Molly’s Treachery, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller—A Project Gutenberg eBook (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73856 ***

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By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller

HART SERIES NO. 62

COPYRIGHT 1886 BY GEO. MUNRO

Published By
THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY
Cleveland, O., U. S. A.

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MOLLY’S TREACHERY

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
CHAPTER XXXV.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
CHAPTER XL.
CHAPTER XLI.
CHAPTER XLII.
CHAPTER XLIII.
CHAPTER XLIV.
CHAPTER XLV.
CHAPTER XLVI.

CHAPTER I.

The Ferndale estate did not deserve the title “horridold hole,” as applied to it in that gushing, school-girlishletter. On the contrary it was a magnificent placeof about a hundred acres—a valley farm, situated afew miles distant from the historic old town of Lewisburg,and less than six miles distant from the GreenbrierWhite Sulphur Springs. The large, old-fashionedred brick mansion was almost hidden by a far-spreadinggrove of gigantic old forest trees, beneathwhose shade, dark and damp and heavy, flourished thesplendid ferns that gave the place its distinctive name.But after all, perhaps the dense shade and unavoidabledampness made the old house unwholesome, for oldMrs. Barry, its mistress, was an aged, withered crone,little more than skin and bones, with a temper none ofthe sweetest, and her servants as a whole were sour-temperedtoo, as if they did not get enough sunshineon their faces and into their souls. It was this subtleinfluence perhaps that made Mrs. Barry’s young guestvow to herself that she should go melancholy mad ifshe stayed much longer at Ferndale.

So with a heart beating high with hope she entered[Pg 5]the old-fashioned family carriage and was driven intoLewisburg ostensibly to purchase the silk dress, but inreality to secretly register and post the letter of entreatythat was to wring her release from her probationat Ferndale and insure her speedy return to herown home.

She rather enjoyed the ride that sunny June afternoon,up hill and down dale in the jolting carriage overthe rough, mountainous road, and her depressed spiritsrose until she began to feel mildly jolly and hummed alittle tune softly to herself that ended suddenly in anundeniable whistle of surprise as they came around abend of the road and in sight of a picturesque plateauon which stood a beautiful country residence built ofrough gray stone. There were two towers over whichthe pretty American ivy was picturesquely creeping,and the oriel windows here and there, and jutting verandas,were in a style of architecture quite unusual tothe country, and betokening both wealth and taste. Ourheroine thought she had never seen anything prettierthan the great gray stone house with its creeping ivy,and its windows glistening in the sunlight, which hadfree play here, for there was a sloping lawn in frontof the house with just enough trees grouped here andthere to add beauty to the scene without at all obstructingthe view.

The girl put her pretty, dark head out of the windowand said, eagerly,

“Who lives there, Uncle Abe?”

The old family servant who had spent all his life inWest Virginia, and knew every place for many milesaround, answered promptly:

“Dat’s de ole Laurens place, honey. Fambly’s all[Pg 6]in Yurrup now eddicating de darters and de sons.Mighty rich and proud, all dem Laurenses, missie.Come uv old English stock and ebry now an’ den someo’ dere kin dies ober de sea and leabes dem anoderfortin.”

“Oh,” said Molly, drawing a long breath, herpiquant face glowing with eager interest.

She looked in something like awe at the beautifulhome of these favorites of fortune.

“I wish I was one of ‘de darters’!” she said,quaintly.

“Hi, honey!” exclaimed old Uncle Abe, quite reproachfully.“Ole Mis’ Barry’s niece just as good asdem proud Laurenses.”

“Yes, Uncle Abe,” answered Molly, demurely, themischievous golden brown lights dancing in her big,dark eyes, and her red lips dimpling with mirth at theold negro’s family pride.

Then she said, half-questioningly:

“But of course the Laurens family are too proud tonotice any of their neighbors?”

Uncle Abe was too busy with his horses to reply fora moment or two, but presently he looked aroundquite crossly at his interlocutor, and said, severely:

“Miss Looisy Barry, I t’ink you mus’ be c’azy.Don’t you know dere ain’t nobody better den de Barrys?I been livin’ long o’ dem as slave and freedmanall my life, me an’ my ole ’oman, and de Barrys isalways de top o’ de pot, or, as ole missus say, cweamdelly cweam. Dat’s F’ench for top o’ de pot, youmus’ know, chile. As fo’ de Laurenses, dey habalways been hand and glove wif de Barrys! Umph,chile, you don’t seem to know nuffin’ ’tall ’bout de[Pg 7]’portance of your own fambly,” concluded old Abe,shaking his gray head disgustedly, and turning his attentionwholly to his horses for they had left the graystone house out of sight, and were descending a steephill now.

Molly Trueheart sat quite still with a distinctlywistful expression on her lovely girlish face.

“What do I care about the importance of theBarrys? I know that one of them at least can stoopto selfish scheming!” she muttered, impatiently. “Oh,I wish I was well out of this scrape. It is not sofunny masquerading as I thought it would be! I nearlyexploded into a confession when the poor old soulgave me that money, little fraud that I am!”

If she was a little fraud, as she declared herself tobe, she had the frankest, honestest, prettiest face inthe world, and many curious and admiring eyes turnedon her as she alighted from the carriage on reachingLewisburg and tripped lightly across the narrow pavementinto the post-office.

After she had duly registered the letter containingthe forty dollars she went into a few stores, where shelooked at summer silks; shook her dark, curly head inpretended disapproval of the prices, bought a paper ofpins and a neck ribbon, then returned to the carriagebefore Uncle Abe, who was exchanging the complimentsof the day with some gossips of his own color,was half ready to leave.

“Lor’, Miss Looisy, you aine a-gwine yit?”

“Yes, Uncle Abe.”

“Dem hosses aine got rested yit, dat’s a fac’. Doaneyou want stay awhile, honey, and call on sum o’ defust famblies o’ de town?” wheedlingly.

The girl laughed merrily.

“I don’t know a person in Lewisburg from Adam,”she said. “Come on, Uncle Abe; you’ve gossipedenough this time,” and with a resigned sigh the olddarky climbed to his seat again, whipped up thehorses, and set off on the return journey to Ferndale.

Molly Trueheart leaned back in the carriage andgave herself up to the enjoyment of her own thoughts[Pg 9]until they again came in sight of the Laurens estatewhen she called out to the old driver:

“Uncle Abe, who stays over there when the familygoes abroad?”

Uncle Abe, out of humor at being separated so soonfrom his gossip, grunted out crossly:

“Nobody but dem sassy Laurens nigg*rs.”

Molly felt herself snubbed and drew back her curlyhead, relapsing into a silence that lasted until she againcrossed the threshold of Ferndale.

Mrs. Thalia Barry was sitting in the wide hall takingsnuff out of a golden snuff-box.

She was a tall, spare woman with a frame that hadoriginally been strong and stout, although nowdwindled by the encroachments of age and the horrorsof a chronic dyspepsia. She had thin, masculine-lookingfeatures, a false front of waved, white hair, falseteeth, and her small, twinkling, greenish-gray eyeswere partially hidden by gold-rimmed spectacles. Shedressed habitually in soft, thick, gray silk, and pinnedher collar of the yellowest old real lace with a magnificentdiamond brooch. Ill-health had magnified analready imperious temper; and Molly was not farwrong when she complained that the aristocratic oldlady was a perfect old dragoness, for she was the terrorof her servants when in one of her “spells,” asthey called them, and even her young visitor had morethan once smarted under the lash of her displeasure.

But she looked up now with some eagerness, andsaid in her shrill, curt tone:

“Back so soon? I hope that old rascal, Abe, did notdrive my horses too fast! Well, Louise, come andshow me your silk.”

The pretty, dark eyed girl, in her cheap white dress[Pg 10]and rustic straw hat, halted in the door-way with afrightened expression and gazed half appealingly intoMrs. Barry’s stern, ugly face.

“Well?” said the lady, impatiently. “Do you wantsome one to bring your bundle in from the carriage?Here, Ginny Ann,” to an old negro woman hoveringabout the back door, “go out to the carriage and getMiss Barry’s bundle!”

Molly sprang forward, her frightened expressionchanging to one of defiant bravery.

“Oh, aunt, she needn’t go! There’s—there’s nobundle there! I didn’t buy the dress!” she cried out,desperately.

“But why?” cried Mrs. Barry in amazement.

And the girl faltered, with hot blushes.

“I didn’t need it, you know.”

Mrs. Barry flew suddenly into a fury.

“Not need the dress, you silly girl, when you havenot a decent rag to your back! What do you mean?”she stormed, in loud, angry tones.

Molly’s blushes grew hotter still, but they werethose of anger now, and her black eyes blazed as sheretorted:

“Well, if I have nothing but rags, what more do Ineed in this old tomb of a place where no one evercomes from week’s end to week’s end? I know you’llbe mad, Aunt Thalia, but if you kill me for it, I’ll tellthe truth at once! I sent that money to my sister!”

Mrs. Barry’s face grew purple with wrath. Shestamped furiously upon the carpeted floor.

“Never say that word again!” she burst out fiercely.“You have no sister.”

“My step-sister, then, Aunt Thalia,” amendedMolly.

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A glance of concentrated scorn and anger shone onher through the glasses of Mrs. Barry.

“Louise Barry, I thought you had more pride thanto claim that girl—the daughter of the low-lived actress,who wheedled your father into marrying her, hissecond wife—your sister! The connection is a disgraceto you.”

“Hush, Aunt Thalia. You must not talk so to me!”said the girl, sharply. She had grown quite pale, andher slender little hands were clinched tightly together.She bit her red lips fiercely, to keep back burningwords that had rushed to their portals.

Mrs. Barry snorted scornfully.

“You take her part, eh? that low-born brat that herdying mother saddled on your aunt Lucy. LouiseBarry, I’m ashamed of you, disappointed in you. Iwish now that I had taken you here to live when yourfather died, then Lucy Everett would have had to sendMolly Trueheart to the poor-house instead of supportingher on the money I have sent every year to you.”

The girl stood looking at her with a heaving breastand eyes dilated with anger. When her aunt pausedthe girlish head was lifted proudly, and the youngvoice trembling with passion, answered sharply:

“Molly Trueheart’s mother, the low-lived actress,as you call her, left her daughter a legacy, small, butsufficient to pay for her board and clothing. Shewould not have to go to the poor-house, even if AuntLucy turned her out-of-doors.”

“Oh, indeed; I did not know she was an heiress. Ithought she was a pauper. Why did you send her themoney then, since she did not need it?” sharply.

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“I—I owed it to her, Aunt Thalia,” said the girlwith a defiant air.

“So then the allowance I have made you every yearwas not sufficient, and you had to borrow from thatcreature?”

“Ye-es, madame,” in a stifled tone.

“Very well, you shall never have that humiliationhenceforth. It is not for Philip Barry’s daughter andmy heiress to undergo such straits. Henceforth yourhome will be at Ferndale, and I’ll try to cure you ofall fancy for your low-born connection. I’ll write toyour aunt Lucy tonight and tell her so.”

“I—I won’t stay!” stormed the girl, in sudden passionatedefiance and terror commingled. Her blackeyes blazed as she fixed them on Mrs. Barry’s face.

The old lady gazed at her silently a moment as if almostparalyzed by astonishment.

“Why, you pert little baggage!” she muttered, thenshe made a dart toward the girl and clutched her armwith fingers that seemed strong as iron. Molly struggledwildly to get away, but Mrs. Barry held hertightly.

“Come here, Ginny Ann, and help me!” she calledto the gaping old negress, and between them theydragged the girl upstairs, where Mrs. Barry deliberatelypushed her into the big garret and locked thedoor.

“Stay there, miss, until you come to your senses andask my pardon for your impertinence!” she screamedthrough the key-hole.

Then Molly heard the departing footsteps of thegrim old lady and her satellite, and realized that shewas locked up like a naughty child in punishment forher misdemeanor.

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She was in doubt whether to laugh or cry at thepreposterousness of the whole thing.

At first she indulged in a burst of defiant laughterwhich soon changed to hysterical sobbing. Sinkingdown on an old moth-eaten sofa she covered her facewith her hands, and tears rained through her fingers.

“Oh, mamma, my true, gifted, beautiful mamma,it was bitter to hear you maligned so, and you in yourtragic grave!” she murmured sadly. “And I, yourown daughter, I could not take your part because ofthe promise that bound me to keep Louise’s secret.How can I ever like that proud old woman again?”

Like a grieved child she sobbed herself to sleep inthe musty, close-smelling garret, where quiet reignedsupreme save for the patter of startled mice across thebare, dusty floor.

Two hours passed, and Ginny Ann, the blackwoman, was sent up to inquire regarding the state ofmind of the imprisoned culprit.

“Ole missis wants to know is you sorry fo’ yousesassiness yet?” she bawled through the key-hole.

There was no reply, and she went down and reportedthat Miss Louise was sulking yet, and wouldn’tanswer a word.

“Let her stay until night, then. I guess the darknesswill cure her of her stubbornness,” chuckled Mrs.Barry, evilly.

But all the same she had sent Agnes Walker, hermaid, back to Lewisburg with old Abe, with instructionsto buy the summer silk and a white muslin besides.The old lady had very particular reasons forwanting her niece to have this finery.

And while the prisoner sobbed herself to sleep inthe garret, and Agnes Walker tumbled over silks and[Pg 14]muslins in Lewisburg, Mrs. Barry had Ginny Ann unpackingtrunks in the dressing-room and hauling outfinery that had not seen the light for years, but whichin the revolutions of fashion’s wheel was as fashionablenow as in the long ago years when Mrs. Barry hadbedecked her form in the costliest fabrics and richestlaces to grace the grand society in which she movedbefore she had settled down, a childless widow, atlonely Ferndale, her dower house, to nurse her grieffor her lost partner and her chronic dyspepsia togetherand to make herself a terror to any one who dared disputeher despotic will.

“Lor’, ole mis, dere’s dat white satting dress youwore when you went to see de queen ober de water,”exclaimed old Ginny Ann, as she lifted out a tray anddisclosed beneath a lustrous heap of yellow satin andflounces of fine point lace. “But, Lor’ A’mighty, it’sall yallered er layin’. I ’speck I kin bleach de lace allright by layin’ it out in de dew at night, but dat sattingwon’t wash, and it’s jes’ ruinated,” sighing heavily androlling up the whites of her eyes.

“There, don’t touch it, you old simpleton!” criedMrs. Barry, hastily. “That dress has sacred memories.I wore it at a Drawing-room in London when I waspresented to Queen Victoria on my wedding-tour, andon my return home at an Inauguration Ball in Washington,when our good President, Mr. Fillmore, tookhis seat. Shut up the trunk, Ginny Ann. I cannotcut up that dress even for my niece.”

“Dat’s so, dat’s so, ole mis. De impertent chile don’tdeserbe it!” mumbled Ginny Ann.

“Hold your tongue, sauce-box!” cried her mistress,irately.

But Molly Trueheart was not sulking in the garretas Ginny Ann had reported to her “ole miss.”

She had slept but a little while when she was awakenedby a sound that made her spring to her feet witha shriek of alarm—the hurrying and scurrying of immenserats across the attic floor. Her black eyesopened wide in terror, and she sprang upon the sofa,and stood watching the loathsome animals as, startledby her scream, they scampered to their holes.

“Good gracious! There must have been a hundredof the nasty little vermin!” ejacul*ted Molly. Inreality there had not been more than a dozen, but herterrors had magnified their numbers. “Ugh! ugh!ugh! how they make my flesh creep!” she continued,shuddering nervously and drawing her skirts closearound her dainty little feet. “And to think that theymight have bitten me in my sleep, the monsters! Iwonder, I do wonder if Aunt Thalia intends for meto stay here all night! I sha’n’t do it! so there, no, notif Louise loses every cent of the fortune,” her eyessparkling resentfully. “I don’t want my hair to turnwhite in one night from terror.”

Stillness reigned again, for the rodents, as muchalarmed by her presence as she was by theirs, weretrembling in their hiding-places. Molly sprang downand ran over to the window, which, without much difficulty,she flung open, letting in a flood of fresh air.

At the same moment she clapped her pretty dimpled[Pg 16]hands together and uttered a cry of mischievous pleasure.

“Molly Trueheart, you limb of mischief, I knew youwould be sure to have a lark if you stayed any longerat Ferndale!”

Close to that side of the house grew a stately oaktree that flung out its long, strong arms close to thewindow-sill. The large, laughing dark eyes were fixedon the tree while she spoke, and in another momentshe climbed up into the window, twined her roundwhite arms about a stout branch, and swung herselfforward with kitten-like agility into the big tree, slidingfrom limb to limb until she was securely seatedon a stout branch with her back against the body ofthe oak.

“Farewell, my late companions!” she cried gayly,waving her hand at the window, and thoroughly enjoyingher escapade. “Oh, how delicious this is afterAunt Thalia’s musty old garret! I think I shall sleepin this tree all night. The big limbs and thick greenleaves will make me a splendid bed, and—ouch, oh,Lord have mercy! oh! oh! oh!” and as the last exclamationleft her lips, Molly’s hold on the tree relaxed,and she went crashing down, with a rustle ofbreaking twigs and scattering leaves, through thebranches to the ground, where she lay groaning on thegrass amid the debris collected during her fall.

For, lifting her bright eyes to the higher branchesof the tree, she had suddenly beheld an immense blacksnake hanging downward with his tail curled around astout twig, and his head thrust forward toward her,while his keen little eyes glowed in the green obscurityof the thick leafa*ge like baleful jewels.

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Molly had given such a start and scream of terrorthat she had tumbled headlong through the tree atleast twenty feet from the ground, but the soft, thickgrass and the leaves that had fallen with her, had sobroken the severity of the fall that after the firstgroan she was able to rise slowly to her feet and exclaimbetween laughter and tears:

“‘Och, I’m kilt intirely,’ as Paddy would say. NowI wonder if I can be having the delirium tremens,seeing rats and snakes like this! It can’t be, for I’venever been addicted to the intoxicating glass! I believeI’ve broken my arm, it hurts so bad. Good heavens,it’s coming down the tree! It must be a racer.I’ll have to cut and run!”

This she did with surprising agility, only pausing tolook behind her once when she saw his snakeship,which did indeed belong to the racer species, trailinghis shining length rapidly after. With a half sobin her throat, Molly flew on and on over hay-fields andhills, fences and brooks, until she had left Ferndale amile behind her, and came up with a jerk against sometall, white palings that inclosed the beautiful lawn shehad admired while riding that day—the Laurens place,as old Abe had called it in answer to her curious questions.

She paused and looked behind her to see if theblack snake still pursued her, but she had left it farbehind in her headlong race, and to her dismay sheperceived by the brilliant hues of the western sky thatthe sun had almost set.

Badly frightened as she had been at first, the suddenfeeling of safety roused in her the sense of theludicrous, and Molly laughed aloud at her forlornplight. Her white dress was in rags and soiled withthe mud of the little brooks through which she hadsplashed headlong, she was bare-headed, her hair allloose and disordered, and the perspiration ran instreams down her flushed face.

“What a beauty I must look!” she ejacul*ted, merrily.“And I wonder what disaster will befall me next.I shall have to go and ask one of those ‘sassy Laurensnigg*rs,’ as Abe calls them, to go home with me, forI daren’t go alone. I might meet that old snake again.But they will be frightened, I am such a sight, andperhaps they will set the dogs on me.”

She sat down on the grass to rest herself beforegoing in at the gate and to think over the suddencontretemps that had befallen her after her two weeksof irreproachable good behavior.

A feeling of remorse came to her at the thought ofher step-sister who might lose so much by the misdemeanorof the girl she had trusted.

“Oh, why didn’t I bear all and hold my tongue,[Pg 19]little virago that I am?” she exclaimed. “I knew whenI came that I must take a great deal. Aunt Lucy cautionedme carefully. Suppose—suppose—old Mrs.Barry should disinherit Louise for this. She wouldn’tforgive me as long as she lived, I know, and I couldn’tforgive myself, either.”

The beautiful young face wore an expression of dismayand the young heart throbbed with pain.

“Oh, how wicked I have been! How cruel to poorLouise,” she continued, springing excitedly to her feet.“My bad temper and love of fun are always leadingme into mischief. But I’ll make it up, yes, I will. I’llgo and beg the old dragoness’ pardon. Not that shedidn’t deserve all I said, but for Louise’s sake.”

With rapid footsteps she made her way to the servants’quarters, which she saw some distance in therear of the grand mansion. With some trepidationthrough fear of dogs, Molly approached the commodiouswhite-washed kitchen in the door of which satan old negress in a homely blue linsey dress with ared handkerchief twisted turban-wise about her headand a little black pipe in her mouth.

“Lor’ A’mighty, who dat?” she sputtered, as Mollycame up in her ragged dress, and minus one slipperwhich she had dropped in her flight.

“Good-evening, auntie,” said Molly, putting on asmile like sunshine. “Don’t mind my looks, please. Ifell from a tree and tore my dress, and ran from asnake and lost my slipper, and I’m so tired and hotand thirsty, please give me a drink.”

“Sartinly, chile, but did de snake bite ye? ’Cause,ef he bit you, honey, I better give you some reverendwhisky to cure snake bite!”

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“No, I was not bitten, auntie,” said Molly; thenwith a quizzical glance: “Isn’t it odd, auntie, thatwhisky will make men see snakes but it will cure snakebites?”

“Go ’long wid yer foolishness, chile,” said old Betsy,chuckling. She hobbled slowly to a little stone springhouse near by and brought Molly a clean gourd full ofcool, sparkling water. “Whut’s yer name, honey?”she continued, as Molly drank thirstily of the deliciousdraught.

“Will-o’-the-wisp!” said the girl, whimsically.

“Willy Whisk! Soun’s more like a boy’s den ageerl’s name. But won’t you take a cheer, honey, andtell me all about you-self?” wheedlingly.

“No, I thank you, aunt—what’s your name?”

“Aunt Betsy Bell, chile—named arter de big mountain,Betsy Bell,” said the old negress with pride.

“Well, Aunt Betsy, I’m in a great hurry. Won’tyou send somebody with me to Ferndale? I’m afraidto go alone, it’s getting so dark, and that old snake issomewhere on the road waiting for me to come, Iknow,” with a shudder.

To her dismay the old woman shook her turbanedhead and answered:

“Dere ain’t a soul on de place but me, honey. Demen aine come f’om de corn-fiel’ yet, and my ole mantuck de ole mare dis morn’ and car’e’ some springchickings down to de White Sulphur Springs, and hewon’t git back till de cool o’ de night!”

“My gracious, this is awful,” said Molly, in dismay.Then she brightened and beamed on the old woman.“Won’t you go with me, Aunt Betsy?” she exclaimed.

“Lor’ me, chile, I got rheumatiz too bad! I aine[Pg 21]walk as far ez Ferndale in two years. My laig alldrawed wid rheumatiz. Set down an’ wait till de mencome from de fiel’s, den you hab company to take youhome.”

“How long until they come?”

“Two, free hours, I ’spect. Dey’s gwine work late,dey said, tryin’ to git all de corn plantin’ done tonight.”

Molly flung herself down tempestuously on thekitchen door-step, leaned her dark, curly head againstAunt Betsy’s linsey knee, and dissolved into stormysobs and tears.

Aunt Betsy’s tender heart was touched to its center.

“Lor’ honey, you make me t’ink o’ my little whitechillern I used to nurse, a-comin’ and layin’ deir curlyheads ’g’in deir black mammy’s knee, and cryin’ andsobbin’! Hush, honey; I’ll fix a way fur ye—on’ydon’t cry so, fur it makes my heart ache, t’inkin’ o’ mylittle white nurslin’s ober in dat furrin’ kentry. Nowtell me, honey, Miss Willie Whisk, kin you ride hossback?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Molly, unblushingly; for althoughshe had never ridden horseback in her life, shesaid to herself undauntedly:

“I can do it if I try.”

“All right; den I’ll lend you my ole misses’ ridin’hoss, Miss Willie Whisk, and you kin turn him loosesoon’s you git to ole Miss Barry’s gate, and dat hosswill come straight home to his stable.”

“Oh, thank you, Aunt Betsy. God bless you, youkind soul. I’ll try to pay you for this some day!”gushed Molly, gratefully, little dreaming how thekeeping of that promise would come to pass.

She went with Betsy to the stable, where the old[Pg 22]woman brought out and saddled a fine bay horse onwhich she mounted Molly. Then she hobbled to agate which she threw open, saying kindly:

“Dar’s your road straight to Ferndale. Good-night,Miss Willie Whisk. Gib my ’spects to ole Miss Barry,and my lub to Ginny Ann and old Unc’ Abe, her husband,and to Nancy Jane, and all de res’, and tell ’emall to come ober.”

“I will, Aunt Betsy. Good-night to you,” Mollycalled back cheerily, as the bay horse pranced downthe road in the deepening twilight and starlight.

“How easy it is to ride horseback! This is perfectlydelicious!” cried Molly, exultantly, as shegripped the reins in her little white hands, and gaveherself up to the enjoyment of her novel adventure.

A feeling of buoyant delight came to her as she feltherself borne easily and swiftly along on the back ofthe gently pacing and splendid animal.

“Oh, I did not know what I missed in never learningto ride! I shall get Aunt Thalia to let me have ahorse to go out every day now until Louise sends forme,” she resolved, gayly.

Alas! she felicitated herself too soon.

They had not made half the distance to Ferndale,when at a sudden turn of the road some distance ahead,Molly saw a tall, manly figure coming toward her withthe inevitable fiery tip of a cigar gleaming through thesemi-darkness. At sight of this pedestrian the bayhorse, which had been pacing easily and beautifully,uttered a loud whinny of delight, and changed his easygait for a sudden gallop that took Molly by surprise,and, losing her balance in the saddle, the reins slippedfrom her hands. Another moment and our lucklessheroine went flying over the head of her noble steedand landed ignobly on her face in the dust of the road.

The bay horse stopped perfectly still with wonderfulequine intelligence and the pedestrian dropped hiscigar and rushed to the rescue.

As he came upon the scene the animal again uttered[Pg 24]a whinny of delight and poked his cold nose into thenew-comer’s hand.

“What, Hero, old fellow, glad to see me back?” thegentleman said, with a hasty caress on the gracefulhead.

Then he stooped over the heap of huddled-up humanityin the road.

“What mischief have you done in your haste to bidme welcome?” he continued, lifting Molly’s dark headout of the dust.

A moment’s examination assured him that the fallhad either stunned or killed her outright.

“This is dreadful; and whom can it be, anyhow,riding my mother’s favorite bay?”

While he spoke he was carrying her across the roadto a little spring bubbling between the rocks and ferns.

He laid her down then on the grass and bathed herface and hands with water.

But Molly lay for many minutes still and speechless,and he began to grow very anxious as well as curiousover the girl whose face as seen by the light of therising moon looked very lovely with its clear-cut, piquantfeatures, round, dimpled chin, and slender blackbrows and thick, fringed lashes.

