, so calmly that she congratulated herself, thinking:
"He is not going to be dangerous, after all."
Aloud, she said:
"I will arrange to send you a monthly allowance of fifty dollars, the best I can do for you! Will that satisfy your greed?"
"It is very little, but I will accept it," he replied sullenly.
"Very well; now leave me, if you can do so without attracting the driver's attention. I shall be leaving the carriage at the next corner," she said, and he obeyed her, springing lightly to the ground, and disappearing.
"He was not very violent, thank goodness!"sighed Roma, believing that as long as she paid him he would not betray her dangerous secrets; but bitterly chagrined that he was not dead, as she had believed so long.
"Perhaps I can compass that later!" she thought darkly, as she gave the order to the driver for Commonwealth Avenue.
She had determined to call on Lyde Carrington, with whom she had a society acquaintance, in the hope of seeing Jesse Devereaux again.
Mrs. Carrington received her with graceful cordiality, and Roma proceeded to make herself irresistible, in the hope of getting an invitation to remain a few days.
"I shall have to remain in Boston several days to have my teeth treated by a dentist, but mamma is compelled to return to Cliffdene to-night. I think of sending for my maid to cheer my loneliness," she said.
"Come and stay with me," cried Lyde, falling into the trap.
She knew that Jesse had been engaged to the dashing heiress, and amiably thought that their near proximity to each other might effect a reconciliation.
She had a shrewd suspicion of Roma's objectin coming; but she did not disapprove of it; she was so anxious to see him married to the proper person, a rich girl in their own set. She knew he was romantic at heart, and secretly feared he might make a mésalliance.
But even while she was thinking these thoughts she remembered Liane, and said to herself:
"If my pretty glove girl were rich and well-born, I should choose her above all others as a bride for my handsome brother!"