The man leaning over her was as handsome in hisway as she in hers was lovely. He was tall and statelylooking, with a splendid physique, and a noble, high-bredface, large eyes that looked black by night, butby day were blue as the violets of his native hills. Hishair was of a chestnut tinge, and lay in luxuriantmasses about his temples. It was the face of a manabout thirty years old, and the golden brown mustacheshaded lips that were strong, and grave, and proud,[Pg 25]and perhaps a little stern. In dress and manner hewas the perfect gentleman.

“Whom can she be? I am quite certain that she belongsto no one in the neighborhood,” he was thinkingfor at least the twentieth time, when suddenly a sighheaved Molly’s breast, and the dark eyes opened wideon the face of the stranger.

At first she regarded him in dreamy surprise. Herhead lay on his arm, but she did not seem to notice it,only murmured, quaintly, and with an air of relief:

“I thought I was dead!”

“I thought so, too, but I am very happy to find thatyou are not,” said the stranger in a pleasantly musicalvoice. “Tell me, do you feel any pain?”

Molly groaned as she half lifted her form fromwhere it rested against him.

“I feel as if all my bones were broken. I fell out ofa tree, you know,” she said.

An expression of uneasiness crossed his face.

“It was a horse you fell from—don’t you remember?”he asked.

“It was not a horse, it was a tree. I think I oughtto know!” returned belligerent Molly.

The stranger regarded Molly’s saucy rejoinder asthe effect of an injury done to her brain by her fallfrom the horse, and said to himself, pityingly:

“She evidently struck upon her head and the shockhas disordered her brain, but I trust the affliction willprove but momentary.”

She was sitting upright now regarding him withvexed, dark eyes when he said, smilingly:

“Since you dispute my assertion permit me to proveit. Look yonder!”

Molly turned her head and saw the handsome bayhorse standing still in the road as if conscious of hismisdemeanor.

Her memory came quickly back.

“Oh!” she exclaimed.

“You remember?” he rejoined.

“Yes.”

Her face and eyes looked very arch and saucy asshe continued:

“I suppose you take me for an escaped lunatic?”

“Oh, no,” with a provoking smile on the handsomelips, “only a very giddy girl whose memory was temporarilyobscured by her fall.”

“And you don’t like giddy girls?” Molly interrogated,with a decisive pout.

“Not—usually,” he returned with a sparkle of mischiefin his eyes.

Molly sprang to her feet with considerable agility,[Pg 27]considering that she had declared she felt as if all herbones were broken.

“Neither do I like hateful prigs!” she returned,with asperity. “So I will bid you good-evening, sir.”

Dropping him a pert little courtesy, she ran towardthe horse, but as she lifted her little foot to the stirrupshe found him at her elbow.

“Permit me,” he said, and lifted the light figurequickly to the saddle.

Then he detained the reins in his hands a moment.

“Do you know I was very much surprised to see astrange young lady riding this horse?” he said. “Iknow the horse and its owner—but—”

“Not the rider,” she finished his hesitating sentence.“Well, my name is Molly Trueheart, and I borrowedthe horse from old Betsy Bell over there at the Laurensplace. I will send him home in an hour. So, yousee, I’m not a horse thief, although I may look like alunatic. To tell the truth I’ve had quite a lark thisevening, and I’m very anxious to get home.”

“A lark!” he repeated, with an expressive shrug,and Molly Trueheart uttered a merry, rollicking pealof laughter.

“Yes, a lark!” she said. “Oh, how horrified youlook! Good-night, Mr. Prig!” and like a flash shecaught the reins from his hands, touched Hero lightlywith the whip, and he bounded gracefully away as ifanxious to atone for the mishap of awhile ago.

The stranger stood looking after her with a smile inhis violet eyes.

“What a merry little hoiden!” he uttered aloud,“and what a mercy she escaped unhurt. It was ratherludicrous to see her come flying over Hero’s head inthat fashion, and landing in the dust at one’s feet!”

[Pg 28]

Still smiling, he resumed his walk toward MapleShade, as the Laurens place was called, but before hereached the wide entrance gate of the park he wasovertaken by Hero, who, on being liberated at Ferndale,had galloped rapidly back to overtake his friend.

“Good fellow!” said the gentleman, springing to theback of the delighted creature, and continuing his journey.“I hope, Hero, you have delivered our littlemadcap safe at home, and not flung her precipitatelyat the head of some other astonished pedestrian!”

Hero gave a delighted whinny which his rider interpretedas the former, which was indeed the case, forMolly Trueheart was at that moment running acrossthe lawn at Ferndale, anxious to make her peace withold Mrs. Barry.

“I shall have to humble myself down to the ground,I know, but I’ll do it for Louise’s sake,” she mutteredthen. “Oh, dear, how my bones do ache! I knowI’m all over black and blue from the tumbles I’ve had!I know very well I shall be as sore as a boil tomorrow,and have to stay in bed all day. Oh, what made Louso determined on sending me here? She might haveknown,” dismally, “that I could not behave myself.Oh, Lordy, I do hope she’ll let me off from doing anymore penance as soon as she gets my letter!”

A sudden thought of the dignified stranger she hadencountered made her laugh aloud in spite of her sorryplight.

“My! what a prig he was! Handsome though,very!” she said. “I wonder who he was, the wretch?He frightened the horse, of course, or I shouldn’t havegot that fall. I hope he doesn’t live in this neighborhood,for it wouldn’t do for Aunt Thalia to find[Pg 29]out that I ran away. I must hold my peace on thatpoint. And now to face the music!”

The hall-doors stood wide open, the light of theswinging-lamp shining on the tired, pretty face of thegirl as she crept in and went softly to the door of heraunt’s sitting-room. At the same moment the tallDutch clock in the hall loudly boomed out the hourof ten.

“Oh, I did not dream it was so late!” she muttered,and peeped around the door.

There lay her Aunt Thalia on the sofa with GinnyAnn mopping her face with camphor, and old NancyJane, the cook, swinging a huge turkey-wing up anddown.

Molly forgot her selfish terrors in anxiety for theold lady, and rushed precipitately into the room.

“What’s the matter?” she exclaimed.

Nancy Jane and Ginny Ann squealed simultaneously:

“Lordy, Miss Lou, dat you?”

“Yes, or what’s left of me after tumbling out ofthe tree.” Walking up to her aunt’s side, then bendingover her: “Aunt Thalia, are you sick?”

Mrs. Barry opened her eyes with a look of relief,but before she could speak Ginny Ann broke in:

“Missis almost c’azy, finkin’ you done runned away.You sartinly did gib us a skeer, chile! Ole mis’, shesay jes’ now, ‘Run upsta’rs, Ginny Ann, and let datchile out o’ dat garret. Guess she sorry for her sassnow.’ And I went and foun’ dat windy wide open,and you gone. And ole mis’ flew in sech a rage,umph me, as you nebber saw, and mos’ went inter dehighstrikes.”

[Pg 30]

“Ginny Ann, hold your tongue, you old fool!” criedMrs. Barry, sitting upright, with a suddenness thatmade her domestics reel backward in dismay. “Is thatyou, Louise? Where have you been, child, giving ussuch a scare about you?”

Something like tenderness quivered through hervoice despite its acerbity, and cunning Molly took instantadvantage of the situation. She dropped theatricallyupon her knees.

“Oh, Aunt Thalia, the big rats in the garret frightenedme almost to death!” she sobbed. “I climbed outof the window into the tree, and then a big snakescared me, and I fell out of the tree down to theground, and—and—oh—most killed myself! And—and—itjust served me right, too! I ought to havebeen killed for my meanness to you, Aunt Thalia! Iwas just as naughty as I could be, but I’m downrightsorry, and I’ll try never—or, ‘hardly ever’—to do itagain. Won’t you please forgive me?”

Mrs. Barry looked down keenly into the lifted face.It did look pale and pathetic, and the big eyes werepositively dewy. She put out her long, withered hand,on which a priceless diamond sparkled, and gentlystroked the dark head.

“Louise, I don’t know but that I ought to beg yourpardon,” she said, with a gentleness that was so rare inher it made the gaping negroes stare. “I—I don’t exactlythink I did right putting you in the old garret.You—you might have been killed falling out of thattree! I think we must forgive each other and dobetter in future.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Aunt Thalia!” Mollycried, jubilantly. She even dared press a timid kiss[Pg 31]on Mrs. Barry’s wrinkled cheek, she felt so glad that,by eating humble pie, she had saved Louise.

“Are you bruised very much, my dear?” the oldlady inquired, sympathetically, and Molly respondedlugubriously:

“Black and blue all over!”

Both the negro women groaned in concert at thisstatement, and Mrs. Barry exclaimed:

“Oh, how dreadful to think of such a fall! It’s amercy you were not killed outright. I forgot aboutthe rats in the garret, or I never would have shut youup there. Ginny Ann, you go upstairs with the child,and let her have a warm bath, then rub her from headto foot in arnica—from head to foot; do you hear?”

“Yes, ole mis’, sartinly. Come on, Miss Lou,honey.”

“Yes, Ginny Ann. Good-night, Aunt Thalia. I’msorry I gave you such a scare; and I’m so glad thatyou were good enough to forgive me,” Molly said, asshe followed Ginny Ann from the room to the bath-roomupstairs, where the old lady’s instructions werecarried out to the letter.

“Oh, I feel so much better! Thank you, GinnyAnn,” she exclaimed, as the latter tucked her into hercool, white bed. “But I’m sorry to be so muchtrouble.”

“No trouble at tall, Miss Lou. I’se always been useto waiting on de Barrys. It’s my pleasure and mydooty,” Ginny Ann replied, with the elaborate politenessof the well-raised Virginia negro. Then shepaused, and said, mysteriously: “Honey, doane youmine ole missis’ capers; her bark worser ’n her bite.She gwine make it up to you fo’ treatin’ you so bad.”

[Pg 32]

“Make it up to me?” said tired and sleepy Molly,drowsily; and then Ginny Ann got down on her kneesby the bed and whispered the secret of the evening’swork among the trunks of finery, and of the maid’strip into town for the summer silk.

“Lay low, honey, and doane say a word to olemissis, but sho’ as you born, she’s gwine take you offon a trip whar you’ll hab a fine time dancin’ and eberyt’ing;and I shouldn’t wonder, no, I shouldn’t, ef shemarries you off to some nice young gemplum,” sheconcluded, exuberantly.

Molly’s head popped up from the pillow like a cork.

“Indeed she won’t then! Marry me off, indeed! Ishould like to see any one try it!” she blazed, indignantly.

“Hi, honey, doane you want get married?” GinnyAnn inquired, in amazement.

“No, I don’t! I hate men, every one of them—deceitfulprigs!” cried Molly, violently, adding to herselfthat the man she had seen tonight she hated worstof all.

Wanting to get rid of Ginny Ann, she put downher head again, pretending to snore audibly, and thewoman retired, muttering to herself:

“Dat’s de strangest young gal I eber did see! Doanewanter git married, she say! Well, Lordy! she sartinlyis diff’runt from any oder young gal in de worl’!”

Molly did not have any “larks” the next day, forshe was so stiff and sore she had to remain in bed allday, and submit to the fussy attendance of Ginny Ann,and the kindness of her remorseful aunt who, blamingherself for the girl’s accident, did all in her power toatone for it, even to promising her a month at theWhite Sulphur Springs, and freely pardoning her forsending her money to Molly Trueheart, the actress’daughter.

“And I sent Agnes Walker back to town yesterdayand bought two new dresses for you,” she said. “AndI’ve trunks full of things as good as new that she’sgoing to make over for you to wear.”

“Oh, Aunt Thalia, I don’t deserve ’em, I can’t take’em,” Molly said, conscience-stricken at all this kindness.She said to herself reproachfully, “And I wroteto Lou that she was an old dragoness! What a shame!She has turned real good, and it makes me feel meanerthan ever. Oh, I can’t take her presents and go to theSprings with her, and I mustn’t say a word, I mustwait for Lou’s letter. She will certainly let me comehome at once!”

But several days passed and no reply came from theabsent step-sister. Meanwhile the work of dress-makingwent briskly on, to the secret distress of the littlefraud, as she called herself when alone.

“Oh, it’s too bad, ruining all these fine things cuttingthem up for me! I shall never wear them, and theywill not do for Louise, she is so much bigger than I[Pg 34]am! Oh, why don’t she write and put a stop to itall?” she thought impatiently, and in her trouble shewrote another letter, telling Louise of the sacrifice ofthe finery, and begging her incoherently to “do something.”

By the time that she could reasonably expect a replyto this second appeal several very pretty dresses werecompleted, and one evening soon after tea when shehad hurried upstairs to have a real good cry overLouise’s unaccountable silence, she was startled by theabrupt entrance of Mrs. Barry’s maid with the muslindress thrown over her arm.

“Mrs. Barry wants you to dress and come down tothe parlor,” she said.

Molly stared.

“What for?” she inquired ungrammatically.

Agnes Walker shook her head laconically and answered:

“I can’t tell. She wants to see how your new dressesfit, perhaps, or to give you some lessons in managingyour train. Anyway, she told me to dress you andsend you down.”

“Here’s a lark,” said the merry girl to herself, forgettingall about her tears of a minute before.

She submitted coolly to Agnes Walker’s help, exclaiminggayly:

“I should like to see how I look in a fine dress. Inever had one in my life.”

“Fy, Miss Barry,” cried the maid; but Molly persistedin her assertion.

“Well, it’s very becoming to you, anyway,” saidAgnes, carefully adjusting the graceful demi-trainwith its embroidered flounces.

She had tied Mollie’s refractory dark curls back[Pg 35]from her peach-bloom cheeks with a new rose-pinkribbon, and fastened a bunch of pink roses in with thelace of her square corsage. The round dimpled arms,bare to the elbows, were faultless in shape and contouras they escaped from their soft ruffles.

“You look very nice,” continued Agnes, critically.

“Thank you; but I feel like a peaco*ck,” said the girl,with such ludicrous strut across the floor that themaid burst out laughing.

“Miss Barry, you haven’t got a bit of dignity.You’re just like a child!” she exclaimed. “But go,now, to your aunt. You know how impatient she is.”

Molly laughed; but she went along the hall quitesedately and down the stairs, pausing only once to takea gratified peep at herself in the mirror of the tallhatrack opposite the parlor door.

“I do look nice,” she said, nodding at the radiant reflection,and a sudden thought came to her. She muttered:

“I wish he could see me now, the hateful prig! Iknow I did look like a tramp that night.”

With that she crossed the hall, turned the handle ofthe parlor door and entered.

A blaze of light greeted her and made her pause insurprise. The big chandeliers in the double parlorswere both lighted and Mrs. Barry was entertaining aguest.

She rose with suave dignity.

“Cecil, this is my niece, Louise—Miss Barry, Mr.Laurens.”

Taken by surprise, Molly made a bashful constrainedlittle courtesy without looking up, but as shewas about to sink into a seat by her aunt a manly handgrasped hers and a familiar voice said kindly:

[Pg 36]

“I am glad to meet you, Miss Barry. I hope weshall be as good friends as the Barrys and Laurenshave been before us!”

Molly looked at him with dilated eyes. It was thestranger she had met a few nights before!

Her lips parted and closed again without a sound.In pitiable agitation she dropped into a large arm-chairbehind Mrs. Barry, telling herself that he hadbetrayed the whole escapade, and that now the oldlady’s wrath would be poured out upon her head infullest measure. She waited in sheer desperation forthe blow to fall on her pretty luckless head.

Not a word was addressed to her by either her auntor the visitor. Mrs. Barry took up the thread of amomentarily dropped discourse about London. Theydiscussed that famous city at some length while theculprit trembled in her chair.

Then Mrs. Barry’s gray silk rustled as she rosefrom her sofa.

“Cecil, you will kindly excuse me for ten minutes,”she said, suavely; and, like a wise old lady, left themalone to get acquainted with each other.

Molly drew a long, deep breath that was almost asob, and looked up, thinking that she had escaped athreatening danger.

She thought, happily:

“He does not recognize me!”

But she was mistaken. Cecil Laurens was lookingat her with a quizzical smile.

He drew his chair nearer—beside her, in fact—andsaid, reproachfully:

“You said your name was Molly Trueheart—”

“Oh, hush!” cried Molly.

[Pg 37]

She almost jumped out of her seat in her terror lestMrs. Barry should have heard his words.

“I——I—told you—a—a story, Mr. Laurens,” shesaid, tremulously. “But please, please don’t tell AuntThalia!”

The violet eyes under the dark brows and high,white forehead regarded the pleading face rathersternly.

He said:

“Then your aunt did not know of your—your—”hesitating, then half smiling, “your ‘lark’ that night?”

Molly grew hot and angry under that peculiar smile.

“I don’t see what you’re smiling at,” she said, crossly.“No, she doesn’t know; and—if—you—are—agentleman—you will not betray me!”

He flushed as the slow, emphatically uttered wordsfell from the girl’s lips, and answered, curtly:

“I claim to be a gentleman, Miss Barry, but I cannot comprehend the motives of a lady who goes on sucha madcap race by night unknown to her guardians,and under a fictitious name!”

The sarcasm in his voice stung deeply. Mollyturned crimson and exclaimed, resentfully:

“It is not a fictitious name—it is my own—my step-sister’sname, and I have a right to use it if I choose!”

Cecil Laurens queried, gravely:

“Do you think your step-sister would be willing toallow such an escapade to go under her name?”

Tears of shame and anger flashed into Molly’s darkeyes.

“Molly Trueheart would not care—not a bit!” shedeclared, with a half sob. “And—and it’s none ofyour business, any way, Mr. Cecil Laurens, and I[Pg 38]think you’re old enough to know better than to meddlewith—anybody—like this. I would have told you allabout it if you hadn’t been so smart, but now I won’t,so there! And you may go and tell Aunt Thalia allyou know, if you’re mean enough, and of course youare!”

With that she bounced out of her chair and flewto the bay-window, where she stood with her back tohim, her cheeks hot with anger, and her eyes so dimwith tears that she could not see how brightly the starswere sparkling in the sky.

Cecil Laurens remained perfectly silent, and therewas a glitter of anger in his violet eyes.

“What a little fury!” he was thinking. “I havealways heard that the Barrys were high-spirited, but Inever had an exhibition of their temper before. Pityto spoil such a pretty face flying into such a rage.”

Mrs. Barry’s ten minutes passed without bringingher back, and Mr. Laurens grew tired of watchingMolly’s obdurate back. He opened the grand organand sat down before it, pressing his fingers softly onthe keys.

Music was his one passion, and he had devotedyears to its study. He played now a low andantemovement, full of grace and sweetness and tendernessthat soothed his own perturbed spirit, and made himmomentarily forget the audacious girl who had disturbedhim. Gliding from one melody into another,he paused, at last, with a sudden remembrance, and,turning his head, saw Molly close beside him.

The music had drawn her against her will by astrange, magnetic power. All the anger had died fromher face and eyes, leaving a dreamy softness in itsplace.

[Pg 39]

“So I have soothed your savage spirit?” he exclaimed,with a smile, and Molly started and blushed.

“I—I—am fond of music,” she stammered.

“Perhaps you will play for me now?” he said, rising.

“Oh, no!” starting back, and just then Mrs. Barrycame in.

“I have been playing to your little girl,” Cecil Laurenssaid to her, with a smile.

“She may look like a little girl, but she is a grown-upyoung lady, Cecil,” Mrs. Barry answered, quickly,and Molly cried out, vexedly:

“I am not! I won’t be seventeen till August.”

Mrs. Barry glared at her displeasedly.

“Only hear her, Cecil! pretending to be a school-girlstill! I never could understand why girls try tomake themselves out younger than they really are. Iam sure there is not such a charm in callow youth asthey think,” she said, tartly.

Molly was already biting her lips in dismay.

“Aunt Thalia, I was jesting,” she said, soberly,without glancing at Cecil Laurens.

She was asking herself if he would betray her toher aunt, if he would accuse her then and there of that“lark” which she shuddered to remember now; butapparently he meant to put it off to some more convenientseason, for presently he said good-night andwent away without alluding to the subject. Mollydrew a sigh of relief as he left, but his blue eyes andhis wondrous music haunted her perturbed dreamsthat night.

Next morning she said to Mrs. Barry:

“Aunt Thalia, I think I should enjoy my visit muchmore if I might ride horseback.”

“Can you ride?” looking up from her breakfast offried chicken and hot rolls.

“I have been on a horse’s back only once, but I caneasily learn if you will let me have a horse,” Mollyanswered, confidently, and a sudden light broke overMrs. Barry’s face.

“The very thing,” she exclaimed. “I’m glad youthought of it. Cecil Laurens shall teach you.”

“Oh, no, no,” Molly cried, in consternation. “Iwon’t ride with him. I’ll go alone.”

“But Cecil will be perfectly willing, child, and he isa splendid equestrian.”

“But I hate him—I mean I don’t like men,” exclaimedthe girl, flushing under Mrs. Barry’s gorgonstare.

“Louise Barry, you are a goose! I shall nevercease to regret that Lucy Everett had the training ofyou. Any other girl would be glad of the chance ofCecil Lauren’s company. He is the richest and finestyoung man in the state.”

“I—don’t—like—young men, auntie.”

Mrs. Barry glowered at her angrily over her glasses.

“Do you like woolly headed, stupid old negro men?”she snapped.

“Ye-es, aunt,” demurely.

“Very well, then, you shall have the finest horse in[Pg 41]the stable, and old Abe shall teach you to ride—but Iwonder at your taste,” sneering.

Molly flushed, but finished her breakfast in silence,and then ran upstairs to arrange an impromptu riding-habit.

By letting out the tucks in her red cashmere dressshe made a very presentable habit, combined with thevelvet-trimmed jacket, and setting a little red-plumedturban on her mop of curls she ran down-stairs in thegayest spirits.

“I’m ready, Aunt Thalia.”

“Whew! You’re like a whirlwind, Louise,” exclaimedMrs. Barry; but she summoned old Abe atonce, and said:

“Miss Barry wants a ride, Abe, and you must gowith her as she is not accustomed to riding. Saddlethe young gray mare and take her at once.”

“Um-hum, gwine broke her neck now, fo’ sartainsure,” grumbled the old man, who did not like to becalled from his pipe in the kitchen. But he set offobediently for the stable, while Molly danced with impatienceawaiting his return.

“May I go into Lewisburg for letters? I am surethere must be one from my sister,” she said, and thebrow of the old aristocrat gloomed over.

“You may go to the post-office, but—I told you,Louise, never to call that girl your sister again!”

“I beg your pardon, Aunt Thalia, my step-sister,”amended Molly, but she bit her red lips sharply tokeep back indignant words.

“How she despises my mother’s memory and mymother’s daughter,” she thought bitterly, and it waswell that Uncle Abe came up just then, mounted on asturdy old bay horse and leading a handsome gray filly[Pg 42]by the bridle, or her indignation might have over-flowedinto words. As it was she turned off sharply,ran down the steps and sprang into the saddle, canteringoff at a pace that startled Uncle Abe.

“Lor’-A’mighty! De gal gwine broke her neck inten minutes!” he growled, as he galloped briskly afterher, while Mrs. Barry looking on, thoroughly enjoyedthe girl’s fearless riding.

“She will make a good rider. It is the first thingin which she has shown herself a Barry,” she muttered,for this gay little humming-bird of a creaturehad rather startled the old lady by her unlikeness tothe Barrys, who as a rule were homely rather thanhandsome, and dignified rather than merry.

But on the whole, Mrs. Barry was proud of thislovely niece. She had all the fondness for beauty thatis inherent in homely people, and it pleased her to gazeon that beautiful, spirited face, although very girlish-lookingfor the twenty-five years with which she wasaccredited.

She gazed after the girl with actual pride, and muttered:

“Cecil admired her, I am sure, although he left sosoon! I hope from my heart that it will be a match.It would please me better than anything else in theworld! How fortunate that he returned just nowwhen he was least expected. It must have been fate!”

Unconscious of Mrs. Barry’s designs against hersingle blessedness, Molly jogged along soberly towardLewisburg, having been scolded into sedateness by lazyold Uncle Abe.

There must have been a fate in it as the old ladysaid, for just as their horses came opposite the park[Pg 43]gates at Maple Shade, Cecil Laurens rode out on amagnificent black horse, bowed and smiled, and canteredto Molly’s side.

“Good morning, Miss Barry, good morning, UncleAbe. A bright day,” he said.

Molly bowed with a half defiant air. What evilsprite had sent this man again across her path?

Yet she gazed as if fascinated in unwilling admirationat his handsome face which in the clear open lightof day showed at its best. What dark, tender depthsthere were to his violet eyes, how regularly handsomehis features, how the sun brought out the rare shadeof his thick mustache and clustering masses of gold-brownhair. Then his figure, how tall and manly itwas as it sat with martial grace in the saddle.

“I hate him, but—he is rather good-looking,” sheadmitted to herself, with reluctant justice.

“Marse Cece,” burst in Uncle Abe, with startlingabruptness, “aine you gwine to de pos’-office, too?”

“Yes, Uncle Abe.”

The artful old negro chuckled audibly:

“How fort’nit, how werry fort’nit,” he observed.“Now you kin take keer o’ Miss Looisy on her ride, efyou please, sah, fo’ my hoss done cast his shoe, and Igot to turn off dis road and take him to de black-smiff!”

“Uncle Abe, you are an old story-teller. There isnothing the matter with the horse. I’ll tell AuntThalia if you don’t come straight along with me!”threatened Molly in comical distress and anger combined;but the cunning old fellow was already gallopingoff, leaving her to the tender mercies of Cecil Laurens.

[Pg 44]

“Do not mind him, Miss Barry,” said the youngman. “I will take as good care of you as Uncle Abe.”

She pouted and turned her horse’s head.

“I am going back to Ferndale!”

He caught her reins and held them as he had donebefore.

“You are not!” he said, vexedly. “Why, what ababy you are! Why should you go back and get thatold darky a scolding from Mrs. Barry? The old soulis only going into Maple Shade to chat with my servants.He has known me ever since I was a baby, andfeels safe in trusting you to my care. Mrs. Barry ismy godmother, too, so how can you be so unreasonable?Come.”

“I am acting foolishly,” she thought, and yielded tothat one word of commingled command and entreaty,telling herself that she was too anxious for a letter toturn back now.

Cecil Laurens knew well the magnetic power of thatlow, winning voice of his. He smiled slightly as sheturned and rode on by his side up the mountain.

“You and I almost had a battle last night,” he wenton. “After I went away I thought it over, and decidedthat you—we—had been very silly. It seemedso strange for a Barry and a Laurens to quarrel.Why, our families have been neighbors and friendsalmost a century,” proudly.

“That is no reason why you should have been so—sodomineering and overbearing to me,” she broke out,with defiant eyes.

He looked intently at the tall green ferns growing inthe masses of mossy stone by the road-side severalminutes before he replied, quietly:

[Pg 45]

“I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“If—you—won’t—tell Aunt Thalia,” she replied,half entreatingly.

The violet orbs turned from contemplating the fernsto her face. The two pairs of eyes met.

“Did you really think I could tell tales?” he queried,gravely, and something in those eyes impelled her toanswer:

“No.”

“Ah, I thought you would learn to trust me,” hesaid, with that wonderful smile whose sweetnessdazzled Molly’s eyes. “Now let us pledge friendship,for the sake of—our families.”

She began to smile, her anger melting under hiskindliness.

“I—I—won’t claim your friendship on the score ofour families. If you promise me your friendship, itmust be for what I am worth myself—and if I likeyou, it must be for yourself, not because you are aLaurens,” she replied, with such seriousness and earnestnessthat he laughed, and quoted:

you think, Miss Barry. Well, I own I am proud ofmy family, but I am willing to take your good-will onyour own terms.”

He held his hand out, and she laid her little glovedone in it. He pressed her shabby little gauntlet a moment,gently, and a thrill of pleasure ran along thegirl’s nerves.

“He is so nice—and only last night I hated him!”she said, naïvely, to herself.

What a ride it was, and how charming she foundher late foe! He praised her riding, and declared that[Pg 46]it was splendid, considering this was only her secondattempt.

“You must let me ride with you every morning.You will find me more trustworthy than Uncle Abe,”he said, and Molly, who had vowed only that morningthat she would have nothing to do with him, agreedto his wish with frank pleasure.

But the violet eyes and the low, winning voice haddisarmed her resentment. Molly was pleased to find afriend where she had dreaded an enemy.

“He will not tell Aunt Thalia, and if Louise willonly let me come home before I do any other mischief,everything will go right,” she thought; then, lookingup, suddenly: “If I get a letter from my sister thismorning, I shall have to go home soon,” she said.

She saw a dark frown come over his face. He exclaimed,brusquely:

“I hate to hear you call that actress’ daughter sister!”

“Why?” sharply.

“Oh, it was a terrible mésalliance. Your fatherought never to have married that woman, and yourfriends should never have allowed you to be raised asthe companion of her child. The gulf between you iswide, and there is really no relationship, you know,”he said, proudly.

Molly looked at him strangely without reply. Hewas puzzled by her eyes—there was in them such asudden look of anguish and pride, with something likereproach. He could not understand it, and asked himselfif she meant to uphold the cause of that odiouswoman.

But here they were at the post-office, and there was[Pg 47]a letter for Miss Louise Barry. She caught it eagerlyfrom his hand.

“It is from my sis—my step-sister, and I know shehas written for me to come home!” Molly cried, excitedly.

Molly rode very fast on returning, and she was soquiet that Cecil Laurens regarded her knit brows andpursed-up lips in surprise.

“You are leading me a sort of John Gilpin race,Miss Barry. What is the matter with you?” he said.

“I am impatient to read my letter,” she replied in acurt voice.

They were outside the limits of the town now, andriding up the mountain road beneath tall overarchingtrees that lined the road on either side. He said,kindly:

“We can stop long enough to read your letter, sinceyou are so impatient.”

Molly let the speed of her gray filly slacken a little,and looked round at him with candid eyes.

“I would rather not,” she said.

“But there would be nothing improper in doing so,and I am not in a hurry,” he urged.

“Yes, I know; but I’m afraid. If I read the letter,and sis—I mean, Aunt Lucy—did not say yes, I shouldfly into a tantrum and alarm you,” with a sparkle ofmalice in the black eyes.

“I think I have seen you in a tantrum,” he replied,with equal malice. “But of course Aunt Lucy will sayyes to any request of yours.”

She shook her curly head despondingly, but the fillyhad fallen unchecked into a slower pace.

“Ah, you don’t know, Mr. Laurens,” she said, dolorously.“You see, I wrote to Aunt Lucy that I was[Pg 49]tired of Ferndale, and wanted to come home, but—but—I’mafraid she won’t let me go yet.”

“Tired of Ferndale?” he repeated.

“Yes, sick and tired,” she replied, emphatically. “Ithought it would be jolly fun to come, at first, but I’vebeen here three weeks now, and it’s the pokiest oldhole I ever saw! I’d give anything to be back inStaunton.”

“She has left a lover behind her, of course,” theyoung man thought to himself, and he said, in rather across tone:

“Your aunt would be angry if she heard youabusing Ferndale like that. Do you know that it isconsidered a fine place?”

“Yes, and I wouldn’t have Aunt Thalia know myprivate opinion of it. You won’t betray me, willyou?” smiling.

“No, but I’m sorry you want to get away fromFerndale,” with unaccountable inward irritation.“Why don’t you tell your Aunt Thalia so?”

“Oh,” with a horrified gesture, “not for worlds.You know—I’m to be her heiress. I must not offendher, or she may disinherit me.”

“So you are mercenary?” lifting his graceful browsinto distinctive arches.

“It runs in the Barry blood, does it not?” she retorted.

And he answered gravely:

“I never knew it before!”

Molly laughed merrily.

“Now, you make me think you a hateful prig again.But there, we needn’t quarrel, only I must say again,I don’t want to stay at Ferndale, and I pray Heaventhis letter may send me permission to go home.”

[Pg 50]

He would have joined her in that fervent prayer ifhe had known what that letter was to bring forth, butin his ignorance and blindness he began to say to himselfthat it was a pity old Mrs. Barry was going tolose her bright young companion so soon.

“But, it is lonely for such a little butterfly,” hethought. “I must try to brighten up her life at Ferndalefor my old friend’s sake.”

Full of this generous impulse, he said:

“It shall not be dull any more at Ferndale. I knowmany of the pretty, lively young girls at Lewisburg,and I shall bring some of them to call on you. Thenwe will devise some parties and picnics to amuse you.I only wish my mother and sisters were at home sothat you could come and make a visit at MapleShade.”

“They would not care about me!” she replied withan odd touch of bitterness.

“Miss Barry, you ought to know better than that.Did I not tell you that our families are intimatefriends? My mother and my sisters would take thegreatest interest in you. I wish that Mrs. Barry hadsent you abroad with my sisters to be educated.”

“Thank you,” with sarcasm.

He paid no attention to her outburst, but continued,as if struck by a sudden thought:

“I have an idea.”

“Really?” exclaimed Molly, with deeper sarcasmthan before.

“Yes, impossible as it may appear to you,” he replied,flushing slightly under the fire of her large, magneticdark eyes. “Miss Barry, you know that I havebut lately left London and that I shall return in a fewweeks?”

[Pg 51]

“Yes,” carelessly.

“Here is my plan, I shall ask Mrs. Barry to let metake charge of you and place you at school with mysisters to finish your education.”

Molly caught her breath quickly, and something likea sharp regret pierced her heart.

To herself she said:

“Ah, if I were not a little fraud what a futurewould lie before me!”

But looking up into his face with eyes that gave nosign of the pang she was enduring, she said:

“Mr. Laurens, you must have taken leave of yoursenses to talk about a girl of five-and-twenty finishingher education.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Barry, you look muchyounger than that, and you certainly do need a littlemore polish. The Barrys were always noted for theirpolished manners,” he replied, frankly, but the franknesson the whole was rather engaging.

Molly did not resent the imputation of brusquerie.She had heard it so often before that it was nothingnew, and besides she was quivering all over with atempest of excitement and regret, evoked by his wordsof a moment ago.

To go abroad, to cross that big, blue sparkling oceanhad been the passionate desire of her life; oh, whatwould she not give to realize that dream!

She had never envied the Barrys before; indeed,she had openly cherished an amused contempt fortheir family pride, and had never sighed for theirbroad acres or the blue blood that flowed in theirveins. In this moment of sore temptation, however,all was reversed.

[Pg 52]

“I wish—I wish—I were really Louise Barry insteadof a contemptible little fraud!” she sighed. “Butthen how much better is she? It is all a muddle, andI can’t go, that’s all. And I hope and pray that Louhas fixed up some plan for me to come home, foreverything is getting tangled up dreadfully!”

Poor child, she thought so truly, for at every stepshe was floundering deeper into “the tangled web offate.”

They rode in presently across the lawn at Ferndale,and Mrs. Barry, from her seat in the wide hall, gave asmirk of satisfaction at sight of Cecil Laurens.

Molly sprang down from her horse without waitingfor assistance, flew up the steps, across the porch andhall, and upstairs like a little tornado, wild to possessherself of the contents of that fateful letter.

Cecil Laurens, half-vexed at her unceremonious exitfrom the scene, dismounted more leisurely, and, handinghis reins to a negro lad, went in to pay his respectsto his old friend, Mrs. Barry.

“Now, this is kind of you, Cecil; but where did youpick up Louise?” beaming.

He explained, taking special care not to expose oldAbe’s little artifice, by which he had gained a morning’sgossip with his darky friends.

“You must spend the day with us,” said the oldlady. “Louise will be down in a minute. She hasonly run upstairs to change her dress.”

“And to read her letter,” he added.

“Her letter?”

“She had a letter from home,” he explained, andMrs. Barry’s brow gloomed over.

“A letter from that odious relative, the daughter of[Pg 53]the actress! Oh, how I wish I could break her offfrom those pernicious influences!” she sighed.

“Let me suggest a way,” cried Cecil Laurens, withsparkling eyes.

“So soon?” she thought, triumphantly; but her ardorwas a little dampened when he continued:

“You know I return to Europe in a few weeks. Letme take your niece with me and place her at schoolwith my sisters.”

She uttered a little gasp of dismay, and presentlycried out:

“At school—Louise at school! What nonsense,Cecil! Why, she finished lessons long ago. She isplenty old enough to be married.”

And a minute’s silence ensued.

There was a lurking smile on Cecil’s faultless face,and he thought within himself:

“She may be old enough, but she is certainly notwise enough. I would as soon think of marrying ababy.”

But feeling himself snubbed, he did not voice thesesentiments aloud. He said, simply:

“I forgot her age. She seems so very young—asyoung as my school-girl sisters.”

“She lacks training. Her aunt Lucy has spoiledher, that is why she seems so childish,” she replied,apologetically.

“So I thought. That is why I suggested a littlemore polish, such as can only be acquired in a first-classschool,” he replied. “But, dear Mrs. Barry,please do not think me meddlesome. It was a hastythought spoken out too freely.”

“My dear Cecil! I am sure I thank you for expressing[Pg 54]such an interest in Louise. It is very flatteringto her, coming from you,” Mrs. Barry said,pointedly, and then she took the young man into herconfidence and told him of her wish to keep her nieceat Ferndale, and so separate her from her objectionablestep-sister, “that theater child.”

Cecil Laurens applauded her resolve warmly, althoughhe felt somewhat like a traitor to the girl whohad so frankly confided to him her honest dislike ofFerndale.

“Next week I shall take her to the White SulphurSprings,” she said. “I mean to give her such a roundof gayety that she will not longer regret her humdrumhome in Staunton.”

And again Cecil Laurens applauded this resolve.He had as deeply grained a prejudice against “thattheater child” as had old Mrs. Barry herself, and desiredjust as ardently to keep Louise at Ferndale.

“I shall go to the White for a week myself just assoon as I get my business here over,” he said, and Mrs.Barry replied that she was very glad. It would bepleasanter for her and Louise having an old friendthere.

But when this confidential conversation was over,Mrs. Barry began to think that her niece stayed upstairsa long time. She sent Ginny Ann to call herdown.

Ten, then fifteen minutes elapsed before Ginny Annreappeared with the announcement:

“I done argyfied my breff mos’ away, mistis, but Icarn’t budge dat chile! She done laid herseff downon dat flure, a-cryin’ and a-cryin’ her bressid eyesout!”

Mrs. Barry rose with as much haste as her age andinfirmities would permit, and excusing herself to CecilLaurens, went upstairs after her obdurate niece.

The young man, left alone, said to himself:

“Mrs. Everett has proved herself a wise woman andrefused to let her niece leave Ferndale. I applaudher good sense.”

And he did not alter his opinion even when Mollycame down presently with red-rimmed eyes and adoleful expression that proved how deeply she hadtaken her disappointment to heart.

Mrs. Barry did not come down with her, and shewent out on the wide porch and sat down sulkily in abig rustic chair.

Cecil Laurens followed her, and leaning his armson the top of her chair, looked down into the prettyclouded face.

“What did Aunt Lucy say?” he asked.

Molly snapped out a vicious little “No!”

“A wise woman,” said Cecil Laurens.

Molly looked up at him with an angry gleam in thedark eyes.

“Do you think so?” she asked in an odd tone, addingsharply: “Time will tell.”

Then the bright eyes turned from him and wanderedtoward the grove of trees that inclosed thehouse. He saw her breast rise and fall quickly, andher little hands clinched themselves in silent anger.Plainly, Molly was in a passion.

[Pg 56]

“Miss Barry, you puzzle me!” said Cecil Laurens.“Why are you so anxious to return to Staunton?Have you a lover there?”

Molly glanced up, and a saucy smile broke throughthe gloom of her face.

“Pray, is that any of your business, sir?” she demanded,pertly, and was amazed when he answered,promptly:

“Yes.”

“But how?” curiously.

“Forewarned is forearmed. I did not want to fallin love with you myself if there were any prior claimon you,” he replied, coolly and teasingly.

“I am not the least afraid you will commit such afolly,” she replied, carelessly. “If it were my step-sister,now—but it could never be me!”

“Your step-sister!” with a frown. “That would beimpossible, you know. But tell me why you think so.”

“Oh, she is dignified like the Barrys, and has suchan odd, charming style of beauty—yellow hair andyellow eyes.”

“Like a tigress,” said Cecil Laurens, and Mollystarted.

“I never thought of it before, but she is like that,”she exclaimed. “She can be so sweet and purring, yetall the time you seem to feel that she has cruel clawshidden under her furred paws. She can be so hard,too—oh, you should see the letter she wrote me!”

“And you think I could fall in love with such atiger-cat as you describe. Thank you,” he said, withfrank pique.

“But perhaps you would not feel that the clawswere there as I do,” her large eyes dilating with earnestness.[Pg 57]“You would see only that odd beauty andthat grand air.”

“Copied from the theater,” he said, and Mollyflushed hotly.

“Well, copied from the stage if you will,” she replied,curtly. “But all the same you would admireher, I am sure.”

“I should not,” he replied with decision, and Mollyhalf laughed, then relapsed into seriousness and wrathagain.

“Oh, how mean she was in that letter today! Whata dig she gave me with her vicious claws! She oughtto have known me better—ought to have been afraid—”she paused and bit her lips.

“What do you mean?” he asked, curiously, and alight of anger and resentment flashed all over the girlishface.

“Never mind,” she said. “Never mind, but I meanto pay her back, that is all, and—no one can blame menow!”

He was gratified at seeing her mind set against thatodious step-sister.

“Miss Barry, I am glad you have had your eyesopened to the worthlessness of that girl,” he said,earnestly. “Her mother was an adventuress who inveigledyour father into a low marriage that alienatedfrom him all his friends and relatives. It ismost fortunate for you that Mrs. Barry relented afterhis death and decided to make you her heiress.”

“Oh, yes, very fortunate,” said Molly, but it distressedhim to notice that her tone was distinctly sarcastic,and that she clinched her little fists again as ifin a secret fury.

[Pg 58]

“I suppose,” he went on, excitedly, “that the girl isenvious of your good fortune, hence her disagreeableletter to you.”

“Of course,” agreed Molly.

“Do not let her rancor trouble you. She is beneaththe notice of a Barry. Her spleen is not worth payingback,” Cecil said.

“Oh, yes, it is, and I propose to pay her interest onthe debt,” she replied, angrily, and for the present hesaw that it would be useless to oppose her will. Hedecided to humor her whim.

“By all means pay her back then, and perhaps I canhelp you with the interest,” he said, lightly.

“Thank you; I was counting on your assistance,”she replied, with a strange smile, and in a tone of decidedearnest.

The dark eyes met his with a look of triumph hecould not understand.

“What can I do to help you to your vengeance?”he asked, but she shook her head and made no reply.

Days came and went, and Cecil Laurens was a dailyvisitor at Ferndale, filled with the laudable desire toplease his old friend, Mrs. Barry, by making time passpleasantly for her niece. At least, that was the reasonhe assigned to himself when he set out every morningfor a canter with Molly over the rough mountainroads, in the golden June weather.

If any one had told him that he was taking an unusualinterest in the madcap girl whose acquaintancehe had made in such a ludicrous manner, he wouldhave been indignant at the imputation. He wouldhave told you, as his family and friends said of him,that he was not susceptible, not a marrying man. Inhis thirty years of life he had met many beautiful andcharming women, had

So little had he cared for women that he had not, asmany men have done, created an ideal woman in hismind; but if he had done so, she would not have resembledMolly Trueheart in the least; she would havebeen full of gracious ease and dignity:

[Pg 60]

Molly Trueheart did not come up to this ideal at all.She was a merry, willful little maid, reminding one ofApril weather with her alternations from frowns tosmiles, and from laughter to tears. Cecil Laurensnever suspected her of a bit of sentiment until one daywhen he came upon her unexpectedly, and found herreading Mrs. Browning with the page open at “LadyGeraldine’s Courtship.”

“You read poetry, then? I am surprised,” he said.

Molly left her finger between the pages and lookedup at him without a trace of surprise at his suddencoming. Perhaps she had seen or heard him.

“You are surprised—why? Did you think I couldnot read?” she inquired flippantly.

“Certainly not—but poetry! I thought you had noromance about you—only fun,” he rejoined.

“You were mistaken. I am romantic. If I had notbeen I should never have come to Ferndale.”

“I fail to see the romance of your coming here,Miss Barry.”

“It is not necessary that you should see it,” with atwinkle of mirth in her eyes.

“No,” he returned, piqued at the brusquerie of theretort. In a minute he added: “Since you confess tobeing romantic, perhaps you will read ‘Lady Geraldine’sCourtship’ aloud for me. It is just the scenefor reading poetry—this grassy seat, these noddingferns, overarching trees, sunshine, and all the rest ofit.”

“Yes, I will read it for you. That will be betterthan hearing you sneer at me,” said Molly.

She let her stony, dark eyes meet his violet ones fora moment coolly, then dropped her gaze to the book.[Pg 61]In a minute she began to read with a clear, pure enunciationand a faultless accuracy that amazed him.Throwing himself down on the velvety greensward byher side, he listened like one fascinated to the poet’sflowing numbers rendered with faultless accuracy byMolly’s fresh, young voice.

Who does not know the story of “Lady Geraldine’sCourtship”?—the story of the poor poet’s love for alovely, noble lady who trampled under her dainty feetthe prejudices of pride and rank and wedded theyoung genius, her lover? Molly’s eloquent voice gavefull value to the story, rose in passion, sank in pathos,thrilled and trembled alternately, while her eyessparkled or melted to tears in sympathy. Cecil Laurens,the handsome, gifted man of the world, indolent,self-conceited, proud, gazed and listened in unfeignedastonishment.

“The little witch has been teasing me all this while.She is not the little ignoramus and madcap I believedher at first. She has been well-educated, her voice isthoroughly trained. No wonder she laughed when Iwanted her to go to school again,” he said to himself,but instead of being angry with her, he experiencedpleasure in finding out that she had culture he had notdreamed she possessed.

The long poem came to an end at last and Mollyfolded her small hands together over the page. Herlistener started up to a sitting posture.

“Thank you, for the pleasure you have given me,”he said, earnestly. “It is indeed a grand poem.”

“I scarcely expected you to say so,” she retorted,meaningly. “I thought you were too proud. How canyou reconcile yourself to the idea of the Lady Geraldine[Pg 62]marrying so far beneath her in station—you whoare always taking for a text my poor father’s mésalliance?”

“This case was different—the poet’s genius leveledthe barrier between him and the earl’s daughter—raisedhim to her rank,” he replied.

“My—step-mother—had genius. She was a star ofthe dramatic stage. She gave up a brilliant career tomarry the man she loved, yet you condemn her as unworthy,”Molly said, excitedly, with flashing eyes.

He frowned.

“Why will you always drag that into the conversation?You have owned of your own accord that thatwoman’s daughter was sly and disagreeable—a realtiger-cat!” he exclaimed.

“Ah, I see that poetic license is not to be carriedinto real life,” she replied, falling from seriousnessinto levity. Then, gayly: “And are you sure, quitesure, that you should not fall in love with golden hairand golden eyes, and l’air noble?”

“Quite sure,” he replied, with disdain.

She laughed, and there was something hidden in thelaugh that vexed him; but she said, politely enough,the next moment:

“Now you will read to me, will you not?”

“Pardon me; I would rather talk to you. Whenare you going to the White?”

But he had taken the book from her hands, and wasturning the leaves while he spoke. Molly answered,reluctantly:

“I—don’t know. Aunt Thalia said something about—aboutwaiting until you got ready.”

“How kind! I shall be delighted. I can go in about[Pg 63]three days, I should say. But you don’t look veryglad at the thought of my company.”

“I would as soon excuse you,” she replied, with herusual frankness.

He frowned, but would not answer, and in a minutebegan to read aloud, as it seemed, at random:

“There,” he said, looking down at her with a halfsmile, “those words seem to have been written of you,you provoking child! Do you know that when I’maway from you my thoughts always return to you, andthat the hard things you say to me hurt me worse thanwhen first uttered? I resolve firmly not to go nearyou again, but ‘a spirit in my feet’ brings me back toFerndale the next day. What have you done to me,Miss Willy Whisk, as old Betsy calls you, to makeme your abject slave? I certainly,” laughing, “do notapprove of you, so I can not have lost my heart toyou.”

“Heaven forbid!” Molly Trueheart exclaimed, startingto her feet in such dismay that he said, hastily:

“Pray do not be alarmed. You could not suppose Ireally meant it!”

“Of course not. It would be the worst possibletaste,” she returned sarcastically, and Cecil Laurens,[Pg 64]angered out of his usual good breeding, cried out,sharply:

“I agree with you, Miss Barry!”

That was enough. Molly’s eyes blazed upon him insuch wrath that they almost withered him. Shesnatched her book rudely from his hand, and stalkedaway with the pace of a tragedy queen.

Left alone thus suddenly under the big tree, Mr.Laurens watched Molly’s white garments flutter intothe big porch, then he muttered something under hisbreath not very complimentary to his tormentor, remountedhis horse, which was waiting under a tree,and rode home.

The next day he stayed away from Ferndale, andthe next day he sent his old friend a short note sayingthat he had been so busy he had no time to call, andfound that unexpected business would take him intoLewisburg for several days. He hoped she wouldnot wait for him any longer, as it might not be possiblefor him to go to the White at all.

With a very sober face Mrs. Barry read this aloudto her niece, watching the guilty young face withcovert eyes.

“Louise Barry, you have done something to Cecil,”she said, with conviction.

But Molly protested loudly that she hadn’t said aword to Mr. Laurens. Then she went off to one ofher wildest haunts by a secluded little mountainstream and flung herself down on the green bank torest and think.

She caught a glimpse of her pale face and heavyeyes in the clear stream, and started in surprise.

“Molly Trueheart, is that you looking so pale and[Pg 65]big-eyed? What is the matter with you, silly? It isthe best thing that ever happened. You ought tothank your lucky stars that you got rid of him so soon,the hateful wretch!”

And then very inconsistently she burst into a stormof angry tears.

Mrs. Barry and her niece had been at the White twoweeks, when Cecil Laurens made his appearance quiteunexpectedly one evening, and explained to Mrs.Barry that as he was going away soon he had comeover to bid her good-bye.

To Molly he was very stiff and formal indeed, althoughhe could almost have sworn that a sudden lightof joy leaped into her eyes at his abrupt approach—alight instantly veiled beneath the fringe of her darklashes, and her voice was distinctly careless as shegave him a brief greeting and went away from heraunt’s side with her partner in the dance.

For Molly had become in the weeks of her sojournhere one of the belles of the place, and was enjoyingher prestige with all the ardor of youth and a lightheart. No one was more sought in the dance thanshe, no one had more bouquets and invitations, andshe would not have owned to herself that pique layat the bottom of her gayety.

Her girlish pride had been cruelly wounded byCecil Laurens’ sarcastic words, and a strange longingcame over her to know if they were really true.

“Would it indeed be such poor taste for any one tolove me?” she asked herself, soberly; and the gravityof the thought turned the child into a woman.

She threw aside the carelessness that had distinguishedher, and put on what she called grown-upways. As she had a good education, and a high order[Pg 67]of intellect, she succeeded in making the change verystriking and charming, and in less than two weeksdisproved the truth of the ungallant Cecil’s assertion.

On his part, he was astonished when, after twoweeks of sulky exile, he saw her again, the cynosureof all eyes at this famous resort of fashion, bright,beautiful, and admired, as he had not believed it possiblefor any one to admire the will-o’-the-wisp creature,as she had always seemed to him, even while she drewhim to her side by a charm which he would not understand.

“But she is beautiful, certainly, and very brillianthere—most unlike the forlorn creature that Herothrew over his head that night at my feet,” he saidto himself with a smile, followed by a frown—thesmile for the ludicrousness of the adventure, and thefrown for the secret that lay behind that night’s“lark,” as she called it—the escapade so carefully hiddenfrom her aunt.

“I had no right to keep it hidden from my oldfriend. I wish I had not promised to do so,” hethought, vexed at the sight of Molly gliding like afairy down the long ball-room in the arms of as handsomea partner as ever made maiden’s heart throbfaster in the gay waltz.

Mrs. Barry saw his eyes following the light form,and said with a touch of pride:

“Louise is a graceful waltzer?”

“Yes,” he answered, then a little testily: “But I donot approve of indiscriminate waltzing for youngladies.”

“No?” said Mrs. Barry, turning her inquisitiveglasses on his rather moody face.

[Pg 68]

After a minute’s study of its grave lines, she added:

“I can not say that I think it matters except in thecase of engaged girls. Of course a betrothed loverwould have a right to object, but then you knowLouise is free.”

Did he fancy it, or was there really a pointed significancein her tone? He rejoined half-resentfully:

“Are you sure she is free, and that she did notleave a lover behind her in Staunton?”

She started, and looked at him keenly, then shelaughed:

“Cecil, you actually frightened me for a moment;but now you make me laugh,” she said, gayly, with alaugh that would have been merry, only that it was socracked with age. “My dear boy, there is no lover inStaunton in the case. The child never thought of alover until she saw you. But she has offended you. Ibelieved it all the while, now I am sure of it. Youare jealous.”

“You are mistaken,” Cecil cried, furiously.

Then he shut his lips tightly. He did not like tocontradict his old friend, but it was ridiculous, thisfancy she entertained. Jealous! He would have tobe in love first, and the idea of loving Louise Barrywas—absurd.

“Yes, it is absurd! A spoiled baby in spite of hertwenty-five years, with the audacious frankness ofyouth so freely indulged that it degenerates into lackof manners. Mrs. Barry must be losing her mind, indeed!”he exclaimed to himself, deciding that he wouldcertainly go in the morning.

But he did not do so. Something held him back,something kept him always in the vicinity of the girl[Pg 69]he fancied he disliked more than ever now, for sheseemed bent on keeping up their feud. She was socool, so reserved, so dignified, taking as she said toherself grimly “a leaf out of his own book.” So apparentlyindifferent was she that many times when helingered near her she remained in ignorance of hisproximity, so that day when she thought herself alonefor a minute with a charming novel, Cecil was quiteclose to her swinging in a luxurious hammock hung betweentwo trees, his lazy, sleepy glance resting on thelovely, spirited face as it bent over the book.

“Poor Madelon!” she sighed, referring to the heroine,and then there came a sudden interruption.

A man had come straight across the greenswardtoward her—a young man with a grave, sad face,handsome but rather weak, while his attire, partakingwholly of the shabby genteel, proclaimed that he wascertainly not a favorite of fortune.

Cecil Laurens saw this man going toward Mollywith a bright, eager light in his eyes, and he was filledwith indignant wonder.

“Does Miss Barry know that shabby man? Surelynot,” he thought, and leaned forward to watch withjealous eyes.

Molly was so intent on her reading that she heardand saw nothing until a shadow fell on her book asthe man stopped by her side. She glanced up, and theface that Cecil was watching grew radiant with surpriseand pleasure.

“Johnny!” she exclaimed, and held out her littlehand.

He took it, clasped it tightly a moment, and Cecilheard him murmur, hoarsely:

[Pg 70]

“How good you are! You never fail one! But Ihad no right to expect a welcome. It is the old story—nowork yet, and no money to make a home for mydarling! But I heard you all were here, and I couldnot keep from coming for just one sight of my crueldarling’s face, although I feared her reproaches.Where is—”

“Hush-h-h!” Molly whispered, pinching his armseverely; “some one may hear us from the cottageyonder. Come this way, Johnny, toward the trees.”

They moved away, and Cecil Laurens’ face grewdark and gloomy.

“The impecunious lover has come upon the scene!”he muttered, with angry sarcasm.

Molly Trueheart walked under the trees with thatmysterious “Johnny” for a long half hour. WhileCecil Laurens in the hammock raved and frettedagainst the little fraud, as he began to call her in histhoughts.

“Suppose I go and bring her aunt upon the scene?”he thought, with grim resentment.

Then he mentally shook himself.

“Cecil Laurens, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!Where is your honor that you can be led awaylike this by petty spite? Let the girl alone. This isno business of yours!”

A few minutes later Molly and her good-looking,shabby companion came back to the rustic seat, stillunobservant of the hammock and its occupant. Byleaning forward a little he could look into both faces,and he noticed that Molly’s was pale and annoyed,the man’s eager and excited.

“You must not come here again,” he heard her say.“It would not be safe. And you must not go afterher. She would be furious if you interfered with herplans. Better keep quiet for awhile. I will help youall I can, Johnny,” with a sob, “but you know howlittle I can do.”

“You are an angel,” said the man, tenderly. “Ifshe were only you, there would be no trouble. Mydear, you’ll write to me?”

“Yes, yes, only do keep quiet and not go after her,[Pg 72]or you’ll spoil everything! I’ll write to you at the oldaddress! Johnny, I’m sorry for you from my heart,but I’m under her thumb as well as you. We mustboth have patience. Good-bye, now, some one will becoming.”

“Good-bye, dear,” said the man, sadly, and Cecilsaw him clasp her little rosy fingers tightly in hisbroad palm. “God bless you, little one. I shall lookfor a letter soon. Write me everything about her,and I’ll try to stay away, hard as it seems!”

He sighed and turned away, going straight acrossthe lawn to the broad gates that led to the railroad.There was something pathetic in his worn, shabbygarments and slow, dejected pace in that scene ofwealth and gayety, and Cecil would have been touchedonly for that fierce pain tugging at his heart. But heturned his eyes away from the man back to Molly,who had dropped down on her seat and was gazingafter him with sad, wet eyes. He heard her murmurpassionately, “It is a shame!” then she dropped herface in her hands and sobs shook her slender form.

Cecil had seen Molly in many moods, but here wasa new one, and it excited in him a strange feeling, thatof pity mixed with a bitter resentment, as if he hadsuffered some personal wrong at her hands. After aminute, and still watching the sobbing girl, he beganto analyze his emotions, and as a result the color flewhotly to his face and he muttered:

“I have actually taken an undue and sentimentalinterest in this girl—pshaw, why mince matters?Through some unexplainable madness I have lost myheart to a madcap, and am suffering all the tormentsof jealousy because another man has a claim on her.[Pg 73]Mrs. Barry was wiser than I thought, and is no doubtlaughing in her sleeve this moment at my folly.”

The flush deepened on his face, and he remainedfor some moments watching Molly in moody silence.

It was a dangerous occupation for a man who hadjust found out that she was fatally fair, for Molly, asshe crouched in a forlorn and drooping position on thehard bench, was a very tempting little specimen offemininity.

The day was warm and she wore a dress of thinwhite mull, through whose transparent texture herplump arms and shoulders gleamed rosy-white. Herhat had fallen off, and the loose dark curls half confinedby a scarlet ribbon, drooped against the gracefulneck, and contrasted with the warm pink of a roundcheek nestled in a dainty hand. On this picture ofbeauty in distress fell pretty flecks of sunlight frombetween the green boughs overhead, bringing outglints of brightness from the wavy curls, that in theshade always looked so dark and rich, and Cecil rememberedthat there were golden lights in her eyes,too, when she was pleased and happy.

Then he caught himself up again with a jerk.

“Happy! How can she ever be happy again withthat tramp of a lover on her mind?” angrily.

Something—he scarce knew what, but most probablythat sullen misery that was so new, so bitter, andso humiliating—drove him to her side. Slipping noiselesslyfrom the luxurious hammock he stole aroundthe tree and sat down by her side, touching the bowedhead lightly with his hand, and murmuring with uncontrollablefondness:

“Louise!”

[Pg 74]

Molly gave a great, frightened start and whirledaround.

“Oh, it’s you, Cecil Laurens, is it? Well, then, whatdo you want?” she demanded, wrathfully, angered becausehe had caught her in distress.

For once he was not angered at her sharp retort.He comprehended now something of what she wasenduring, and made patient allowance for her pain.

“Do not be angry, Louise. I want nothing onlyto tell you how sorry I am for you, and how gladlyI would help you in your trouble,” he said so gentlythat she stared at him in amazement, although she saidbrusquely:

“Trouble! I have no trouble!”

“Ah, Louise, you can not deceive me any longer.Look yonder! I was in that hammock just now andsaw your companion, also heard some of his words!”

“Spy!” she exclaimed indignantly, although shegrew pale and trembled like the leaves on the treeabove her head.

Again he put a stern guard on himself, and wouldnot resent her rudeness.

“It is despair that makes her hard!” he thought,and answered gently:

“I did not mean to be a spy, Louise, I was in thehammock when you came here, and presently he cameand spoke to you. I could not help hearing what wassaid until you walked away with him. But—do notlook so frightened—I did not follow you!”

He saw a gleam of palpable relief flash into thewhite face, and comprehended that she was glad hehad not heard what was spoken in that walk underthe trees.

[Pg 75]

“But I had heard enough!” he said slowly, after apause. “Ah, Louise, I was right when I told you thatit was a lover who was drawing your heart back toyour old home.”

She looked at him pale and startled, but with mutedefiance.

“A—a—lover!” she echoed, wildly. “Now I supposeyou will go and tell Aunt Thalia of your wonderfuldiscovery!” in a tone of terrified entreaty.

“Why will you wrong me so?” he cried, smartingunder the lash of her injustice. “You know I didnot betray you before?”

“But—but—why do you meddle with me so?” shecried, with a bewildered air. “You are always findingout things—and—and always blaming me!”

“No, no, child, I do not always blame you, I do notwant to meddle—yet I—yet you—seem so ignorant,I ought to—to advise you. Will you listen to mekindly, Louise?”

“Go on,” she answered, folding her hands in herlap and looking so like a martyr that he cried outhastily:

“Do not look as if a big bear was going to eat you,Louise. I only want to tell you that it is not rightto have secrets from your good aunt—to have ashabby lover whom you write to and meet by stealth.No good will come of such a clandestine affair.”

“Heaven give me patience!” cried Molly indignantly.“Poor Johnny, to think of this rich man callingyou shabby! But, Mr. Laurens, that was no meetingby stealth just now. If you heard his first wordsyou must know that it was not an appointment.”

“No, he came because he had heard you were here—that[Pg 76]was the difference,” dryly. “But the first timeI met you, you know—when Hero flung you over hishead at my feet—perhaps you met him that night, perhaps—”

“Perhaps you are a great simpleton, Cecil Laurens!”Molly cried, indignantly. “I did not meet him thatnight, nor any night. Morover, he is no lover of mine.I never had a lover in my life!”

“You have one now!” Cecil Laurens said softly,but Molly did not comprehend.

“I have not!” she declared angrily. “Poor Johnnycame here because he thought that my step-sister washere. They have been engaged two years, and hecan not get a salary large enough to support them,and Lou—I mean my sister Molly,” crimsoning, “isangry and wants to break it off. And I promised tobeg her to make it up with the poor fellow, and towrite to him, so there!”

“That step-sister again! It is the first time I everwas glad to hear her name!” exclaimed Cecil, radiant.“Oh, Louise, how glad I am that he was her lover andnot yours!”

“What have you got to do with it any way?” shedemanded pettishly.

“I love you!” he replied, audaciously.

The black eyes and the blue ones met for an instant,Cecil’s full of passion, Molly’s full of incredulousamazement, but her lover did not wait for her toutter a protest, he caught her little hands in both hisown—and said eagerly:

“Louise, darling, I owe you an apology for the unjustwords I said to you that day at Ferndale. Theywere not true, for I love you as I hinted to you then,and it was pique at your rejoinder that made me blurtout those untruthful words. Will you forgive me, andlet me love you?”

He had never spoken such words to any womanbefore, but carried away by the strength of his newlydiscovered passion, they rushed from his lips eloquentwith the heart’s emotion. He had a right to expecta serious reply, but to his horror, mortification, anddistress, Molly blurted out a curt:

“Nonsense!”

Her elegant lover gave a gasp as if some one hadthrown cold water over him, and a momentary angerstruggled with the delicious emotion of love. He liftedhis violet eyes to her face full of reproachful tenderness.

“Louise!” he exclaimed.

She hung her pretty head in bashful confusion.

“You did not mean it!” she muttered, deprecatingly.

“I did mean it. I do mean it. Do not coquettewith me, Louise, when I am so much in earnest. You[Pg 78]said just now you never had a lover. You have onenow—will you reject him, or will you accept theheart he offers? Will you be my wife, little one?”

He felt her trembling as he held her hands tightlyin his, and dropping one, he placed his hand beneathher chin and lifted her face so that he might lookinto her eyes. To his surprise and joy they droopedbashfully, and the warm color rose over her face.

“Louise, what are you going to say to me in returnfor my confession? Won’t you love me a littlein return? Won’t you give me some hope?”

Was this Cecil Laurens, the cold, the proud, thedignified, pleading to the girl he had disapprovedof, the girl he had called such a baby? She lookedat him in wonder and consternation.

“Oh, what have I done?” she cried out in dismay.

“You have bewitched me, I think,” her lover repliedwith his rarely beautiful smile.

“Mr. Laurens, do you really mean it? I—I believedyou disliked me, hated me,” she breathed in a low,half-tender tone, very different from her usual mockingone.

“I mean it all, Louise. I love you passionately,and I have suffered torments in the last three weeksfrom pique and jealousy that I mistook for anger.Now, my dear, I have been very frank with you.Will you be as candid in return?” asked CecilLaurens in a low, winning tone, and with a glorioussmile. Certainly although he had learned his loveso suddenly, he knew how to play the lover well.

She trembled and drew back from him as heleaned toward her. All the sweet vivid color fadedfrom her face, and her dark eyes sought the ground.

[Pg 79]

“I believe you now, Mr. Laurens, although at firstI thought you were jesting,” she said, and her voicewas distinctly tremulous. “I—I—yes, I will be candidwith you. I am—am—sorry—you—care for me—for—it—is—useless,hopeless!”

“Hopeless, Louise? Are you sure?” he asked. “Ifyou have no other lover, let me try to win you. Yourheart is free?”

“No, no, for I love some one else,” she said, desperately.

He was very clever, this Cecil Laurens, and atthat moment he read the heart of the simple girl ashe had read his own as by a flash of light. Smilingly,and with a man’s masterful air, he returned:

“It is my turn now to cry out nonsense, my darling,for I do not believe that my love is hopeless. Isaw in your sweet, shy eyes just now a tendernessthat belonged not to ‘some one else,’ but to me.Look up, Louise, and own that in these weeks whilewe seemed to be playing at cross purposes we werefalling headlong into love!”

She tried to deny it, but the usually pert littletongue faltered under his quizzical and tender gaze.

“Let me alone!” she began frantically, but CecilLaurens’ arms had slipped around her waist and hesmothered the remonstrating words on her lips witha long, sweet, lingering, lover’s kiss—one that seemedto draw the girl’s pure soul from her body and mergeit into his.

Faint with the sweetness of this exquisite emotion,Molly rested passive in his clasp for a moment, thendrawing back from him, sighed bitterly.

“Oh, this is dreadful! Why did I ever come to[Pg 80]Ferndale?” she exclaimed to herself, while CecilLaurens’ eyes glowed upon her full of passionatelove. Under their warmth, the girl hung her headbashfully, all her usual effrontery conquered by thethrilling consciousness of her love and the bitter painshe suffered in her secret knowledge of its folly.

“Ah, if he but knew!” she thought with an inwardshudder, and looking up at him with eyes full ofpain, she said:

“I did not try to make you love me, you must alwaysremember that!”

He laughed as he answered:

“No, you did not court my love, dear, certainly.I never saw a rose so full of thorns as this one thatI have won.”

“You have not won me!” she cried with a frightenedstart, but the triumphant lover, sure of hisprize, replied:

“I do not think you will deny that your heart ismine, Louise, although I no more tried to win yourlove than you did mine. But this being so, the factremains we were mutually strongly attracted to eachother, so we must charge our union to the score offate.”

“A strange fate!” Molly muttered, but her lover,who saw nothing but perfection now, where a shortwhile ago he found so much fault, answered fondly:

“A very beneficent fate. Only think, we shall notonly make ourselves happy by our marriage, but weshall please our families, who have been neighborsand intimates almost a century.”

“I have not said I would marry you, Mr. Laurens!”she cried out, quickly, more and more frightened,[Pg 81]but he only smiled at what seemed to himmaidenly bashfulness.

“Marriage naturally follows love like ours, dear,”he said, tenderly. “And, Louise, darling, I shallmake you a very good husband. You will not findme such a bear as I have been these past weeks,when your coldness hurt my unconscious love andstung me to anger. You will be different, too, mypet, for our love will change our thoughts and ourlives.”

“Yes,” she murmured, faintly, for she knew farbetter than he the extent of that change, but justnow she did not contradict him again.

“What is the use? He will not listen,” shethought, feverishly. “I will let him love me while heis here and when he is gone I will write him verypositively that I can not marry him.”

Her love and his happy masterful air made acoward of her, and she was willing to put off thefatal declaration, feeling a guilty pleasure in baskingin this sunshine to which she had no right, and fromwhich she must soon steal away into the gloom of alife made sad by an unhappy love.

For deep down in her heart Molly Trueheart knewalready that this mutual love between her and CecilLaurens was a catastrophe, not a blessing, as hebelieved it. She knew that she could never marryhim, but her feeble declarations to that effect hadbeen silenced by his objections, so she decided tofilch from fate a few bitter-sweet hours before sheparted forever from this splendid yet forbidden love.

Afterward, when the storm-rains of despair beaton her defenseless head, and her heart ached on amid[Pg 82]fiercest tortures, Molly looked back on this hour, thebeginning of it all, with a great wonder at her weaknessand cowardice. Why had she yielded even foran hour to this madness? Why had she let her lovemake her a craven and a coward?

She laid all the blame upon herself in wonder andsorrow and repentance, too ignorant and unversed inthe mysteries of life and nature to comprehend thatit was not so much her honesty that had been atfault as that through her love her will-power hadbeen dominated by the magnetic force of her lover.For grand, handsome, noble Cecil Laurens, althoughunconscious of his power, was possessed of a strongmagnetism that subtly influenced all with whom hecame in contact, and doubly attracted the susceptiblegirl whom he loved. She did not realize the powerof this magnetic will any more than Cecil himselfdid, yet certainly it was more than half to blame forpoor Molly Trueheart’s treachery.

All in a minute, as it seemed, he was putting onher first finger the splendid solitaire diamond fromhis own hand.

“Will you wear this for an engagement ring, orshall I buy you a new one?” he asked.

“I prefer this because you have worn it,” she answered,frankly, and blushing very much, at whichCecil was delighted.

To herself she said, sadly:

“That is the truth, but there is another reason stillfor my preference. I must not put him to the expenseof a new ring, for this will do for the few daysthat I shall be able to keep up the farce of an engagement.”

She sat silent, twisting the costly gem uneasilyabout her finger, when suddenly she saw comingtoward her across the lawn Mrs. Barry, attended byAgnes Walker, her maid.

The sight roused Molly from the dream of blissinto which she was falling. She pulled the ring fromher finger.

“Here, take it back; I—I can’t marry you. Don’ttell Aunt Thalia, please,” she faltered, desperately.

Cecil took the ring and her hand with it, andpushed the jewel back on the slim, rosy finger.

“My darling, what a bashful little goose you are!”he returned, laughingly; and just then Mrs. Barrycame up and found him holding the little handtightly in his own.

[Pg 84]

“Louise, I was so uneasy about your long absence,I took Agnes and came to hunt you; but if I hadknown that Cecil was with you, I should not havebeen alarmed,” she said.

Molly muttered something incoherently, and triedto wrest her hand from its captor, but Cecil held itup triumphantly before Mrs. Barry, who laughed inglee as she caught the glitter of the diamond.

“Engaged!” she exclaimed, gladly.

“Yes,” he replied, jubilantly. “Will you give usyour blessing, Aunt Thalia?”

“With all my heart,” replied the old woman.“Louise, do not look so bashful and frightened, mydear, for I am very much pleased at your choice;”and she actually kissed the little bit of white foreheadthat was visible above the arm with whichMolly had hidden her face.

Agnes Walker, too, looked very proud and pleased,and uttered a few words of congratulation thatwould have delighted Molly if this had not been, asshe said to herself, “all a dreadful sham.”

She sat like one in a dream, listening to Mrs.Barry’s cracked voice in its complacent chatter.

“Of course you will not go abroad so soon now,Cecil?”

“I am afraid I ought to go. Mother and fatherwill expect me, and I promised to go as soon as Ihad attended to that business. But—it will be hardto go now. I have a bright idea. Can not you andLouise go with me?”

Molly’s heart leaped wildly, then calmed again asMrs. Barry shook her head.

“I am too old to cross the sea again. I want todie in my native land,” she said.

[Pg 85]

“Louise, then—with a maid, of course?” he said,but again the old woman shook her head.

“I’m afraid it would not be exactly proper then,”she replied.

“Then I shall write to my folks that I shall delaymy return until my bride is ready to accompany me,”he replied, with a tender smile at Molly, who replied,in a fright:

“No, no, I’m too young yet.”

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Barry, sharply. “Why,Louise Barry, in my young days a girl of five-and-twentywas considered an old maid, and here youare talking of being too young. Don’t mind her,Cecil. I’ll order her wedding things at once, and sheshall be ready as soon as you wish.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barry!” exclaimed the prospectivebridegroom, radiant.

But Molly muttered, frantically:

“I know Aunt Lucy will not be willing!”

“Lucy Everett has nothing to do with it. I shall notask her advice, nor Cecil her consent. If you loveCecil, there is no more to do but to marry him andsettle down,” proclaimed Mrs. Barry with the air ofan autocrat, and she added, after a minute, sharply:“I don’t think I shall even invite Lucy Everett to thewedding, for she would want to bring that Trueheartgirl, and she shall never with my consent cross thethreshold of a Barry!”

“As for the wedding things, don’t they order themalways from Paris? Then, what more will Louiseneed but a traveling-dress, since we will go straightto Europe on our wedding-tour. She can get all thedresses she wants, then,” said Cecil Laurens, eagerly.

[Pg 86]

“That is true,” said the old lady, adding slyly:“What a hurry you are in all at once, Cecil!”

He flushed and laughed, then said, with a fondglance at Molly:

“I am in a hurry for my happiness; but then youknow, Mrs. Barry, I have been a spoiled boy always,and never had patience enough to wait for anythingI wanted!”

“You never had to wait, being one of Fortune’sfavorites, always!” she replied, indulgently.

And Molly thought, with a hushed sigh:

“He will hate me one day, because he will meet hisfirst disappointment through me!”

Mrs. Barry believed in taking time by the forelock,and, unknown to the young fiancé, she sent an orderthat very day to New York—an order for a recherchéwedding-dress, a traveling costume in all its details,several dresses besides, comprising walking,dinner, and ball dresses, hats and bonnets ad. lib.,and a dozen outfits of embroidered lawn and linenunderwear. These articles were to be furnished withinthree weeks.

“They will be as much as she will need until shegets to Paris. I will give her a large check to takewith her for a trousseau there. I can afford to begenerous as all my money will go to her some day,and as she is marrying so well,” said the old ladyto Agnes Walker, feeling very complacent over thehappy turn events had taken. She was very fond ofthe bride-elect from that time forward, and oftenthought remorsefully of the time when she hadlocked the girl into the garret.

Cecil Laurens was greatly altered, too, for the better,[Pg 87]by his love. He ceased to see a single fault inthe gay, young girl whom he had at first condemned.He lavished the whole wealth of his heart upon her,and he could not fail to see through all her shynessthat his love was fully returned.

Molly had not known herself capable of suchdepths of passion as her lover’s devotion roused inher breast. She gave herself up with feverish delightto the happiness of the flying weeks, salving herconscience with the thought that her deception wouldsoon be over—that at the very last she would breakoff with him even though he would go away fromher hating her memory forever.

But day by day the bonds of love grew stronger.That which she thought but a garland of rosesstrengthened into a chain that held her fast. A madlove made the brave, honest little girl a traitor.

The day that had been set for her marriagedawned, yet she had never spoken the words thatwere to save Cecil Laurens from wedding a deceiver.

“For I could not break it off without telling himthe truth, and that would ruin Louise. And howcould I part with him now?” she would sigh to herselfwhen alone, and gradually her love and his madea bond that she could not break through.

“I should die if I were parted from him now,” shesighed. “Of course I know that he would find meout some day, and then I should lose him forever.But I should have a little happiness first. It wouldnot be so terrible to die of grief, having had my dayfirst.”

Then Molly would sob bitterly until she fell asleepupon her tearwet pillow. Truly the love to which[Pg 88]she clung so desperately was not all unalloyed pleasure,but perhaps its element of uncertainty made itall the more precious.

They went back to Ferndale, and Mrs. Barry, inthe seventh heaven of delight, made preparations ona grand scale for a real old-fashioned country wedding.Invitations were sent out far and near to thefriends of the family. A dozen cooks took possessionof the kitchen and dining-room. Flowers wereordered from a New York florist. The old lady declaredthat her niece’s wedding should be the grandestthat ever took place in Greenbrier County.

It was. A hundred guests danced at Molly Trueheart’swedding with Cecil Laurens. Ferndale didnot look like the “poky old hole” she had called ittwo months ago. By the aid of lights and flowersand music it was temporarily transformed into fairy-land.The trees were illuminated by picturesqueChinese lanterns. The old house in every corner wasas bright as day, and the light glowed resplendentlyon the trailing lengths of Molly’s white satin bridal-dressas she came down the wide stairway almost anhour later than the time appointed, for at the verylast her conscience had stung her so cruelly that shehad hidden herself in a closet, from which she wasdragged forth after vigilant search by her almostdistracted aunt.

“Louise Barry, what do you mean by such acaper? You’ve given me such a fright as I neverhad in my life! I’ve a mind to give you a goodshaking!” she vociferated, excitedly, and Mollywhimpered, faintly:

[Pg 89]

“Please forgive me, Aunt Thalia. I—I was sofrightened, I thought I’d rather not—”

“Rather not what?” sharply.

“Not—get—married,” sighed the delinquent, andMrs. Barry burst out laughing.

“What under the heavens makes girls so sillywhen they are going to be married?” she cried, andjust then one of the bridesmaids tapped at the door.

“Is the bride ready yet? It’s almost an hour pastthe time, and Mr. Laurens sent me to ask—” shebegan, but Mrs. Barry cut the sentence short byopening wide the door.

“She’s ready. Tell the bridesmaids to come in,”she said; and then she whispered in Molly’s ear:“Behave yourself like a little lady now, and I’ll nevertell Cecil that you were such a baby as to hide inthe closet because you were afraid to have a husband.”

“I’ll behave,” Molly answered, desperately; and sowell did she keep her promise that Mrs. Barry hadno occasion to tell her husband of that hour in whichMolly’s good angel had been pleading for the right.

Cecil was waiting at the foot of the stairs, soeager, so happy, so grand looking in his weddinggarments, that all her regrets vanished in passionatelove and admiration. She clung to his arm, sighingto herself:

“Oh, Heaven grant that he may never, never findme out!”

Five minutes more and the ring was on her finger,the marriage vows had passed her lips, and CecilLaurens’ lips had called her wife. She stood in themiddle of the room, pale, but with a quiet dignity, receivingthe congratulations of the guests.

Suddenly there was a stir and bustle at the doorwhere the servants were congregated, looking on atthe brilliant scene. A shabby young man, ghastlypale, with eyes of fire blazing out of his weak, good-lookingface, pushed through the crowd of guests,crying out, fiercely:

“The bride—let me see the bride!”

A wild hubbub arose as he advanced, for in thehand that hung down at his side a score of eyes hadcaught the gleam of a knife. Insane fury flashedfrom his eyes as he advanced upon the beautifulbride.

Her eyes dilated with terror, her face waxedghastly as she faced him, but not a sound camefrom her pallid, parted lips.

“Ha! ha!” the intruder cried with a horrible[Pg 91]laugh as he stopped so close to her that his hotbreath fanned her brow, while his eyes fairly devouredher terrified face.

Then—

All in an instant, and as suddenly as he had rushedupon her, the infuriated man fell back a pace and hishand dropped to his side, while the glare of his eyeschanged to a stupid stare.

“You!” he muttered, “you!” and the murderousknife fell from his hand upon the floor.

Some one shrieked aloud:

“A madman! Take him away!”

The men rushed upon him and dragged him fromthe room. Molly clung sobbing to her new-made husband.

“Oh, Cecil,” she whispered, “he is not mad. It isJohn Keith, my sister’s lover. He has made somestrange mistake, I am sure! He must have thoughtit was his own sweetheart being married instead ofme! Oh, let me go and speak to him, poor torturedJohnny!”

A shout came back from the hall.

The captive had broken loose and escaped into thedarkness of the night.

“I am so glad!” sighed Molly, with infinite relief.

And Cecil Laurens looked down at her with graveeyes.

“Louise, are you sure the man is not an old loverof yours?” he asked in a tone divided between jestand earnest.

“I have never had a lover but you!” she replied,fondly, and lifting her dark eyes to his face that hemight read the love written there.

[Pg 92]

“Darling!” he whispered, rapturously, as he ledher to a seat.

Every one had run out into the hall to look afterthe maniac, and they were for a moment alone.

Molly whispered, anxiously:

“Dear Cecil, don’t you pity that poor fellow? Heis not rich like you, and he can not find work enoughto support a wife! She is growing tired of waiting,and he will lose her, unless something happens in hisfavor. You will help him, Cecil? You’ll find himsome work?”

So earnest was the plaint that tears rushed into thedark eyes, and Cecil, moved to sympathy, answeredardently:

“I believe you are an angel, Louise, as I onceheard that unlucky fellow call you. Certainly, I’lltry to find him some work; but I doubt if I’ll be doinghim a good turn helping him to marry selfishMolly Trueheart. And then, you know, we leave tomorrowon our wedding-tour, and shall not knowwhere to find him, as he has run away.”

“I know where to write to him. I have his address;and, oh, Cecil, I shall love you more thanever for this!” Molly cried, impetuously.

“Thanks, my little love. With that reward in view,I shall strive earnestly to set your forlorn friendup in business before we leave tomorrow,” CecilLaurens replied, gayly, but tenderly and earnestly.

Molly crossed with her noble, handsome husbandthe beautiful ocean of which she had dreamed, andthe skies seemed to smile on the fair young bride,for the weather was beautiful throughout, and thewater so smooth and calm that many of the passengersescaped even a touch of seasickness. In ten daysthey were in London, where the bride met her newrelatives, Cecil’s parents, and two school-girl sisters.When she went to Paris she met there DoctorCharlie Laurens, Cecil’s younger brother, who wasstudying at the medical school in that gay city.

All of these new friends Molly found very agreeablepeople, who were disposed to make a special pet ofCecil’s wife, and who were pleased and happy as heknew they would be because he had married a Barry.They dwelt on this latter fact so much that it wasactual torture to Molly’s guilty soul.

“Oh, what will they say if they ever find me out?”she sighed often to herself, and her sin weighed uponher soul so heavily that even Cecil’s devotion fellshort of making her happy. There kept whisperingin her ear the still, small voice of conscience, andsometimes she would sob bitterly when alone inblind terror of the future, when she should be foundout in her sin.

But life went on very brightly for many monthsin a whirl of gayety and pleasure. Mrs. Laurens,who was fond of society, managed to have her beautifuldaughter-in-law presented at court, and after[Pg 94]that invitations rained upon the beautiful couple.London lavished admiration on the lovely Americanbride, and Molly enjoyed it all with a feverish, fearfulpleasure, knowing that at any moment her houseof cards might tumble to pieces.

Mrs. Barry wrote her occasional letters from Ferndale,and in one of them she said that she had writtento Lucy Everett all about her niece’s grandmarriage and tour to Europe. She added that theyhad never answered the letter, by which she guessedthat she and that Trueheart girl were too angry andenvious to reply.

“They know it all now—oh, what will they do?”the little fraud gasped in a fright, but months wenton and there came no signs from the real LouiseBarry.

“They do not care about it, or they are afraid tospeak as long as old Mrs. Barry lives,” the girl concludedat last, gladly, and many were the prayers shesent up to Heaven for the old lady’s long life.

“But will Heaven listen to such a sinner?” shewould often gravely exclaim at the close of thesepetitions.

In the spring following her marriage she met, duringthe London season, Sir Edward Trueheart, withhis wife and daughter, some country people who hadcome up to the city to enjoy the pleasures of thegay season, and were residing at their town housein Park Lane. It was their name that attracted Mollyat first, and then they began to win upon her by asubtle charm that she could not explain.

The cross old baronet and his faded, sad old wife,with their handsome, rather elderly daughter, all took[Pg 95]to the young American bride with pleased interest,as she did to them. It was a mutual attraction.

Miss Trueheart, the daughter, was a tall, handsomebrunette, several years past thirty; but she had manyadmirers, and among them one whom it was believedshe favored; but he knew, as did all the rest, thatMadelon Trueheart had declared she would nevermarry as long as her mother lived.

Molly felt sorry for that pale, sad Lady Trueheart,but sorrier still for Lord Westerly, Madelon’s faithfullover, who had loved her so long and vainly. Shewanted these two to be happy, as she was with heradored Cecil.

“Only, she would be happier still with her husband,for no hidden barrier would lie between them,”she sighed to herself.

It was odd what a close intimacy grew up betweenthe bride of seventeen and the woman of thirty-three.They managed to be together very often, and Mollywent several times a week to the house in ParkLane, and had the entrée of Miss Trueheart’s boudoir,and even her dressing-room; so at last she felt boldenough to keep a promise she had made Lord Westerly,to plead his cause with his obdurate fair one.

“We have been lovers for ten years, Mrs. Laurens,and my patience is almost exhausted,” he said. “Ihave told Madelon that she might be with her mothermost of the time, but she seems to think nothing butthe sacrifice of her whole life will satisfy her parents.”

“It looks hard,” said cordial Molly, with mistyeyes. “I’ll speak to her for you, Lord Westerly.”

“Heaven bless you, you good little soul!” exclaimed[Pg 96]his lordship, to whose forty years Mollyseemed nothing but a child.

So Cecil’s carriage rolled down Park Lane one dayand a vision of beauty stepped therefrom, and heldup her rosy lips for Cecil’s parting kiss, careless ofthe coachman’s stare and the footman’s grin.

“Bye-bye, Cecil; call for me in an hour,” she said,smiling, and after waiting until she had entered thehouse, he went away.

The baronet was out, and Lady Trueheart wasshut up with her maid and a headache. Molly wentat once to Miss Trueheart’s boudoir and happilyfound her alone.

“Now is my chance!” thought the lovely youngmatron.

She brought the conversation cleverly around toLord Westerly, talked of his manly worth, his goodlooks, his ample fortune: then she startled herfriend by crying out, abruptly:

“Oh, Miss Trueheart, why don’t you marry thisgood man and put him out of his pain?”

No one had ever arraigned Madelon Trueheartlike this before, and at first she was a little constrainedand stately in her answers.

“I have told Lord Westerly long ago that it wasuseless waiting for me, and that he would do betterto love some woman who was free to leave hermother and marry.”

“But, dear Miss Trueheart, daughters do leavetheir mothers and marry,” remonstrated Molly.

“I shall never leave mine!” said Miss Trueheart,firmly.

“She has her husband, even if you should leave[Pg 97]her, and he ought to be sufficient comfort if she lostall else!”

“But he is not, Mrs. Laurens, for he needs me almostas much as she does. My father, although heseems so cold and cross and sarcastic is in realityalmost near being broken-hearted as my mother. But,dear Mrs. Laurens, how much surprised you look.Has no one told you of our trouble?”

“Trouble?” Molly stammered.

“I should have said bereavement,” said MadelonTrueheart, tears softening the glitter of her cold,dark eyes, and Molly exclaimed, tenderly:

“Forgive me, I have heard nothing.”

“Then I must tell you, for I do not like for you tothink that my parents are selfish, and that I am cruelto the man I love.”

“Forgive me for interfering. I did not know therewas anything serious behind your refusal to marry.”

“Listen,” said Madelon, gently, “I am not angrywith you for interfering. You did not know whatothers do. Dear Mrs. Laurens, my parents had twochildren once, a son and daughter. Their son, mysenior by several years, died in the prime of youth,and it almost broke their hearts.”

“Died in his youth—oh, how sad!”

Tears that had been gathering on Molly’s lashesrolled down her cheeks.

“That was not the saddest part of it,” said MadelonTrueheart. “My dear, he was dead to us longbefore the coffin lid covered his handsome face fromthe sight of men. He offended my father and wasdisinherited and driven from home because he contracteda mésalliance.”

[Pg 98]

“A mésalliance,” Molly faltered, with a half sobthat this time was for herself, not Madelon Trueheart’sdead brother.

“Yes,” answered Madelon, sadly. “He was travelingin America and in New York he fell in love witha pretty actress. He married her and sent a letterto tell us what he had done. Father cursed his onlyson and forbade him to ever return to the home hehad disgraced.”

“An actress. It is always an actress that mustbreak hearts. What a cruel, wretched, proud worldit is,” Molly cried, with startling vehemence.

Madelon Trueheart looked at her in sad surprise.

“It is very kind of you to feel for us like that,”she said. “It was bitter, was it not! We are suchan old family and so proud! But we loved Ernestso—dear mother and I—that we would have forgivenhim, and made the best of his low-born bride.But, alas, father would not have it so. He forbadeus sternly ever to think of the erring one again.Then in just a little while—two years, no more—camethe message that he was dead.”

Molly lay back among the silken cushions of hereasy chair pale, but with burning eyes. She movedher lips slightly in an almost inaudible whisper:

“Ernest—Ernest Trueheart.”

“Was it not dreadful?” sighed Madelon. “I thinkfather must have been gradually growing more tender,for he almost went mad with remorse at thenews of Ernest’s early death. And mother, poorsoul, you can easily see that her heart is broken, andher health fading. She has never held up her headsince he died, though it is nearly fifteen years ago.[Pg 99]Can you blame me now, dear, that I feel it my firstduty to stay with my afflicted parents?”

Molly did not answer. She was sobbing softly inher handkerchief, and Madelon went on:

“If Ernest’s wife would have come to us when hedied we would have received her, and loved her forthe sake of the dead. But she was proud as we hadbeen, and refused our proffers with scorn. Motherwrote to her that if she had a child we wanted herto give it to us. But she did not even reply. Nonecould blame her, could they since father had been sohard at first?”

“What was her name?” asked Molly, almost in awhisper.

“It was Molly Glenn—so plain and common,father said, but Ernest wrote that she was goodand beautiful and a clever actress. I have no doubtshe was all three, for my brother was very fastidious.But my story has been too sad for you, dear Mrs.Laurens. It has grieved your gentle heart!”

Molly was saved from replying, for Miss Trueheart’smaid knocked softly to say that Mr. Laurenshad called for his wife, and was waiting. Hurriedlykissing her friend, the young wife ran down to joinher husband.

“Louise, my darling, your eyes are red. You havebeen crying,” he said to her, full of solicitude.

“Miss Trueheart was telling me a sad story aboutone of her friends,” she replied, evasively, and herejoined:

“I am sorry for that, for I, too, have a sad storyto relate—one that will distress you, I am sure.”

Molly gave a guilty start, and looked anxiously ather husband. He was looking pale and grave.

“Some one has betrayed me,” she thought, withher heart leaping into her throat, and his next wordsconfirmed her terror.

“Child, you have deceived me,” he said, with portentoussternness.

The clear blue sky, the streets and houses, allwhirled up in a wild confusion before Molly’s blurredsight. She fell heavily back against the carriage cushions,and it seemed to her as if the hand of deathgripped her heart.

“Oh,” she moaned, in a faint, almost dying voice.“I knew you would find me out some day, Cecil; forthe Lord’s sake forgive me!”

Cecil Laurens looked at his beautiful young wifein amazement. She had grown ghastly pale, even to[Pg 101]the lips, and her pallor was startling by contrast withher dark hair and brows, and wild, dilated eyes. Heput his hand on hers and found that it was icy cold.

“My darling, my darling; do not look so frightened.I am not an ogre. I am not going to kill youfor one little deception!” he exclaimed.

He was afraid she was going to faint, but at thosekindly uttered words, the warm color rushed suddenlyinto her face, and she turned her eyes on him,with an expression little less than adoring.

“Cecil,” she murmured, in an indescribable tone,leaning close to his shoulder, so close that he couldfeel the convulsive trembling that shook her form.

He was alarmed, and exclaimed, reassuringly:

“Darling, your little deception did not mattermuch. You kept the secret for your sister’s sake.Remember, I am not blaming you much.”

“Yes, oh, yes, for her sake!” faltered the girl,humbly. “I promised her never to betray it, but Ithought—thought you would be ready to kill me whenyou found me out! And you take it easily as this?Oh, my darling husband, you are an angel!”

“No, my dear, only a very faulty man, but passionatelyin love with my charming wife,” returnedCecil Laurens, with a wonderful sweetness in hisviolet eyes. Then drawing a letter from his breast,he added: “But you will want to read John Keith’sletter?”

“John Keith!—was it he who betrayed me?”Molly exclaimed, with sudden anger blazing from herdark eyes.

“Darling, what does it matter now? The truthcould no longer be hidden. And your poor friend in[Pg 102]writing to tell me that he was about to throw up hissituation and go south, gave as a reason for it thatdastardly divorce!”

“Divorce!”

“Yes, dear, but read it and see for yourself!”

“I—I can’t. The carriage goes too fast, and itmakes my head dizzy. Tell me, please,” Molly said,with white lips and startled eyes.

Cecil replaced the letter in his pocket, and said,excitedly:

“John Keith told me what you knew already—thatyour sister Molly Trueheart had been his wife by asecret marriage almost two years, and he added whatI suspected, that she was a mercenary, calculatingwoman. She refused to live with him even after Ihad placed him in a situation where he could supporther in comfort. Do not look so shocked, Louise,darling, for I have more to tell you. She, his unworthywife, went away secretly from her old home,and while in close hiding, secured a divorce from herunlucky husband on a plausible plea of desertion andnon-support. Louise, Louise!”

The last words were uttered in a tone of alarm, forhis wife had quietly fainted away.

Fortunately, they were almost home, for they werestaying just then at The Acacias, a pretty, villa-likeresidence occupied by Cecil’s parents.

“Drive faster!” Cecil thundered to the coachman,and held Molly’s limp form tightly against his heart,little dreaming that this was a parting embrace.

In a minute they paused in front of The Acacias,and Cecil got out of the carriage and went throughthe gate with his wife in his arms.

[Pg 103]

“Poor little one, I did not know she was so nervousand weak. She has had too much excitementlately, too much gayety. I must be more carefulwith my tender-hearted little wife. I will take heraway from London for a time to some quiet retreatwhere she can get her strength back,” he was thinkingas he went up the steps, and as he rang the bellhe pressed an adoring kiss on the pale face lyingon his breast.

The door was opened at once, and seeing thedrawing-room open and hearing his mother’s voice,Cecil went in hastily with his burden.

He had not expected to find any one in the roomexcept his father and mother, but the first person hiseyes encountered was a stranger—a tall, handsomewoman with abundant hair of the color of dead-gold,and eyes that matched the hair in hue with just alittle more of brightness caught from a yellowishgleam in the dilated orbs. Brows and lashes of thesame peculiar color as her hair went with a clear-whitecomplexion brightened with a tint of rougeupon the cheeks. Her tall, symmetrical figure wasdraped in rich black silk and jet and a bonnet ofthe same crowned her small head, the dark costumeintensifying her peculiar beauty.

Cecil Laurens’ gaze took in this stranger for justan instant before he saw behind her a tall, gauntfigure in gray silk that took him back with a rushto Ferndale. It was old Mrs. Barry herself, grimmerand grayer than ever, and with a stern aspectthat was enough to daunt the bravest soul.

Cecil laid his unconscious wife hurriedly downupon a sofa and exclaimed:

“Dear Mrs. Barry, this is very sudden and pleasant—butsee, my wife has fainted. Mother!”

Stately, aristocratic Mrs. Laurens trailed her silkenrobes slowly across the room, her husband following,until both stood in front of the sofa where Molly layin her unconscious beauty like one dead.

“She fainted in the carriage,” Cecil said, anxiously.[Pg 105]“What must I do for her? Shall I summona physician?”

“No!” said a sharp, sibilant voice before Mrs.Laurens could speak, and old Mrs. Barry crossed theroom stiffly and stood before Cecil.

In her feeble, cracked voice, sharpened by anger,and with features distorted by fury, she exclaimed:

“Call nobody, do nothing, Cecil Laurens! Let theimpostor who tricked an old woman and fooled ayoung man lie there and die! It is the best thingthat could happen to you both!”

“Mrs. Barry, you are certainly out of your mind!”exclaimed the young man, indignantly. He had alreadyfallen down on his knees and was chafingMolly’s cold, limp hands in both his own.

“Louise, Louise!” he called, anxiously, and thelady in black silk rustled forward.

“That is my name, sir,” she said, coolly. “I amLouise Barry, and that girl there,” contemptuously,“is only Molly Trueheart, my step-sister, who becameyour wife by one of the most stupendous fraudsever perpetrated on a confiding man!”

He stared at her as he had done at Mrs. Barry,and answered, angrily:

“You must be mad, woman! How dare you makesuch an assertion?”

Mrs. Laurens burst into bitter tears and laid herhand on his head.

“Oh, my son, it is the fatal truth!” she sighed.“That girl there, your wife, whom we loved and respectedas one of the Barrys, is only the daughter ofthe actress that Philip Barry married, and this lady isindeed Miss Louise Barry.”

[Pg 106]

“Mother, how can you say such false things?Father, can you stand there silent and let them traducemy pure and honorable wife?”

Mr. Laurens, who had a good, kind face, andlooked distressed beyond measure, replied, sadly:

“My poor Cecil, I fear it is the bitter truth. Mrs.Barry has every proof that she was imposed on bythat poor girl there, who took advantage of her credulityto make herself your wife.”

“I will not believe it!” thundered Cecil Laurens,fiercely. He caught his mother’s vinaigrette from thechain that secured it to her belt, and held it toMolly’s nostrils. “My darling, my darling!” he cried,frantically: “arise and face your accusers!”

But Molly never stirred from her death-likeswoon, and the golden-haired stranger cried out, imploringly:

“Oh, sir, listen to me, and I will convince you ofmy truth! Aunt Thalia, after long years of estrangementbecause of my father’s second marriage, wroteto me that she had relented, and would make me herheiress if I were still unmarried, but would havenothing to do with me in case I were. She also invitedme to make her a visit, that we might becomeacquainted with each other, as we had not met sincemy early childhood.”

“Yes, yes; that was what I wrote to Louise,” mutteredold Mrs. Barry, nodding her head till her cap-stringsfluttered as if in a breeze; and still Molly laythere unconscious.

The new claimant resumed:

“That letter fell into the hands of my madcapstep-sister, Molly, instead of mine, and she instantly[Pg 107]formed a clever plan of personating me, and becomingmy aunt’s heiress. She was a wild girl, and fondof what she called ‘larks,’ and I suppose she thoughtthis would be a capital one. So she hid the letterand ran away to Ferndale, arranging everything socleverly that we thought she had run away to marryan objectionable lover whom she favored, one JohnKeith.”

At that name a stifled groan escaped Cecil Laurens,and Louise Barry said, quickly:

“Ah! you have heard of him, perhaps?”

“Yes,” he muttered; and the scene of his weddingnight rushed freshly over Cecil, and a red-hot shaftof jealous doubt tore through his heart.

“Then,” said Louise Barry, significantly. “I shallsay no more about John Keith as she is your wife.What is the use,” pointedly, “of making bad mattersworse?”

“Hush!” he said, sternly, pointing to Molly, whosebreast began to heave with signs of returning life.

“She will have to know it all, so as well hear itnow as any other time,” said Louise Barry, and shewent on relentlessly, “About a month ago by an accidentI became possessed of the letter Aunt Thaliahad written to me, and I instantly suspected that Ihad been deceived. My aunt, Mrs. Everett, wrote toMrs. Barry asking for information, and received allthe details of the impostor’s career up to the time ofher marriage with you. Then we went to Ferndaleand Aunt Thalia insisted that we should cross theocean and free you from the toils of an adventuress!”

“I will not believe this horrible story of my dear[Pg 108]young wife. It is you who are the impostor, the adventuress!”muttered Cecil, angrily.

“Aunt Thalia, will you show him the proofs?”asked Louise Barry calmly, and with a cold, triumphantgleam in her golden colored eyes.

Mrs. Barry eagerly produced them, and in the midstof the heated argument Molly’s dark eyes opened suddenlyupon the scene with an incredulous stare, fallingfirst on Mrs. Barry’s ugly, angry face.

“Aunt Thalia—or, do I dream?” she exclaimedweakly, and the old lady answered tartly:

“You’re waking up now from a very fine dreamthat you’ve been dreaming almost a year, Molly Trueheart!”

Molly gave a gasp of terror. Her eyes had taken ineverything. Cecil’s stern white face, Louise Barry’striumphant one, and these coupled with Mrs. Barry’swords, assured her that all was discovered, that herdream of happiness was ended, her life with Cecil overand done.

Cecil was standing close to his wife with his armsfolded across his breast, his grave, troubled blue eyesfixed anxiously on her face. She met that expressiveglance, cowered, shivered, and flung up her hands tohide her guilty face.

At that expressive action in which Molly mutely acknowledgedher sin, a moment of intense silence fell.Cecil Laurens himself broke it in a voice of poignantanguish.

“It is true then, child? You have deceived Mrs.Barry, deceived me, and become my wife under a borrowedname!”

Molly drew one hand from before her face andpointed at the real Louise Barry.

“It was her fault,” she said, passionately, andLouise Barry answered, coldly:

“Do not add any more falsehoods to what you havealready done, Molly, for no one will believe you now!”

There was a veiled significance in the tone that thepoor, cowering girl understood but too well. Shudderinglyshe lifted her dark eyes to the face of CecilLaurens which had suddenly grown ashy pale andstern. She half extended her trembling hand to him.

“Cecil, you will believe me when I explain all?” shesaid, beseechingly.

But he replied with unmoved sternness:

“First tell me, is it really true that that lady is thereal Louise Barry?”

[Pg 110]

“It is true!” she replied, faintly, and shrinking fromthe fierce anger that leaped into those blue eyes as sheacknowledged the truth.

“And you,” he exclaimed, in a low, deep voice ofangry bitterness and scorn, “you are the daughter ofthe actress—you are Molly Trueheart!”

The ineffable scorn with which he named that namefired her soul as it always did with sharp resentment,and her eyes flashed with proud fire as she exclaimed:

“I am no longer Molly Trueheart, I am your wife,Mrs. Laurens.”

Louise Barry’s voice, sharp and clear and cruel,broke in maliciously:

“You are mistaken. Your marriage with Mr. Laurensbeing contracted under a false name and personalitywas illegal. You are therefore still Molly Trueheart,and he—is free—free as air!”

Cecil Laurens gave a quick start, and looked atMolly. Her face was white and wild with agony asshe sprang from the sofa and fell down at his feet.

“It is not—it is not true!” she gasped, in an agonizedvoice. “Cecil, Cecil, I am your wife, you are myhusband! Speak, tell her she speaks falsely!”

He was blindly, madly angry at the deception thathad been practiced on him. In his bitter wrath andoutraged pride he caught quickly at Louise Barry’scue.

“Get up, Molly Trueheart, do not kneel at my feet,for she speaks the truth!” he exclaimed, hoarsely.“Such a marriage would not stand in law. I amtherefore free of you, as Miss Barry has just toldyou.”

A shriek of mortal agony rang through the house;[Pg 111]as Molly sprang upward and stood before the handsome,angry man she loved, with an awful corpse-likeanguish on her girlish face. Her dark eyes clung tohis face despairingly, and she trembled like a wind-blownleaf.

No one spoke or moved, so intensely was the interestof all concentrated on those two central figures—theoutraged husband and the agonized young wife.Ere her cry of anguish had ceased to re-echo throughthe room, she wailed out, sharply, supplicatingly:

“You will forgive me, Cecil, you will make me yourwife, in truth, as I—thought I was. Oh, I can notbear this shame! I sinned through my love of you,and my remorse has been so great that I have neverknown one happy hour. But you loved me, Cecil, andyou can not unlearn your love so soon. You willmake me your wife?”

Such tears as fell from her eyes were hot enough toblister the fair face, such pain as racked her heart wasenough to atone for her sin, but the outraged husbandwas wild with wrath, and he answered in that voice ofsmoldering fury and indignant pride:

“Why, you are John Keith’s divorced wife. Youwere bound to him when you went through that farceof a marriage with me. Ah, I see through it all now,but I can not understand how you duped him, so as toget away with me, and then secure your divorce fromhim. I—”

“Hush, you shall not accuse me of that,” she interrupted,wildly. “There stands the heartless womanwho broke poor John Keith’s heart. She is his divorcedwife,” pointing an accusing finger at handsomeLouise Barry.

[Pg 112]

The magnificent-looking beauty lifted her hands andeyes to heaven with an expressive shrug of her gracefulshoulders.

“Heavens, what a false and wicked creature!” sheexclaimed. “Aunt Thalia, you have Aunt Lucy’s lettertelling you of Molly Trueheart’s entanglement withJohn Keith although we did not know it had gone asfar as a secret marriage.”

“Yes, I have the letter. Here, Cecil, read it,” exclaimedMrs. Barry, thrusting it into his hand.

Mechanically he ran his eyes over the open page,but presently a little hand plucked timidly at hissleeve.

“I do not believe Aunt Lucy Everett wrote thosefalsehoods about me,” cried Molly, dauntlessly, “shewas a good woman and as kind to me as cruel Louisewould allow her to be. You see she has not followedme to persecute me like these others.”

“She was sick and could not come,” Louise Barrysaid, with scornful composure, and again a silence fellthat was broken by Cecil’s voice, low and stern:

“This letter has the stamp of truth upon it. I haveindeed been cruelly, shamelessly imposed on by an adventuress.”

“No, no!” in a voice of agonized remonstrance.

“Hush!” he said, looking at her sternly, rebukingly.“I know you now for the false, treacherous creatureyou are, and your denials will not be heeded. I haveloved you, but I will tear you out of my heart and life.After this hour I will never willingly see your faceagain.”

She cried out, desperately:

“Oh, for sweet pity’s sake take back your words. I[Pg 113]am not the vile creature you believe me. The onlywrong I have done was in wedding you under a falsename. But you will be merciful, you will repair thatignorant deed, you will make me your real wife forthe sake of—” the beseeching prayer was never ended,for exhausted nature gave way and the girl fell gasping,and in a moment lay still as death upon the floor.

She came to herself after what seemed a long, longtime, and found that she was alone in the room butfor her maid, who was bathing her face and hands ineau de Cologne.

“Oh, Mrs. Laurens, I was afraid you were dead!”she exclaimed.

“I wish I were!” sighed the poor girl, bitterly, realizingall her desolation, and the maid, who had cleverlyfound out all that had passed, thought that it wouldindeed be better for the deserted wife.

She saw the dark eyes wandering wistfully aroundthe room, and said, compassionately:

“All the family are gone away, ma’am, and Mr.Laurens gave me this note for you.”

Molly took it with trembling fingers and read theangry words:

The sheet of paper dropped from Molly’s fingersand unconsciousness again stole over her—unconsciousnessso deep that she did not rouse at the furiousringing of the door-bell that announced an impatientvisitor who a minute later was admitted into the room.

It was Cecil Laurens’ brother, Dr. Charley, who hadrun over from Paris for a little visit with his homefolks, and who now cried out in amazement as hestumbled and nearly fell over the form of his beautifulsister-in-law.

Doctor Laurens had a profound admiration and regardfor his brother’s wife, and declared that Cecil,who had always been a lucky fellow, had capped theclimax of his good fortune in securing such a beautifuland charming bride. It was therefore with thegreatest consternation and distress that he beheldMolly’s condition, and heard from the indignant maidthe cause of it—a cause which lost nothing in thetelling, for Phebe had warmly espoused the side of herhelpless young mistress.

Doctor Laurens ran his eyes hastily over his brother’sletter that lay where it had fallen by Molly’s side,and then he bent his attention to restoring her to lifefrom the deep swoon that had enchained her consciousness.

“Poor little girl, poor little girl!” he sighed overand over as he lifted her in his strong young arms andbore her to her chamber preceded by the attentivemaid, who turned down the covers of the white bedand deftly disrobed Molly’s slight form, while DoctorLaurens waited patiently outside.

“Now then, you may come in, sir,” she said, openingthe door; and entering quickly the young physicianexerted himself to the utmost limit of his skill in restoringMolly to consciousness.

Phebe, who was an intelligent, middle-aged woman,aided him all she could; but success came slowly, andthe woman cried out in alarm that she feared heryoung mistress was dead.

[Pg 116]

“No, she is not dead. Her heart beats faintly. Shewill revive presently,” said Doctor Laurens, and headded something in an undertone at which the womanexclaimed, excitedly:

“I thought so myself, and I hinted it to the dearchild sometime ago, but she was so bashful she wouldnot believe me. Oh, this makes it all the worse forthe poor creature, and Mr. Laurens was cruel to leaveher, no matter what she had done.”

Doctor Laurens answered, gravely:

“I am sure my brother did not know this importantfact or he would have acted differently, Phebe.”

“Yes, sir,” said the woman, dropping him a profoundcourtesy.

“Are any of the servants beside yourself aware ofwhat has happened?”

The woman answered promptly in the negative.

“I saw Mr. Laurens bringing my mistress into thehouse in his arms and ran into the room to assist her—thatis how I overheard all,” she said, with such afrank, truthful air that Doctor Laurens immediatelyenjoined:

“You seem to be a good, intelligent woman, Phebe,and I want you to keep this secret locked in your ownbreast. Will you do so?”

“It shall never pass my lips, sir; for I’m sure mypoor young lady never did all them dreadful thingsthat lady said.”

“Thank you, Phebe, for your confidence in mysister-in-law. She does not look like an arrant sinner,does she, with that sweet, innocent face? Any way,no matter how she has sinned, her condition gives hera claim on my brother that he can not in honor disregard.So we will try to patch up a reconciliation between[Pg 117]them, and a remarriage may be necessary. Ispeak frankly to you, Phebe, seeing what a goodwoman you are, and devoted to that poor girl,” saidthe young man.

“Devoted—yes indeed, sir, for no servant ever hada sweeter, kinder mistress,” said the woman, in tears.

“Then you understand the vital necessity of savingher name from scandal, and I need caution you nomore about the strict keeping of her secret,” said theyoung physician as he again bent over his patient, inwhom he detected signs of returning life.

In fact Molly’s eyes opened languidly a few minuteslater with a puzzled air at finding herself in bed withthe gas lighted in the room, whereas her last recollectionhad been of the sunset hour.

“Cecil,” she murmured, with a restless movement,and Phebe said, soothingly:

“He is not here just this moment, Mrs. Laurens.You have been sick, and here is your brother-in-law,the doctor, who has been attending to you.”

She met Charley Laurens’ compassionate blue eyesfixed on her, and instant consciousness returned to hermind. Burying her face in the pillow her slight formshook heavily with anguished sobs.

“Let her alone, Phebe. Let nature have its way,and she will feel better after weeping,” said the sympatheticyoung doctor.

He was right, for when the tempest of sobs andtears had exhausted itself Molly began to grow quiet,and at last turned her pathetic, wet eyes on his face,and said, with a sort of wistful anger:

“Why are you here when all the rest have turnedagainst me and gone away?”

He answered, gently:

[Pg 118]

“I came and found you sick and alone save for yourfaithful maid. I stayed then to help to make youwell.”

With a restless movement she rejoined:

“I do not want to get well! You ought to knowthat. I want to die!”

“That is nonsense, my dear little sister, and I donot want to hear any more of it,” was the cheerfulresponse.

“Do you know all?” she asked, looking fixedly athim.

“Phebe has told me as well as she could, so I don’twant you to talk about it tonight, as you are in tooexcited a state to do so. I have a little powder herewhich I want you to take so that you may sleep welltonight, for I must go away in a little while and leaveyou in your good Phebe’s care,” he said, gently, likeone speaking to a sick child.

“Then I shall be quite deserted,” she murmured,plaintively.

“No, for I shall come again.”

“When?” pleadingly.

“Tomorrow.”

She caught his arm as he bent down to hold themedicine glass to her lips.

“You do not look scornful like the rest,” she panted.“Ah, won’t you—won’t you—beg him to forgive me?I was wicked, I know, but I have suffered so muchsince that it almost seems as if my remorse and sorrowhad washed out my sin. And—I loved him so! Howcould I help it when we loved each other so, and thatsecret would have parted us forever? Tell him, tellhim—” her voice broke in hysterical sobs, and hepushed her gently back among the pillows as he said:

[Pg 119]

“I’ll see him. Only be quiet, dear, and I’ll tell himall you said and more, for he shall know the sweetsecret you have been hiding from him—the secret thatwill surely bring him back to you.”

“No, no, he will not return; he has left me forever,”she sobbed, and turned her face from him so that itwas hidden from sight. He sat down patiently untilthe heaving breast grew quiet in the stillness of adrugged sleep, then leaving her in Phebe’s watchfulcare, went in search of his brother.

It was only as he went down the steps of The Acaciasand out into the gas-lighted street that he rememberedthat he had not the address to which his relativeshad gone.

“But it is to the Langham, of course. They alwaysgo there when they have not taken a house in town,”he said to himself, and turned his steps thitherward.

“It is early, thank Heaven, so they will not haveretired or gone out,” he thought, as he walked slowlyalong, pondering over the painful affair, and feelingprofoundly sad at the thought of Molly’s treachery.

“Her youth is her only excuse, and yet it seemsstrange that one so young and seemingly guilelesscould have conceived and carried out such a clever,wicked plan,” he thought, in wonder, and knowingCecil’s proud, honest nature as he did he could not feelsurprised at the latter’s indignant action in desertingthe girl who had thus deceived him.

“But according to Phebe’s description the realLouise Barry can not be one-half as charming as thepretended one,” he said to himself, recalling withsome amusem*nt the maid’s spiteful description of thelatter as a “yellow-headed, yellow-eyed, deceitful cat.”

His musings brought him at last to the Langham,[Pg 120]where he found as he had hoped and expected, hisfather, mother and brother registered.

He sent up his card, and his father sent down tohim to come upstairs to their private parlor, wherehe found his parents looking pale and dejected as theysat together alone.

Molly slept quietly the long night through, under theinfluence of the doctor’s soothing medicine, and it wasfar into the morning when she awakened and foundher faithful Phebe sitting by her side.

“Well, I thought you were going to sleep all day,Mrs. Laurens,” she exclaimed.

Molly started and rolled her heavy dark eyes aroundthe room.

“Has—has—any one been here to see me?” shequeried, faintly, an instant remembrance of her woesrushing over her mind.

“Yes, madame,” Phebe answered, and a wild lightof hope flashed into the big, pathetic eyes of her mistress.

“Not—not,” she exclaimed, and choked with painfulemotion, unable to utter another word.

“No, not your husband, my dear, but his brother,Doctor Charley,” said Phebe, gently stroking the littlehand that lay outside the cover, nervously beating thesilken counterpane. “He came and found you sleepingso sweetly that he said he would not wait, as hewas in a hurry to catch a train for Paris.”

“He has gone! My last friend has deserted me,”Molly exclaimed in sudden, keen disappointment anddespair.

“Not so bad as that, Mrs. Laurens, for he left anote that he said would explain all.”

“Give it to me, Phebe,” cried the poor child, sitting[Pg 122]upright in bed and holding out her eager littlehands.

She tore off the envelope in hot haste and read thehurriedly penciled lines with that morning’s date.

“God bless him! God bless him for his nobleheart!” Molly cried, with streaming eyes. “Oh,Phebe, is it not noble in him to befriend me when theyhave all forsaken me?”

“I have stood by you, too, Mrs. Laurens. Do notforget my love although it is so humble,” cried thefaithful maid.

Molly flung herself gratefully into her arms, andsobbed out her passionate thanks with raining tears.

“Yesterday I was rich in friends, but today I haveno one but you, dear Phebe, and Doctor Charley,” shesighed.

“Oh, my dear, do not take it so hard. All willcome right again. There now, lie down on your pillow,and let me bring you some breakfast,” she said,abruptly, to hide her emotion.

[Pg 123]

Molly lay there still and pale upon the pillow withquick tears raining from her forlorn eyes and drenchingher cheeks.

“It will never come right again—how should it?”she moaned. “I am found out at last in my sin andpunishment has fallen on me. Alas, the way of thetransgressor is indeed hard.”

She had always known that discovery would comesome time, that punishment would overtake her, thatshe would have to repent in dust and ashes for herstrange sin; but that it would come like this, with thishorrible disgrace upon its track she had no moredreamed than she had dreamed of being Queen ofEngland, or any other impossible thing.

“I have been loved by him. I have lived with him,believed myself his wife. I am soon to bear a childto him, yet I am not his wife, never have been, andnow he scorns and deserts me. Yet I brought it allupon myself by my ignorance and madness,” shesighed to herself, and so agonizing was this knowledgeto the young, devoted heart that it was a wonder thatit did not kill her outright. She would have been gladif it had done so, for death would have been a welcomerelief from the anguish of soul and body thatshe was enduring.

“God pardon my sin, and take me out of the world!”she prayed, despairingly, and there came over her agreat wonder at herself that she had come to such aterrible pass.

“Am I dreaming? Is this indeed Molly Trueheartwho a year ago was a child with no higher aim thanfun and frolic, with a heart as light as thistledown?Great Heaven, why did I ever let them send me to[Pg 124]Ferndale? Nothing but despair and disgrace has comeof it, and I have ruined my life forever for a fewmonths of bitter-sweet bliss,” she moaned, flingingup her hands and beating the air impatiently in impotentdespair.

The door opened and Phebe entered with a temptingbreakfast arranged on a silver service.

But Molly pushed the dainty viands loathinglyaway.

“As if I could eat while my poor heart is breaking,”she said, with pathetic eyes, and just then there camea light tap at the door.

Phebe sat down the tray and found one of the servantswaiting.

“A lady to see Mrs. Laurens,” he said. “I told hershe was sick, but she insisted, and—” he broke offwith a start, for the visitor was just behind him.

“I knew Mrs. Laurens would not mind, because Iam such an old friend,” she twittered, insolently, andpushed past Phebe into the room.

It was Louise Barry, handsome and smiling, in arich costume of dark silk and velvet.

“Oh, Molly, in bed yet? Luxury has taught youbad habits,” she exclaimed with a light laugh.

“My mistress is sick, madame,” exclaimed Phebe,banging the door shut, and turning on the visitor withsharp displeasure.

“Go away, Louise! I can’t bear the sight of you!”Molly cried, fretfully; but Miss Barry sank coolly intothe easiest chair in the luxurious room.

“Your manners are as bad as of old, Molly,” sheretorted, insolently. “But send your maid away,please; I want to talk to you privately.”

[Pg 125]

“I don’t want you to talk to me. I won’t sendPhebe away!” Molly cried out, defiantly, with flashingeyes.

Phebe planted herself aggressively in front of MissBarry.

“You must please go out and not disturb my sickmistress any longer, ma’am,” she said politely, butfirmly.

Louise measured her from head to foot with aninsolent glance of the handsome yellow-brown eyes.

“Nonsense, woman,” she replied curtly. “I camehere to have a private conversation with my step-sister,and I intend to do so. Therefore, the longer youremain and hinder my desire, the longer I shall stayhere and annoy you.”

Phebe looked decidedly belligerent, as she exclaimed:

“Shall I put her out of the room and lock the door,Mrs. Laurens? I’ll do it if you say the word.”

Molly looked sorely tempted to say yes, but sheturned again to Louise.

“Will you go away and leave me in peace? I donot want to have any trouble with you, Louise,” shesaid, pleadingly.

“I will not go until I get ready. You ought to knowme better, Molly, than to oppose me like this. Youknow, of old, that I always have my own way.”

“Yes, you have always done so—to my despair anddestruction,” Molly groaned, bitterly, but Louise gavean incredulous laugh.

“I had nothing to do with your marrying Cecil Laurens,”she observed, dryly.

[Pg 127]

“You made it impossible for me to decline doing sowithout putting your interest in jeopardy,” Molly retorted.

“I think I told you I would not discuss private mattersbefore your maid, Molly. Are you ready to sendher away?”

“Since I can not get rid of you without—yes,” criedMolly, petulantly, overruled as she had always beenby the other’s despotic will.

“You may retire a few moments, Phebe; but remainwithin call,” she said to the maid, who went outreluctantly, and with a resentful toss of her headtoward Miss Barry.

Then they looked fixedly at each other, the handsome,insolent woman and the pale, wretched girl.

“Oh, Louise, how did you have the heart to doall that you have done?” Molly cried out, passionately.

“You can ask me that? After your treachery toCecil Laurens?” scornfully.

“You were to blame. Why did you make me staythere when I begged to come away? I shall tell Cecileverything, and then he can not in justice be so hardon me,” Molly exclaimed, passionately; but she shrankfrom the cold, cruel smile that curled the red lips ofher handsome step-sister.

“You will tell him nothing. He would not believeyou if you went down on your knees to him. Besides,I wonder how you can think of telling him anything,of ever seeing him again even, when he has desertedyou and gone away rejoicing that you were not hiswife, and refusing to repair your disgrace.”

A low, anguished moan was the only reply of thegirl whose face was buried in the bed-clothes, for[Pg 128]those low, stinging words had maddened her withshame.

Louise went on, icily:

“I came here this morning to offer to help you inyour arrangements for going away. I expected to findyou gone already indeed, for how can you have thehardihood to stay here in Cecil Laurens’ house afterwhat has happened? He is nothing to you, less thannothing!”

“Hush, Louise! I am his wife in the sight ofHeaven!” the wretched wife cried out in passionatedenial, and the utter agony of her face might havemoved a heart of stone, but Louise Barry was pitiless.

“Nonsense!” she said, curtly. “Your marriageunder a false name and identity is utterly void in law,and Cecil Laurens was quick to take advantage of thefact. You are a disgraced creature, and nothing remainsto you but flight to some far secluded spot,where none who know you now can ever hear of youagain.”

Molly sat upright among her pillows, and her eyesflashed resentfully.

“Oh, yes, that is what you would like!” she exclaimed.“You want to hustle me out of sight somewhere,thinking that I shall never have the opportunityof telling Cecil the part you took in sending me toFerndale under a borrowed identity; but I shall tellhim all when I see him again, and then he shall judgebetween us.”

Suddenly Miss Barry arose from her seat, steppedquickly to the bed, and caught Molly’s hot, writhinghands in both her strong, cool, white ones. It was afierce, vindictive grasp that pained Molly’s tenderwrists, and, looking up with frightened eyes, she sawthat Louise’s face was working with fury.

“Look at me, Molly Trueheart!” she hissed, savagely,and Molly’s dark, piteous, tearful orbs liftedreluctantly to meet that gaze filled with tigress fury.

Louise continued, fiercely:

“Since you came to live with us as a child, Molly,have you ever known me to give up anything on whichI had set my heart?”

“No,” sighed the trembling girl.

“Have I not forced you in every instance where ourwills clashed to yield to me?”

“Ye-es,” half sobbed the agonized victim, with ashudder.

“Very well, then, since you own this, Molly, youought not to be surprised that I intend to adhere tomy purpose. So I say now, briefly, and for all, thatyou shall never betray my part in your going to myaunt at Ferndale. I have told Cecil Laurens that itwas all your treachery, and you shall not betray me!”

“But I will! I must! Oh, Louise, you must bemad to think I could let him go on thinking so hardlyof me! I shall tell him, or Doctor Charley, or—or—anyone who will listen to me,” piteously.

[Pg 130]

“No one will listen to you, you little fool!” Louisehissed, angrily.

She pinched the little wrists tighter in her fiercegrasp, and gave Molly such a vicious shake that shecried out in pain and terror.

Bending lower, she went on, cruelly:

“Do you know what I would do to you, Molly, ifyou attempted to betray me?”

“No-o, Louise! Oh, let go my hands, you hurtme!”

“Never mind your hands; I’ll pinch them as long asI choose! I ought to beat you for your ill-behavior,but I won’t. You’re getting too big to be punished thatway now. But, Molly, if you ever come between meand my plans, if you ever tell what you know of me,I’ll kill you!”

“I—I’m not afraid!” muttered Molly, but her teethchattered, and her slight form shook as if with anague chill.

“You are afraid! You are almost dead with terrorthis minute, for you know me, Molly Trueheart! andyou know I’ll keep my word as sure as there’s a Godin heaven, or a devil in hell!” menacingly exclaimedher persecutor.

Molly’s head drooped wearily a moment, and heavy,labored sighs rose from her tortured breast.

“I wish I were dead!” she sighed, bitterly, to herself;then she looked up with sudden defiance atLouise, and said, with passionate emphasis:

“Very well, then, Louise, I’ll dare all for the sakeof having Cecil know the truth, for he could not thinkquite so badly of me then, and perhaps he would pity[Pg 131]me a little in my early grave after I had been murderedfor telling him the truth!”

Louise dropped the little hands, and stepping back apace, regarded Molly in silent, vengeful fury. Therewas so deadly a wrath in the look that the sick girlcowered and shivered, and fell to rubbing the softwrists and hands that were black and blue from thecruel grasp of Louise’s hands.

“You defy me, you weak, puny thing!” the latterhissed, fiercely. “Molly Trueheart, you must be mad,indeed. Do you think I will leave you here now tobetray me?”

Molly looked at her in sudden apprehension.

“What do you mean?” she faltered.

“I’m going to take you away from this house andhide you where you can never find any one to listento your story,” her tormentor answered, audaciously.

She sat down again in the great purple velvet chair,and looking insolently at her victim, observed coolly:

“I’m going to sit here until you faint, and then Ishall carry you out to my carriage and drive off withyou.”

“I’m—not—going—to faint!” Molly muttered, buther lips were purple already, and her eyes dim, whilea horrible sinking feeling stole over her form.

She struggled desperately against it, and LouiseBarry laughed, mockingly.

“You will be unconscious in five minutes,” she said.“I see it stealing over you, now. You are worn outby all that you have suffered, and you can not bear upagainst your terror of me!”

Molly knew that her enemy’s words were true. Alreadya subtle weakness was stealing over her, and shesaw Louise’s handsome, mocking, cruel face dimly, asthrough a blood-red mist. She felt as if a deadlyvampire were feasting on her life-blood and struggledwildly to cry out, to call assistance in her terrible need.

But her lips seemed parched and dry, her tongueclung to the roof of her mouth, feeling stiff and swollenand almost paralyzed. Life seemed swiftly ebbing,and her foe sat there watching her gloatingly. A momentof sharp, cruel, agonized struggling against theawful sensation, and Molly swooned as her enemy hadpredicted.

It was the hour of Louise’s triumph.

She ran into the dressing-room and quickly possessedherself of a long cloth cloak with a hood. Runningback, she threw aside the bed-covers and flungthe cloak around Molly’s form. Then she attemptedto lift the girl in her strong arms and bear her awayas she had threatened.

To her surprise she found that the burden was tooheavy for her strength and dropped it back on the bedwith a muttered exclamation of dismay.

“Why, I have lifted her up and shaken her a hundredtimes. What does this mean?” she exclaimed,and flung back the cloak from the silent form.

A cry of rage escaped her lips, and her eyes flashedwith fury.

[Pg 133]

She had found out Molly’s shyly guarded secret ata glance.

Louise Barry almost went wild with rage at thisdiscovery. She pushed Molly’s silent form rudelyfrom her, and exclaimed, angrily:

“I hate her more than ever now, for if he knowsthis he will return to her for his own honor’s sake.What shall I do, what shall I do to keep them apart,for my secret will be betrayed it she meets him again.”

The door opened and Phebe stalked in, grim andanxious. When she saw Molly lying pallid and unconsciouson the bed, she uttered a cry of alarm andpushed Louise roughly away.

“What have you done to my poor young mistress?”she exclaimed.

“I have done nothing. It is a faint, simply,” Louiseanswered, carelessly.

“It looks like death,” Phebe muttered, bringingeau-de-Cologne to lave the girl’s face and hands. Hereyes at that moment fell on the thick cloak. “Whoput this cloak here?” she exclaimed, suspiciously.

“I did. She seemed so chilly that I laid it over herto keep her warm,” the wily woman answered, coolly.

Phebe turned upon her, her rough, homely face palewith anger.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, bluntly. “I believeyou’ve tried to spirit Mrs. Laurens away, and I camein here just in time to prevent you!”

“How dare you talk to me so, woman? I have aright to take her away if I choose. She is my step-sister,and I am the guardian of her honor.”

“You’re her tormentor, and you’ve made all thismischief between her and her husband, and if you[Pg 134]don’t get out of here pretty quick I’ll put you out byforce!” stormed Phebe, losing her temper, in her resentmentagainst the audacious intruder.

“I shall stay here as long as I please, and I dare youto interfere with me!” Louise answered, insolently,but she had miscalculated the will and the strength ofMolly’s defender, for the next instant she felt herselflifted off her feet and carried out of the room, alongthe hall and down the stairs like a whirlwind in thearms of angry Phebe, who never stopped until sheopened the front door, pushed her victim out on thesteps, and slammed and locked the door in her startledface.

Then Phebe turned to two astonished footmen whostood grinning and wondering in the hall.

“If any of you men ever let that woman into thishouse again it will cost you both your situations!”she said, sharply, and flew upstairs again to her mistress.

Meanwhile, Louise Barry, chagrined and foiled, andsilently vowing revenge, went down the steps to hercarriage, and to her dismay encountered Mrs. Laurensthe elder, who had also alighted from her carriage,and just at the foot of the steps witnessed with dismayLouise’s summary ejectment from the house.

“My dear Miss Barry, what does this mean?” sheejacul*ted, without waiting for the preliminaries of aformal greeting.

Louise put on her most injured air.

“You saw that woman put me out of the house byforce?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“That was some more of Molly Trueheart’s work,”Louise exclaimed, seeing here another opportunity toinjure her victim.

“Impossible! She could not be so mean!”

“Ah, Mrs. Laurens, you can not gauge the depthsof Molly Trueheart’s wickedness. I went to her on amission of sisterly kindness and she repulsed me, insultedme, and with the help of that great amazon, hermaid, forcibly ejected me from the house.”

“After all I had heard I would not have believed she[Pg 136]could be guilty of this!” Mrs. Laurens exclaimed inhorror.

“She is incorrigible,” Louise said, with a heavysigh. “I went to her and offered to take her awayand provide for her, knowing that your son’s housecould no longer be a home for her, and pitying her inspite of the injury she had done me. But—well, yousaw, Mrs. Laurens, what reception I met from thaterring girl!”

“Dreadful!” sighed Mrs. Laurens in profound distress.

“Is it not?” exclaimed Louise, adding, eagerly,“Will you not aid and abet me, dear madame, in removingher, by force if necessary, from this house thatis no longer a proper shelter for her head?”

“Ah, that I only might. The task would be mostgrateful,” Mrs. Laurens answered. “But a far differentpurpose is mine now.”

“Different?”

“Yes, Miss Barry, different and most unwelcome.Instead of banishing that wretched girl from this roofforever, I am here to protect her from the consequencesof her sin, to shield her by my presence fromthe faintest breath of scandal. In short, to keep theworld from ever knowing the story of her folly andsin.”

Louise paled and trembled.

“Dear madame, what can you mean?” huskily.

“I mean that since yesterday embarrassing exigencieshave arisen that make it impossible for us to desertMolly Trueheart, great as her treachery has been;”and in a few words she told Louise what she alreadyknew—the condition of Molly—that made it imperative[Pg 137]on Cecil, for his own honor’s sake, to give heronce more the shelter of his name.

“You will not have him marry her over again!Good heavens, that will be putting a premium on hertreachery, and—and—he hates her now. She couldnever be his beloved again!” Louise cried, in wildalarm and secret rage.

“No he can never tolerate her again, she will neverbe aught but his wife in name only. He will spendhis time apart from her, of course; but to the worldshe must still appear an honored and beloved wife forthe sake of the child that is coming to Cecil. We areall coming back here to stay in order to keep up appearancesbefore prying eyes; but, of course, our intercoursewith her will be of the barest sort. She will bedespised among us, and it will be a mercy to us all ifProvidence should remove her from Cecil’s way whenthe hour of her trial comes,” cried Mrs. Laurens, resentfully.

Louise Barry went away from that meeting withMrs. Laurens with a heart burning with secret wrathand jealousy.

“Am I going to be foiled like this, betrayed like thisby that chit of a girl?” she muttered gloomily.

Her prospects did indeed look dark, for if Mollyshould tell what she knew and get any one to believeher, Louise’s fortune for which she had schemed andplotted would be ruined.

“Aunt Thalia would certainly drive me away fromher forever if she found out about John Keith and thedeception I practiced to gain her fortune,” she thought,fearfully, and her wrath against Molly grew andstrengthened with every hour.

“I could kill her—the little mar-plot! Why did shemarry Cecil Laurens? All would have gone well butfor that!” she muttered, clinching her hands angrilyagain as she had done when Molly’s helpless fingerslay between them.

When she reached the Langham where she and oldMrs. Barry had luxurious apartments, she went atonce and told her aunt the same garbled story she hadtold Mrs. Laurens about her summary ejectment fromThe Acacias.

The old lady was furious.

“She ought to be hung—that Molly Trueheart!”she exclaimed, viciously, and Louise answered, withequal venom:

“Yes, but instead of being punished for her sin they[Pg 139]are going to shield her from disgrace and drive poorCecil Laurens into a new entanglement with her forthe sake of a scruple of honor.”

“It shall not be. It is the wish of my heart thatCecil should marry you. We must prevent this sacrifice!”Mrs. Barry stormed.

“But how, Aunt Thalia?”

“Send for that John Keith wherever he is, Louise.I’ll bribe him to take her away before they push Cecilinto a second marriage!”

Louise grew pale as ashes, and clinched her handstightly together in her lap.

“Well, what do you say to my plan, eh, why don’tyou speak?” demanded the grim old lady, sharply.

“It—will—not—answer. He is at the other side ofthe world. I should not know where to send for him,and I am quite sure he would refuse to have any moreto do with his faithless wife,” Louise answered,slowly, with averted face.

“The little baggage! I should not blame him!”snapped Mrs. Barry, her seamed and wrinkled faceworking with anger. She went on, impatiently:“Well, then we must think of some other plan. Thatmarriage must never take place.”

“No, they must be kept apart. We must think ofsomething else,” Louise answered, but it was easierproposing plans than carrying them out. Fate, thathad played poor Molly so many ill turns in her brieflife, seemed relenting a little now.

None of the plans which the plotters proposed toeach other could be carried out, for Cecil Laurens didnot come home with Doctor Charley, although he wasdaily and hourly expected, and Louise was unable togain an entrance into The Acacias, although she called[Pg 140]daily and tried to send in her card to Cecil’s mother.

The servants, mindful of Phebe’s threat, alwaysshut the door in her face and refused to take cards ormessages.

“Young Mrs. Laurens is lying ill, and the familyreceive no visitors,” was what she heard daily, andold Mrs. Barry, when she called one day, fared nobetter.

“She must really be sick,” Louise said, when heraunt returned from the fruitless attempt, and sheadded to herself with a guilty blush: “I hope she willdie!”

To the faithful Phebe, who hung anxiously over thesick-bed, it seemed as if this wish would come true,for Molly was very ill after she recovered from theswoon into which she had fallen from sheer terror ofher foe. A physician had to be summoned at once,and he pronounced the patient in a dangerous condition,and charged Phebe to be very careful lest by theslightest neglect that young life should be lost.

Phebe carried out his orders with patient, unswervingdevotion, knowing well that in this dark hour shewas the sufferer’s only friend.

And indeed she had to fight for this position, andhold it in the teeth of the elder Mrs. Laurens’ grimdispleasure, for Louise’s artful tale had so wroughtupon that lady’s feelings that she immediately soughtout Phebe and told her to take her discharge with amouth’s wages instead of the customary warning.

“Indeed, then, mem, with all due respect to yourgray hair, I can’t take my discharge from anybody butMr. Cecil himself. He it was that engaged me, mem,and I promised him I’d be a faithful servant to myyoung mistress, so how could I desert her now in her[Pg 141]trouble, when every one has gone against her and shehasn’t a friend but me?” expostulated Phebe.

“You are impertinent, woman!” Mrs. Laurens exclaimed,with a frown.

“I’m sorry you think so, mem; I don’t mean to beso, but I can’t desert my mistress now.”

“I shall engage a sick-nurse,” Mrs. Laurens saidloftily.

“I beg your pardon, mem, but you couldn’t find abetter sick-nurse than me anywhere, if I do say it myself,”said Molly’s stanch friend sturdily; and so sheheld her situation in the teeth of all opposition.

It was not an enviable task she had either, for allthe care of the invalid devolved upon her and thephysician; Mrs. Laurens only making two short callsdaily, morning and evening—calls that never exceededfive minutes in duration, and which did the sick girlmore harm than good, for she was so frightened bythe lady’s cold words and frigid looks, that they senther into shivering fits that lasted long after the ceremoniouscalls were over.

“She is a cold-hearted, cruel woman, and makesyou worse whenever she comes. I’ll never let her inagain if you’ll give me leave to keep her out, my dear!”exclaimed the indignant maid.

But Molly cried out in terror that not for worldswould she treat Cecil’s mother with such indignity.

“I can not blame her for being angry with me. Ideserve it all for my treachery and it is very good ofher to stay here, as you say she does, to keep mysecret from the world,” she sighed, in sad humilityand remorse. “So let her come when she will, Phebe,and never tell her how her cold looks frighten me andmake me worse.”

Mrs. Laurens was not a hard woman, but she couldnot help being very angry with the girl who had deceivedher son, and she felt, although she would nothave openly admitted it, that she would not be sorry ifthe accident that the physician was trying to preventshould happen.

“Cecil would not have to take her back to spoil hislife further,” she said to herself, and no pity came toher for the girl whose young life was spoiled also bythe sin into which her love had led her.

Anger and resentment were too strong to admitsweet pity into her breast.

“I must not wish that she should die, yet that wouldbe the best thing that could happen for her and for usall,” she thought more than once.

So it happened that she took no part in nursing theinvalid beyond the mere cold duty calls she mademorning and night for the sake of appearances.

But the accident for which she could not help hopingdid not occur, owing to the care of the physician,and the good nursing of Phebe. Molly began to getgradually better and to look with hollow, restless orbsfor the return of the proud, angry husband who hadrepudiated and forsaken her when he discovered hertreachery.

“Will he never come again, Phebe?” she wouldmoan restlessly when two weeks had passed andneither Doctor Charley nor his brother had returned toLondon.

[Pg 143]

“Doctor Laurens will be sure to bring him as soonas he finds him. Try to be patient, dearie,” Phebewould reply, tenderly, but Molly would sob hopelessly,believing that fate had done its worst for her, andthat Cecil would never return.

“I can never tell Lady Madelon and her parents thetruth now. They would be ashamed of me, theywould not acknowledge me,” she thought, with bitterpain, and when Lady Trueheart and her daughterwho in common with the rest of the world were ignorantof the tragedy at The Acacias, called to see theiryoung favorite, Molly was so silent and distrait thatthey thought her even sicker than she was, and wentaway with the gravest apprehension for her life.

Three weeks passed, and Molly was well enough tosit up in her easy-chair, well enough to walk from herbed to the window, but no tidings came from Cecil,nothing but the invariable note that Charley sentevery few days, saying simply:

“I am following on his trail, but I have not foundhim yet!”

Oh, that cruel suspense; how it fretted Molly’sheart and nerves; how it maddened her with misery!

“Gracious Heaven! am I not atoning tenfold formy folly?” she sighed over and over in those wearyweeks, each one of which seemed longer than a year.

In those days of suspense, illness, and despair, thegirl became only a wan shadow of the lovely madcapwho had won Cecil Laurens in spite of himself, andmade him for almost a year the happiest of men.

The soft hue of happiness faded from her face thathad lost all its pretty dimples and childish plumpness;[Pg 144]the sweet lips took on an anguished droop, and theplaintive sorrow in the hollow dark eyes was enoughto move the hardest heart.

Every day she had a long, hard, hysterical spell ofweeping in Phebe’s arms, and the maid declared afterwardthat these bitter sobs and tears had saved heryoung mistress from madness or death from a brokenheart.

“They kind of relieve her feelings, those tears,” shesaid, knowingly.

And if she had been as cultured as she was wise,she would have exclaimed with the poet:

Molly did not know that those tears were saving her,for it seemed as if her heart would burst when sheshed them on Phebe’s motherly breast. But they relievedher pent-up agony all the same, and made hercalmer and more patient for the rest of each longweary day as it glided slowly into the irrevocable past.

It seemed to Molly as if she should never see Cecilagain, as if in spite of all Doctor Charley’s hopes hewould never return to her who had deceived him. Abitter pride began to stir in her heart.

“I have no right here. I ought to have gone withLouise when she told me,” she said to herself, sadly,for her sensitive pride would not permit her to discussher situation with Phebe, although she felt certain thatthe maid knew all.

But one day she became aware that there was a suddenstir and confusion in the house as of a sudden arrival.Her heart leaped wildly.

“It is Cecil!” she exclaimed, gladly, and her first impulsewas to leave the room in search of him; but thethought of Mrs. Laurens’ cold eyes and scornful lipsdrove her back with her feet upon the threshold.

“I must wait. He will come to me here,” she murmured,sinking back into her chair and trembling withjoyful agitation.

Phebe hurried in presently with a beaming face.

“Oh, my dear, your husband is come!” she exclaimed,joyfully.

“Yes, I know—my heart told me,” said the eagergirl. “Oh, Phebe, how soon shall I see him? Will hecome to me here?”

“Of course, my pet. But try to be patient, Mrs.Laurens. He is with his father and mother now.”

“I ought to be first!” Molly cried, with kindlingcheeks, then the flush faded quickly as it had come,[Pg 146]and she murmured, plaintively: “but I can not expectthat now. I must be content with the slightestfavors. I shall be thankful only to see him once again.”

She looked wistfully at Phebe.

“Am I very thin? Do I look very ill?” she asked,anxiously.

“Do not bother about your looks, my dear. No onecould expect you to look well in your condition andafter such an illness,” the maid cried, soothingly.

“But I must not look ugly in Cecil’s eyes. He usedto think me so pretty. Oh, Phebe, can’t you fix me alittle so that I shall not look so ill? And draw thecurtains, and soften the light. It shines too brightlyon my faded face.”

Phebe humored her as if she had been a sick child.She dropped the heavy curtains of silk and lace betweenthe girl’s face and the too garish light of day.Then she brought from the dressing-room a rose-pinkwrapper trimmed with soft swan’s-down and pinksatin ribbons. When Molly was dressed in this, andher curly hair arranged in a pretty, careless, fluffyfashion, she looked lovely in spite of her illness anddelicate pallor.

“You are pretty enough now to win his love overagain,” declared Phebe, fondly. “Now sit here quietlyin this chair, and wait for him patiently until hecomes.”

“Did he say he would come soon, Phebe?”

“He did not speak to me, my dear. I only saw himcome in at the door with his brother, and they wentinto the parlor with their parents. But of course,when they tell him how sick you have been, he willhasten to you.”

Molly did not answer, only sat with wide-open dark[Pg 147]eyes fixed on the closed door. An excited color glowedon her cheeks, and her parted lips emitted quick, almostsobbing, breaths. To herself she was saying,feverishly:

“I will throw myself at his feet and tell him everything.He will see that Louise was as much to blameas I was, and he can not refuse to forgive me. If hedoes, I shall die!”

She looked around with her wistful, fever-brighteyes at Phebe.

“I’m not impatient,” she said, plaintively; “but heis so long in coming! It is more than an hour.”

“Only fifteen minutes by the clock since he enteredthe house, dear Mrs. Laurens,” answered Phebe, glancingat the pretty little Swiss affair on the mantel thattold off the fleeting hours.

A muffled step sounded on the thick hall carpet outside.It paused, and a gentle hand rapped on the door.Molly’s mobile face grew radiant with love, hope, andjoy.

“Cecil!” she murmured, in a thrilling voice, andPhebe moved to the door and threw it wide open.

“Come in,” she said, and there entered Doctor Laurens!

There was no one behind him, for he closed the doorand crossed over to the side of the waiting girl.

“Sister,” he said, gently, bending down and liftingher wasted little hand to his lips.

She let him kiss it in dead silence. Her face hadgrown ashy white, the light had faded from her eyes,the color from her lips.

“Sister,” he repeated again, holding her hand andlooking anxiously into her changed face; but Molly’slips moved nervously without giving forth a sound.

“Doctor Laurens, she’s disappointed. She thoughtyou would bring her husband,” Phebe said, bluntly.

“I did. I thought she knew,” he replied, in surprise;and he continued, tenderly; “Yes, I havebrought him back to you, little girl, after a hard chase,and may the Lord deliver me from ever again havingto follow a man who has run away from his own misery.Jove! but he gave me a run, although I capturedhim at last, on one of the coldest peaks of Switzerland.”

Phebe rejoined, impatiently:

“I have told her he was in the house, Doctor Laurens,but she was waiting for him to come to her here—inthis room, you understand.”

He understood, for his face changed and clouded.He said, in an embarrassed tone:

“Ah!”

Molly seemed to recover speech. She faltered, anxiously:

“I long to see him.”

[Pg 149]

“Poor child!” exclaimed Doctor Charley, with readysympathy. He hesitated a moment, then said, gently:“Try to be patient a little longer, my dear. He is aptto be a little hard when he is vexed and hurt; but—”

She interrupted him with a piercing cry.

“Do you mean that he will not forgive me—that hehas no pity for me?”

“Gently, sister!” said Doctor Charley, full of sympathyfor the forlorn young creature. “Listen, now,and do not interrupt me. Cecil is angry still, but hehas come back to repair the wrong caused by your ignorancein wedding him under a false name. He willmake you his wife again by a private ceremony herein this room tomorrow.”

“Oh, may Heaven bless him for that noble deed! Iknew he could not desert me like that, when helearned all. Oh, Doctor Charley, bring him to me; Ihave so much to say to him!” Molly exclaimed, fullof eager joy and hope.

He shook his head, and said, sadly enough:

“It is quite useless, my dear little sister, to ask meto bring him, for he has refused to come. He is angrystill, as I told you, and he will not see you until thehour of the ceremony that makes you again his wife!”

She stared at him aghast, the momentary hopefulnessfading from her face.

“Do not look at me like that—I could not movehim!” he said, imploringly. “Come, be reasonable, mychild. You did not expect him to forgive you all atonce, did you?”

“No,” she faltered.

“And you were right,” he answered, reluctant topain her, but knowing that her heart must be probed[Pg 150]still further ere it might be healed. “Cecil is veryproud, you know, and he finds it hard to forgive yourdeceit. He thinks he is only to marry you again forthe sake of the child that is coming to bear his name,but I am sure that underneath the crust of his angerand resentment his love for you lives yet.”

Her head drooped sadly to her breast, and she sighedheavily while he continued:

“It must be your task, my sister, to win thiswounded heart back to you. Cecil is hard and proud,but he is just. When he sees your remorse and repentancehe will be sorry for you, he will pity you, andwith the coming of your child the cloud will pass fromyour lives, and you will be happy again.”

He spoke more sanguinely than he had cause tospeak, but he believed that unless he could whispersome hope and comfort to that crushed heart, it mustbreak beneath the weight of its shame and sorrow.And he was right, for as he ceased speaking she liftedher bowed head, and said, with a faint, waveringsmile:

“God bless you for your prophecy, my noblebrother! Ah, if the deepest devotion woman ever feltcan melt his proud heart, I will lay that devotion athis feet and plead with him for pardon and love.”

If Cecil had been angry with his wife when he firstentered the house, his interview with his mother didnot tend to lessen his resentment.

She told him at once the story she had heard fromLouise Barry relative to her summary ejectment fromthe house.

“Did you hear of anything so low, so ill-bred?” sheexclaimed.

And the fastidious Cecil shuddered.

“And to think that this ill-natured, treacherouscreature was your wife—will be your wife again! Oh,Cecil, is it necessary, do you think, this sacrifice ofyourself?”

“Mother!”

That word and the stern glance of his proud blueeyes made her quail.

He looked wan, wasted, wretched. She had neverseen her handsome Cecil look so ill, and it made herwrath all the more bitter against her who had causedit, but she dared say no more, for he went on, rebukingly:

“I hardly expected this from you, my mother. Saythat she deserves no mercy for her treachery to poorJohn Keith and to me, and I will agree with you; butyou must be aware—Charley says he told you—thatthere is another question involved now—a point ofhonor.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she answered, sighing.

He went on, with grave seriousness:

[Pg 152]

“The little one that is coming to me had no part inthe sin of its ignorant young mother, and should notbear the consequences of her treachery. Neither wouldit be right that a shadow should rest on the mother thatthe world might visit on the child. Therefore, it isbest that I should go through another ceremony withher, to make all things secure for honor’s sake.”

“You will live with her again?”

With a slight flush he answered:

“Nominally, yes. That is to say, she will be an inmateof my home, and I shall treat her with respectbefore my household and before the world. But, beyondthat, we shall be as utter strangers.”

“She ought to be thankful for even that grace. Fewwould have granted so much, but the honor of theLaurens is above everything else. Still, it will be ahard life for you, my son.”

“If I can not endure it, I will travel,” he replied.

“You will be an exile for the sake of that girl, yourlife spoiled, your heart empty—oh, it is cruel!” sheexclaimed.

“Do not pity me, mother, I can not bear it!” he said,hastily, then rising: “I think I must get Charley andgo out as we have to make arrangements for that privateceremony in the morning. Of course you know itmust be managed so that it may never come to theworld’s ears?”

“I know. I will see to all that, but I think you hadbetter ask the Barrys to be present,” she said.

“I will ask them,” he replied.

The door opened, admitting Doctor Charley.

“I am ready to go with you, Cecil, to see about thelicense and the minister.”

“Thank you,” then with inexpressible bitterness:[Pg 153]“Let us be quite sure to have the right name thistime.”

“All right. I asked her and she wrote it down forme here,” handing Cecil a card on which he read in afamiliar chirography that made his heart throbfiercely, the simple name:

“Mary Ernestine Trueheart.”

Charley continued, kindly:

“Her age is about eighteen. She could not havebeen much more than a child when you first saw her,Cecil?”

“Mrs. Barry said she was five-and-twenty,” he replied,and there flashed over him a remembrance of thetimes when Molly had declared she was not yet seventeen.

“She almost betrayed herself, then,” he thought, buthe said nothing more to his brother, only when theywere leaving the house.

“We will call on the Barrys,” he said. “Motherthinks they should be present at the ceremony tomorrow.”

“I do not think Lou—I mean Molly—would like it,Cecil,” Doctor Charley said, quickly, but his brotheranswered, morosely:

“It does not matter. We are not arranging theceremony to please her, Charley.”

“But why humiliate her further? She is wretchedenough already.”

“Not half so wretched as I am,” Cecil answered,with sudden sharp anger.

Doctor Charley could be obstinate, too, although hewas so much sweeter-tempered than his brother.

“Very well, ask the Barrys if you like, but I am not[Pg 154]going with you to call on them,” he replied quietly.

Cecil resented the refusal.

“By Jove, Charley, you go too far in taking herpart,” he said sharply. “You seem to forget that Mrs.Barry and the niece are the wronged ones.”

“I forget nothing,” said Doctor Charley sturdily.“But I think that if the Barrys had been good, true-heartedwomen, they would not have crossed the seasto hunt down a poor girl who had committed a faultthrough love, that no intermeddling of theirs couldset straight. Much better have let it all alone.”

Cecil stared at him in surprise and displeasure.

“I must have found it out sometime—when I wenthome if not sooner,” he said.

“Poor Molly would never have let you find it out—womenare so clever—but they took her by surprise,”Doctor Charley returned.

“I wanted to know if there was anything wrong!I do not fancy being deceived,” sternly.

Doctor Charley looked almost contemptuously.

“So you thank the Barrys for your misery,” he saiddryly. “Very well, call on them by all means then, andthank them for their friendship, in having put asunderwhat God had joined together. Perhaps things willcome out so that you will get the real Louise Barry foryour wife at last. I have no doubt that old womanand her niece will help you to torture poor Molly intoan early grave.”

“Charley?” rebukingly.

“Well?”

“What have I done that you should be so hard onme in my trouble?”

“You have turned against the woman you swore to[Pg 155]love, honor and protect, and you have earned my contemptby your weakness,” fearlessly. “What is therein a name that you should hate her so? She is thesame girl you loved and married, call her by whatname you will!”

It was a strange bridal there in that quiet roomwhere Molly had lain so many weary days and nightsill and suffering—a strange bridal, compared with theone in which the same two had been the principalactors less than a year before.

Then the man had been proud, smiling, happy, lookingforward to a bright future; the bride had beenlovely and radiant outwardly, whatever might havebeen her secret terrors at her hidden treachery.

But now all was changed. When the bridegroomentered with cold, averted eyes and a pale, stern,haughty countenance, following his brother, parents,the Barrys, and the minister, there rose to join himbefore the holy man of God a slight, drooping figurethat had been crouching forlornly all the morning inan easy-chair, with the pale face bowed in its hands.

Cecil gave her a cold, slight, disdainful bow thatchilled her to the heart, and made her shrink backsensitively against Doctor Charley, who had assistedher to rise from her chair. The young doctor whispered,hurriedly:

“Never mind his coldness now. You can soon winhim back.”

He drew her forward and placed her trembling handon Cecil’s arm. She stood there quivering with emotion,not daring to look up, afraid of the cold, angryfaces around.

The good minister had been told a simple, plausible[Pg 157]tale; some slight illegality had been detected in themarriage, and the principals had determined to haveanother ceremony to make all secure. There wasnothing strange in it at all, and he did not wonder thatthe parties were sensitive over the matter, and desiredto keep it secret. What he did wonder at was thecold, stern face of the handsome groom, and the illand frightened looks of the pallid bride. But he didnot possess the clew to these strange looks, and he wasushered out so quickly after he read the ceremony andpronounced the prayers, that he could not see whetherany good wishes were offered or not. Cecil andCharley went out with him, and all the rest followed,except the bride and the alert Phebe, and LouiseBarry, who had stayed behind to whisper, vindictively:

“So you have got him again by your cunning!Well, remember what I told you. If you betray me, ifyou breathe one word to defend yourself I swear Iwill compass your death!”

Phebe pushed in between them.

“Go away, Miss Barry, and leave her alone, or Ishall tell her husband how you have treated her,” shethreatened.

Louise gave her a wicked glance.

“Tell him—but it will be at her peril,” she said,menacingly, as she trailed her rich garments throughthe door-way.

Phebe slammed the door and turned to her mistress,who had fallen down wearily on a sofa.

“I shall tell Mr. Cecil of this woman’s wicked treatmentof you,” she exclaimed; but Molly held up awarning hand.

“No, no, you will not tell him,” she said. “I—I am[Pg 158]not afraid of Louise. Oh, Phebe!” with sudden, irrepressibleanguish, “is he not going to speak to me, ishe going away from me like this?”

Phebe thought she had never seen such a terriblefear and dread as looked at her from Molly’s large,lustrous eyes that looked so big and bright in hersmall, pale face. Tears came into her own.

“He will come back directly, dear, I’m sure,” shesaid; but not being so sure as she pretended, shewhisked out of the room in a hurry.

She saw Doctor Charley going away with the minister,and poking her head audaciously into the parlor,beheld Cecil Laurens the center of a condolinggroup, Miss Barry being close at his elbow.

“Mr. Laurens, your wife wants to see you,” shesaid, abruptly.

He started and frowned; but with the perfect courtesyof which he was master, disengaged himself fromthe group and came toward her, saying in a low voice:

“Can you not bring me her message, Phebe?”

“No, sir!” in such a curt, dry tone that he flushedto his temples, pushed angrily past her, and returnedto the room where he had left his sad little bride withouta word or look.

He had to look at her now, and angry as he was hestarted in surprise at the change her weeks of illnessand grief had wrought.

There was in her dress and air no attempt at weddingbravery. She wore a quiet, silver-gray silk, withribbons of the same sober hue that gave her a demure,Quaker-like appearance. He had seen her in the samedress before when her vivid face had lighted it up intobeauty, but now her thinness, her pallor, her expression[Pg 159]of humility and misery combined, was actuallypainful to behold.

He stopped in front of her, and her haggard facelighted up with something like hope.

“You sent for me?” he said, icily.

And she faltered, humbly:

“I wanted to—to—thank you, Cecil, for—for—your—kindnessto me in—in repairing the—the—”

The faltering voice broke down entirely, choked bysobs. Molly’s face dropped into her hands, and tearsfell through her fingers.

Cecil Laurens stood regarding her in silence, apparentlyunmoved by her passionate emotion.

He thought, angrily:

“She is trying to move me by the arts of the actressinherited from her low mother, but she will not succeed.”

But it was not comfortable to watch those tears,even while he believed them feigned.

He moved restlessly, and spoke:

“It was not worth your while to thank me, for youmust be aware that it was not for your own sake thatI made the sacrifice of an hour ago, but only that thehonor of the Laurens family might remain untarnished.”

She murmured, brokenly, through her tears:

“Yes, I know. Your brother told me. But—sinceyou disdain thanks from me—let me thank you in thename of my unborn child for the mercy you have hadon us both! Oh, Cecil, husband,” rising in a gust ofpassion and falling down humbly at his feet, “will younot let me tell you all my story; how I was tempted,how I fell into error? I am not so wicked as you[Pg 160]think me. I—I—oh, Heaven! he has gone without aglance or a single kind word!” for he had turned deliberatelyand left the room.

Blinded by passion, indignant that Molly shouldhave the hardihood to attempt any defense of hertreachery, Cecil Laurens had turned a deaf ear to herpleadings and hurried from the room.

But he did not go back to the conclave in the parlor.He hurried along the hall to the room he had occupiedin solitude last night, entered and locked the door.

Moved and agitated in spite of his strong self-will,he walked restlessly up and down the floor.

“The girl must be mad to think I could pardon hersin,” he exclaimed. “Great heavens, when I think thatshe belonged to John Keith when she went throughthat farce of a marriage with me, I go mad with rage!But for that—but for the deep treachery of that falsehoodto him and to me, I believe I could have forgivenall the rest, for I am sure she loved me! But, oh,God, to think of one so young, so lovely, so apparentlyinnocent, yet steeped to the lips in duplicity! Howdid she have the heart to abandon him and to deceiveme as she did? I can not forgive her, even thoughshe pleads that it was love for me that tempted her!And after all was it love? I must remember that JohnKeith was very poor and I was very rich. She mayhave deserted him for the sake of gold.”

The suspicion maddened him. He flung himselfdown before his writing-desk, caught up the pen andwrote recklessly:

He did not even read it over, so fierce was his anger,so impatient his mood. Thrusting it hastily into anenvelope he wrote upon the back her name, “Mrs.Cecil Laurens.”

Taking the unsealed letter in his hand he went alongthe hall and tapped at the door of her room.

Phebe responded to his light knock. As the doorflew open he saw Molly lying on her bed with her delicatehands before her face.

“This is for your mistress,” he said, thrusting theletter into the hand of the maid, and turning awayhastily, but not so fast that he saw his wife springupright, eagerly, to receive the missive. The doorclosed quickly on him and he went back to the parlorwith a strangely heavy heart.

[Pg 163]

The little group of women started guiltily at his entrance,and he knew by their looks that they had beendiscussing him and his troubles; but no one said aword, only Louise Barry gave him a look of silentsympathy from her golden eyes that spoke volumes.

“What a stately beauty she is,” he thought, and suddenlyremembered all that Molly had told him of herstep-sister’s strange beauty.

“She is handsome; but her eyes with their strangeyellow gleams make one think of a tigress,” he mused,and then he asked himself, soberly:

“If this one had come to Ferndale instead of thatmisguided girl could I have loved her as I loved thatlittle enchantress?”

It almost seemed to him like a wrong to that handsome,high-born beauty when his heart impetuouslyanswered no.

There came to him a memory of what his brotherhad said yesterday:

“What is there in a name that you should hate herso? She is the same girl you loved and married, callher by what name you will.”

Miss Barry’s voice recalled him to the present. Shewas persuading his mother to share their opera-boxthat night.

“I should not like to leave Cecil. He will like forme to be at home with him perhaps,” Mrs. Laurensreplied.

“Oh, he will come, too—will you not, Mr. Laurens?”turning the radiant eyes persuasively on hisface.

“Do, Cecil, you will enjoy the music,” said hismother.

“And I want you to come, Cecil, very much,” addedold Mrs. Barry.

“Very well, I will,” he replied, carelessly, thinkingthat it mattered little where he went since the door oflove and happiness was shut upon him forever by hiswife’s treachery.

Doctor Charley came in presently and found themall discussing the opera with great animation. He wasdisgusted when he heard that Cecil was going andrefused Louise’s invitation to himself point-blank.

“I am obliged to return to Paris tonight,” he said,curtly, “and if I were not I am too tired. Besides, Ishould not think it in good taste to go.”

Cecil colored and looked at him keenly.

“Why not?” he asked, brusquely, and Doctor Charleyanswered, reproachfully:

“I should not forget as you and my mother seem todo, that your young wife is ill and lonely. I should[Pg 165]stay here if I had time and amuse the unhappy littlecreature.”

Cecil’s eyes flashed angrily, and Mrs. Laurens tossedher head in displeasure.

“She is well enough, only sulky,” she exclaimed.

Miss Barry laughed, easily.

“Ah, I see that you understand Molly thoroughly,”she said. “Her sulky fits used to be the bane of hermother as long as she lived, and of Aunt Lucy andmyself after my step-mother’s death. She will doworse if you notice them, but if left to herself willbecome sensible after awhile.”

Doctor Charley gave her a keen look of displeasurewhich she pretended not to observe.

“I do not like you, Miss Cat-eyes,” he said to himself.“For all poor Molly’s treachery she is more lovablethan you, and perhaps you have made the caseworse than it really is. Some day when Molly getswell she shall tell me the whole story, but not now, forit would agitate her too much and that would bedangerous in her condition.”

He rose impatiently and left the room. Cecil lookedafter him angrily, knowing well that he was goingstraight to Molly.

“Confound the fellow! What has come over him tomeddle like this in my affairs?” he thought.

Phebe opened the door gladly enough at his knock.She was getting worried over Molly, who had refusedto speak one word since she had read that letterwritten in the height of Cecil’s resentful passion.

She was sitting, or rather, crouched, in a forlornattitude upon the bed, her arms clasped around herknees, her curly hair falling in disheveled masses[Pg 166]round her face and neck, her eyes staring gloomilyinto vacancy, her face pale and drawn with despair.

Doctor Charley went up and spoke to her, but shedid not answer nor look at him any more than if shehad been a statue.

“What is it, Phebe?” he asked, distressedly, and themaid answered:

“Mr. Cecil handed me a letter to give her, and she’sbeen like that ever since she read it.”

He saw then that her hands were shut tight over acrushed letter, and tried gently to take it away, but sheclung to it with convulsive strength.

Charley did not relish deceit and duplicity any betterthan Cecil did, and in his heart he knew that thegirl had done wrong; but her trouble, her grief, hersad situation had aroused all the chivalry in his nature,and, profoundly moved, he exclaimed:

“Do not look so wretched, little sister. You are notquite friendless while Phebe and I are left to you.Come turn your eyes on mine, dear, and tell me whatthey have done to grieve you so.”

As if touched to the heart by his loving tone, Mollyflashed her eyes upon his with a world of passion inthem, and, opening wide her little hand, flung theletter at his feet.

“There, take it—your brother’s wedding gift tome;” she cried in concentrated scorn, bitterness, andanguish.

He knew that she meant him to read it, and afterhe had done so he stood silent before her dumbly questioningeyes knowing not what to say.

“Well,” she said, at last, and laughed low andstrangely—so strangely that it chilled his blood, “well,[Pg 167]Doctor Charley, what do you say about winning himback now?”

The words roused him into action. He shook himselffree from the indignant silence in which he hadbeen contemplating his brother’s cruelty, and comingclose to her took both her hands in his.

He knew that he must put some hope into that agonizedyoung heart or she would die or go mad of thisawful shock. In that low, strange laugh had soundedthe echo of incipient madness.

“My brother was cruel, very cruel, I can not denythat, dear Molly,” he said, sadly, feeling ashamed ofCecil for his hardness when the girl was so low and ill.

She clung to him like a child, and said, in a strainedwhisper:

“You see I sent Phebe to bring him to me. I wantedto explain—all. He would not listen—he went away—andsent me that!” her eye indicating the letter with aglance of infinite loathing.

“I shall burn this, and you must forget it,” he said,decisively; but she answered:

“Burn it if you will. The words are engraven onmy heart!”

Very gravely and tenderly he said:

“Try to forget it, Molly, for Cecil will be ashamedsoon that he wrote such cruel words to you. Do as Itold you, dear. Try to win him back in spite of coldness,in spite of neglect. These will not last, for Cecilcan not succeed in putting you from his heart, and ina few short months you will have a claim on him thathe can not deny and that must break down every barrierof his pride.”

She hid her face against his sleeve, and whispered:

[Pg 168]

“I shall pray Heaven to let me die when my hour oftrial comes, for if I lived he would hate my child forits mother’s sake.”

Wisely and gravely he tried to dissuade her fromsuch wild prayers, preached love and patience to thesore heart until he won her promise that she wouldstill try in spite of scorn and rebuffs to win Cecil back.Then he left her calmed and quieted, and went out tomake preparations for his return that night to Paris.

When he came back several hours later to bid herfarewell she was lying quiet with her eyes shut.Phebe whispered cautiously:

“She is asleep!”

The dark eyes opened quickly.

“I am not asleep. I was only thinking,” she said.

Then she met her brother-in-law’s kind eyes fixedon her full of pity.

She drew him down to her and whispered:

“I have been thinking of what I promised you, butI’m afraid it will be useless to try, for how can I winhim back if I never see him?”

“You must see him,” Doctor Charley replied firmly.

“But how? I can not send for him again, and hewill not come of his own will.”

“That is true. But, Molly—how strange it soundsto call you Molly! You must get strong enough to goout of this room, to meet your husband at the table,and in the parlor daily. You must accept invitationsto places where he will be compelled to attend you.Gradually you will win him back to his old attendanceon you, his old loving care. Then the rest will beeasy.”

“I will try, oh, so hard,” she said, and deeply moved,he pressed the little nervous hand.

“When you get stronger you will write to me andtell me how you get on with your labor of love,” hesaid. “And now, little sister, I must bid you adieu, I[Pg 170]must return to Paris tonight, having missed all thelectures during the weeks I have been chasing thatrunaway Cecil.”

“God bless you for all your goodness to me,” shewhispered, and he went away with those gratefulwords ringing like music in his ears.

She turned wistfully to Phebe.

“Do you not think I am strong enough to go into theparlor tonight?”

“No, indeed, that you are not!” replied the maid decidedly,and after a minute she added with a snort ofdispleasure, “besides there would be no use. I heardMrs. Laurens’ maid saying just now that her mistressand Mr. Cecil were going to the opera with the Barrys.I’ll tell you one thing, Mrs. Laurens. That yellow-eyeddeceitful woman is going to take your husbandfrom you if she can!”

“She can not do that, for he is bound to me,” Mollyexclaimed, but the warning never left her thoughts, forshe knew that Louise would try to widen the gulfbetween her and Cecil until it should become impassable.

“It will be so easy to do that,” she thought, bitterly.“Ah, Doctor Charley’s words were but sophistry. Hewill not let me win him back. Perhaps already histhoughts have gone after beautiful Louise.”

Tortured by such thoughts as these it was no wonderthat her strength came back so slowly that Phebewould not consent to her leaving the room for morethan a week.

Indeed the maid would have liked to keep her mistressfrom mingling at all with the rest of the family,for she knew that her orders to the footman had been[Pg 171]countermanded by Cecil, and that the Barrys were frequentand honored guests at The Acacias.

Phebe knew another thing that made her uneasy forthe sake of her forlorn young mistress.

There was a conspiracy afoot to discharge her byway of punishment for what was deemed her impertinenceto Miss Barry. Phebe had heard the rumor, butshe kept silence, hoping that her young mistress wouldinsist on retaining her for her own sake.

About ten days after that marriage ceremony in theinvalid’s chamber Molly declared that she was wellenough to go out of her room and that she shouldbreakfast with the family that morning.

Phebe gave a ready assent to the plan and dressedher very tastefully, taking pains to bring out every oneof her young mistress’ beauties by her well-chosenmorning dress.

Then she led her herself to the dining-room, fearfulthat her agitation might make her faint by the way.

Mr. Laurens, his wife and son were already in theroom. They looked up in surprise at Molly’s entrance.

Poor Molly, poor trembling little culprit! Shewould have given worlds for one kind look from herhusband’s eyes. She turned an imploring glance onhis cold face, but he met it with one of surprise anddispleasure, supplemented by a slight bow, then lether take her seat at the table without further notice.

Her mother-in-law made a curt inquiry after herhealth, and her father-in-law supplemented it by acareless “Good-morning.”

Evidently her presence was unexpected and undesiredby the small family.

The meal proceeded in embarrassing silence. Molly[Pg 172]tried to eat, but it was a melancholy and mechanicalproceeding. She burned her tongue with hot coffee,but she was afraid to cry out at the pain; she nearlychoked herself trying to swallow things that she putinto her mouth in the pretense of eating; and at lastshe gave it up and sat quiet, with her eyes on herplate, until the ordeal was over. How she groped herway to the morning-room she scarcely knew. Cecilhad left the dining-room before her, and she followedslowly in his train.

He was cutting the leaves of a book for his mother.At Molly’s entrance he rose and placed a chair for herwith distant courtesy.

She thanked him and sat down, and for some momentsan embarrassing silence reigned.

Cecil broke it with a curt sentence that made Mollystart.

“You are better?” he said.

“Thank you, oh, yes, much better,” she faltered,grateful for even this notice.

A glance at the pale, wan face did not assure himof the fact, but he went on, pitilessly:

“You no longer need the care of a sick-nurse?”

“Oh, no,” she faltered again, miserably, feeling as ifhe desired the negative; but she started when he exclaimed,with curt emphasis:

“I am very glad to hear it.”

“Why?” she faltered, looking up at him, but thehandsome face was averted.

But he had heard the timid question, for presentlyhe answered, coldly:

“I have been trying to be patient and wait until youwere able to dispense with your maid. That impertinentwoman has to go!”

[Pg 173]

“My good Phebe to leave me? Oh, I can not lether go!” Molly cried, wildly; but Cecil answered,relentlessly:

“I expected this. It does not matter to you that thewoman has been grossly impertinent to my mother andto our friend, Miss Barry. Perhaps,” scornfully, “yoututored her to that end.”

“I cannot let her go!” Molly cried, her head droppingforlornly on her breast.

“She shall go! She has been rude to my mother,and my wife, as her guest, has no right to retain aservant distasteful to her hostess,” Cecil said, loftily.

She hesitated a moment, then said, desperately:

“Take me away, then, to a home of my own, wherenone can interfere with my choice of a servant.”

He answered instantly, with offensive hauteur:

“Under the present circ*mstances, such a coursewould not be agreeable!”

He turned away and stood at the window, with hisback to her, determined not to be moved by the sightof the little hands writhing in and out of each other inher lap, and the face with its expression of dumb, patientagony, while hot tears stole from under her lashesand dripped down her cheeks.

The door opened, and his proud, stately mother enteredwith her graceful, gliding motion. She frownedwhen she saw poor Molly sitting there with the tearsstealing down her cheeks.

“If you are ill, Mrs. Laurens, perhaps I had betterassist you to your room,” she said, with pointedcourtesy.

Molly shook her head without reply, and Cecilturned around.

[Pg 174]

“She is not ill, mother; she is angry,” he said,sharply.

“Angry?”

“Yes. I have been telling her that Phebe must go,and she objects.”

“Objects, Cecil?” loftily. “Surely she would notwish to retain a servant who had been rude to me?”

“She is my only friend,” Molly muttered, in a despairingtone, and the mother-in-law rejoined, testily:

“I might say that you do not deserve any friends, ifI chose to speak plainly, but I do not wish to woundyou. You can not expect me to retain that woman atThe Acacias. I have secured another maid for you—asplendid woman with a good recommendation—andshe will take Phebe’s place tomorrow.”

From the pale lips of the despised young wife camea moan of remonstrance; but no one heeded it, forCecil had gone abruptly out of the room, and Mrs.Laurens, after her final sentence, sat down coolly toher book.

Phebe had been on the alert and knew that Cecilhad taken his hat and left the house.

She peered into the morning-room and saw heryoung mistress in tears and her mother-in-law absorbedin her novel.

Stalking boldly across the room, she said:

“You are tired out with coming down to breakfast,Mrs. Laurens. Hadn’t you better come back to yourroom and rest?”

Molly put her hand on the strong arm and wentaway sobbing unheeded by the reader, who did notturn her head to notice the departure.

“Now then, who has hurt you, my pet?” Phebe demanded[Pg 175]when she had laid Molly down on her softsofa, and with bitter sobs the whole story was blurtedout, for Molly’s heart was too full to hold it.

“Phebe, if they send you away I shall go with you.I will not be parted from the only friend that is left tome,” she exclaimed.

Phebe stroked the pretty, dark head in silence someminutes before she replied, gravely:

“No, my dear young mistress, you must not defyyour husband like that or you will never win him back.You must give me up as he wishes you to do, and perhapswhen he sees how you obey his wishes evenagainst your own desire he will send for me to comeback to you soon, for I don’t think his anger can holdout long, seeing how sweet and humble and good youare.”

After a few moments she continued, sadly:

“I have known this for some time, Mrs. Laurens,but I would not distress you with it. But now I willgive you one warning. Mrs. Laurens has hired a maidfor you who was selected and recommended by MissLouise Barry. Hush, my dear! Do not say you willnot have her, for that would anger your husband. Lether come, but be wary and watchful. She may be atool in Miss Barry’s hands and may mean to do youharm at her instigation.”

The new maid arrived the next morning and Phebe,who had duly received her discharge from Cecil, camein to bid her mistress good-bye.

She was calm and quiet, resolutely keeping back hertears for fear that she might make the parting toopainful.

“You’ll keep my secret, Phebe? You will not tellany one?” Molly implored, clinging to her in patheticdespair.

“Oh, Mrs. Laurens, what do you take me for? Wildhorses should not drag a word from me without yourconsent. You hurt me almost as bad as your husbanddid this morning,” she said.

“Cecil?” Molly queried, in surprise, and Phebe answered:

“He asked me how much money it would take topay me to keep silent over all the secrets I had foundout here. It was hard to bear, Mrs. Laurens, but Iwas patient. I would not anger him, for I wanted tocome back to you some time. So I told him I neededno bribe to keep the secrets of my unhappy youngmistress—that my love for her was enough.”

“Dear, good Phebe!” cried Molly, lovingly, and thenshe made the woman promise not to go too far away,and to send her an address to which to write when sheshould have coaxed Cecil to let her come back.

Phebe promised to give her address to Miss MadelonTrueheart.

[Pg 177]

“That will be best, dear, for if I sent it to The Acaciaswho knows but that the new maid might keep itfrom you?” she said.

Molly did not like the crafty-looking Frenchwomanwho took the place of her good Phebe, whom Cecil hadhired for her in New York, when they were startingon their wedding-trip.

But Florine, as she called herself, gave her new mistressno cause for offense. She was quiet, polite, attentiveto Molly’s lightest wants, and the most tastefuland skillful of maids. Her intense sympathy was irksomefor she persisted in declaring that madamelooked too ill to leave her room.

In fact Molly made no effort at mingling with thefamily for several days after that first time. The cruelrebuff she had received chilled and disheartened her.She shrank sensitively from another one, and so assentedpassively to Florine’s advice to keep to her room.

During those days of tiresome seclusion she busiedherself at intervals as her strength would permit inwriting a long letter to Doctor Charley—a letter thatrequired many postage stamps for mailing, for Mollywrote down the whole story of her going to Ferndale,and all that had followed upon that visit. She wroteeagerly, hopefully, for she believed that her brother-in-lawwould force Cecil to read this explanation fromhis unhappy girl-wife.

“He can not think so hardly of me then, when hefinds that my only sin was committed through love ofhim,” she thought, hopefully, and she stole out onenight when she thought Florine was busy in the dressing-room,and herself placed the important letter in the[Pg 178]box that stood ready in the hall for the family’s mail.

But lynx eyes watched the furtive act, and beforeMolly’s excited eyes closed that night Florine had securedthe letter, and very soon it was in the hands ofLouise Barry.

Ah, how hopefully Molly waited for an answer—ananswer that never came, for the young doctor’s lettersto her were always intercepted as were hers to him.

But she was too loyal-hearted to believe that he hadforgotten her, or that he neglected to write. She saidto herself that he had never received her letter.

“It is some more of Louise’s treachery,” she thought.

For two weeks she had not ventured out of herroom, but one evening she was so restless she feltthat she could bear it no longer.

“Florine, you may bring out a dinner dress for me, Ishall dine with the family,” she said.

“Madame does not mean it—ill as she looks!” disapprovingly.

“I am strong enough. It is for you to obey my commands,Florine, not to dictate to me,” Molly answered,with sudden dignity that silenced all remonstrance.

Florine brought a pretty white dress and some pearlsand dressed her mistress exquisitely. Then she said,apologetically:

“It was not that I did not want you to go out,madame, but I feared it would exhaust you, diningwith company.”

“Is there company?” Molly asked disappointedly.

“The Barrys, madame.”

“Do they come here often, Florine?”

“Do you mean the Barrys, madame?”

“Yes.”

[Pg 179]

“They are here every day, or nearly so; and whenthey fail to come here, Madame Laurens, your mamma,and Monsieur Cecil, your husband, go to them. Itis fortunate for monsieur, your husband, that he hassuch a dear friend as Miss Barry to amuse him whileyou, madame, are sick,” smoothly.

Molly’s heart began to beat loudly, the angry colorto flood her cheeks.

“She does not amuse him,” she said hotly, and Florinearched her brows in surprise.

“As madame wills, but I thought she would bepleased,” she said, apologetically.

Molly flung herself down sighing on the sofa.

“I will not go down,” she said, sadly, and she ownedto herself that she was afraid of Louise.

She took a book and read until she was quite surethat the late dinner was over. She, in her character ofinvalid, had had her own simple meal an hour ago.

She called Florine from the dressing-room.

“Go and ask Mr. Laurens to give me some pianomusic. Tell him I will not come out of my room. Ican hear quite plainly here.”

Florine went out and Molly sank back, sobbingsoftly.

“He will think I am very bold, but, oh, I could nothelp it. It will take him away from her side at least,and it will make him think of me. But will he grantmy request, or treat it with disdain?”

Florine came back, smirking.

“He will do as you wish, madame.”

And almost immediately the soft, full strains of musicarose upon the air.

Molly lay back upon her sofa listening with blended[Pg 180]pleasure and pain. It took her back to that first nightat Ferndale when Cecil’s wonderful music had charmedthe anger and resentment away from her heart.

Perhaps some such thought came to the offendedhusband too. He played one after another the oldmelodies he had played that night, then some later onesthat she had loved. His touch was very soft and sweet.Perhaps the plaintive request from his neglected wifecombined with the subtle influence of the music softenedand thrilled his proud heart.

“This is better than going down. Oh, how kind hewas to grant my request!” the young creature sighed,her heart swelling with passionate love and sorrow.

Cecil played for more than an hour, then there camea pause.

“It is over. He is weary, or perhaps already repentingof his kindness to me,” she murmured, but thesense of his indulgence and the influence of the musiccaused a new hope to spring in her heart.

But it was of short duration, for in a moment themusic began again, and voices rose on the air in aduet, the tenderest of love-songs—voices that it wasnot hard to distinguish as those of her husband andLouise Barry.

“Oh, cruel, cruel; they have done this to woundme!” she cried, and sobbed herself to sleep.

Yet she might have known that the artful Louisewas at the bottom of it all. She had begged so that hewould accompany her in that duet that he could not incourtesy refuse.

Molly’s pathetic request for the music had madeCecil think of her, as she had hoped; and it had donemore—it had softened his hard heart to some degree.

[Pg 181]

That night, alone in his chamber, his thoughts turnedto her with more kindness than he had dreamed hecould ever feel for her again. Her meek acquiescencein his hard decree of separation, her humility, her illness,her patience rose before him in so touching andpathetic a light, that a moisture dimmed his eyes.

“Poor girl! she is crushed to earth by the exposureof her treachery,” he thought, and a great wonder ather humility came over him. “Such a spirited littlecreature, such a mad-cap, as she used to be! What hassubdued her so? Can it be the work of love—love forme?”

These softened thoughts followed him until thenext morning, and something like pity began to blendwith his anger toward his unhappy wife.

“She is ill and lonely, and perhaps I ought to showher some little courtesy. I will send her some newbooks; she can beguile her lonely hours with them,”he told himself, and spent an hour selecting a dozenbooks on poetry, romance, travel, and kindred subjects.

His heart, that had been so heavy through all itspride and resentment, felt lighter as he retraced hissteps to The Acacias. He deemed himself quite fortunatein meeting Florine in the hall. He called to herhastily, and gave her the large package of books.

“Take these to my wife, from me,” he said, in asoftened voice. “Tell her I selected them especiallyfor her reading, and hope she will find them interesting.”

Florine took the books with a courtesy. She wentslowly along the hall—very slowly. She did not meanto deliver the books, if she could help it.

But, glancing in a furtive way over her shoulder, she[Pg 182]saw Cecil Laurens leaning against the newel, and intentlywatching her progress.

“Diable! he distrusts me,” she muttered, and aclever thought came to her. She opened the door andwent in with the books.

Molly looked up at her with those dark, wistful orbsthat ought to have moved even the Frenchwoman’swicked heart, but their plaintive sorrow did not touchthe creature that Louise had bribed with gold.

“Madame,” she said, smoothly, “Miss Barry hassent you some good, Christian books to read, and hopesthey will do you good. She called to take your husbandto a morning concert, and left the books and themessage.”

The sorrow in the dark eyes changed to jealousanger.

“Has he gone with that woman?” Molly asked.

“Oui, madame,” said Florine, with a profound courtesy;then, smiling, “Ah, madame, what a gloriousbeauty is that queenly Miss Barry! No wonder—”She pauses.

Molly looked keenly at the hesitating maid.

“‘It is no wonder’—well, go on,” she said, sharply.

“I beg madame’s pardon, I meant no harm, but Iwas about to say it was no wonder that Monsieur Ceciladmires Miss Barry so much,” answered Florine, deprecatingly.

Molly looked straight into the shifting treacherousblack eyes.

“Does my husband admire her?” she asked, in astrange voice.

“La, madame, how should I know? It was but a slipof the tongue. I only judged by appearances,” Florinesaid, tossing her smart head with its cap and ribbons.

Molly pointed at the package of books.

“Take them away and put them into the fire,” shesaid, furiously, her heart swelling with jealousy. “Iwill have nothing to do with the books or the sender!”

“Oui, madame,” said Florine, courtesying.

She took up the books and went out quickly.

Cecil was still lingering in the hall, perhaps awaitingsome message from his wife after his overture of kindness.Florine went up to him with a hypocriticallysorry face.

“Monsieur, I do not think Madame Laurens is herselfquite this morning. She told me to put the booksinto the fire.”

Cecil stared in incredulous amazement.

[Pg 184]

“Nonsense, she could not have said that,” he exclaimed.

“Mais, oui, monsieur, I speak her very words. ‘Takethem away and put them into the fire, I will have nothingto do with them or the sender,’ she said.”

“Really, Florine?”

“Monsieur, I swear by the saints those weremadame’s words. Ask her if you doubt me.”

She had such an air of truth and injured innocencethat he believed her, and his face grew so stern andpale that she was frightened.

But he took the package from her hands without aword, and carried it to his room.

“I will keep them here always to remind me of thisrebuff when I feel tempted again to show her any kindness,”he said, sternly.

And when Molly made her appearance at dinner thatevening he was as cold as ice, merely noticing her presenceby a slight sarcastic bow.

The two school girls dined at home that evening bypermission of their teacher, and their eager chatter andmerry laughter filled up the pauses that would otherwisehave been so embarrassing. One of the girls, Ninaby name, was of the same age as Molly, the other onewas sixteen, and her sweet name, Dora, had been shortenedto Dot.

Nina and Dot were pretty, impulsive girls, warm-heartedto a fault, and although they had been toldMolly’s story they did not resent it as did the oldermembers of the family. They thought and declaredthat it was too “romantic for anything.”

When they left their father and brother over thewine and walnuts they each slipped an arm in Molly’s[Pg 185]and led her to the parlor and to a sofa, where theyplaced her between them.

“Now, let us have a real good chat,” said Dot.“School closes next month, you know, and then we areall going back to the United States. Dear old MapleShade and black mammy, I do really long to see themagain, don’t you, Nina?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Are you glad we are going home, Lou—oh, I begpardon, I forgot,” Dot cried, tenderly, as the hot flushmounted to Molly’s cheek.

“It does not matter,” the latter said, sadly, andNina exclaimed:

“Do you know I think that your middle name—Ernestine—isbeautiful? May we not call you by that? Itis softer, I think, than the other.”

“As you please,” Molly answered, and Mrs. Laurenssaid, coldly:

“I think it will be a good idea, Nina. Ernestine isa more aristocratic name. I’m glad you suggested it.”

Then Dot began again:

“Are you glad, Ernestine, that we are going home sosoon?”

“I did not know we were going,” she replied, faintly,wondering if Cecil was going to send her home alone.

Mrs. Laurens moved a little nearer, and said, in herusual cold tones:

“It is principally on your account we are going,that your child may be born at Maple Shade, where allthe Laurens family have been born for almost a century.”

Cecil in entering noiselessly that moment caught thewords clearly. He could not repress a quick glance athis wife.

[Pg 186]

He saw the pale face flush to hot, burning crimsonone moment, then grow pale and sorrowful again asshe put up one hand to shield its emotion from Mrs.Laurens’ cold eyes.

She was about to speak, but at that moment shecaught the inquisitive glance of his eyes and the wordsdied unuttered on her lips.

At that moment the loud ringing of the door-bell announcedvisitors. In a minute more the Barrys wereannounced.

Louise all in opera dress with diamonds on her neckand in her hair looked radiant. Mrs. Barry in graysatin and ostrich plumes was sulky.

“I shall be glad to get Louise married off my hands,”she exclaimed, tartly. “Here I am dragged out of thehouse every evening to balls and operas at my time oflife until I am nearly dead. Mrs. Laurens, I think Ishall have to ask you to chaperone my giddy niece!”

“Cruel Aunt Thalia!” cried Louise, affecting to takeit all as a joke.

Then she caught sight of Molly, and after a moment’shesitation sailed forward.

“My dear girl, and so you are well enough to be outat last,” she exclaimed, sweetly, holding out her jeweledhand.

Molly did not look at the offered hand, did not openher lips, did not even bend her head. She was lookingat old Mrs. Barry who did indeed appear older andgrayer than ever with new lines of care and age on herhomely face.

The old shame and pain at deceiving the aged gentlewomanswelled again at Molly’s heart as it had done ayear ago at Ferndale. She rose impetuously, pushed[Pg 187]aside Louise with a touch of her slender hand, andwent quickly over to Mrs. Barry’s side.

The old lady looked up angrily, but Molly did notshrink as she would have done at Cecil’s frown. Shestood before the grim old dame like a child that hasdone wrong, and exclaimed impetuously like a child:

“I am sorry I deceived you, Mrs. Barry, I was sorryall the time. Sometimes I could hardly go on withthe deceit. Won’t you please forgive me?”

Louise had followed her across the room. She sawMrs. Barry’s hard face change and soften, and gave agasp of terror. Then, affecting not to have noticedMolly’s words, she exclaimed:

“Come, Aunt Thalia; we shall be late for the opera.Excuse us, Molly, but we only came by to see how youwere, and as you are so much better, we must hurry.Good-bye all;” and without ceremony she hustled Mrs.Barry past Molly, and out of the room.

Molly stood gazing after them like one dazed, untilshe felt a hand touch her shoulder. It was Cecil’sfather, who said, low but firmly:

“Sit down, child, and do not look so frightened.”

He pushed her gently into a chair, the same chairthat Mrs. Barry had sat in, and she remained therequietly a moment; then, feeling their wondering, disapprovingglances burning her sensitive face, she roseto go. She had an impression that Cecil opened thedoor for her, that he stood gazing after her as shemoved down the hall. She felt the scorn of his glancekeenly.

“Surely I did not do wrong,” she thought. “I hadacted badly to that poor old lady, and I thought I mustask her forgiveness; but Louise hustled her out before[Pg 188]she could answer me. She does not want her toforgive me; she does not want me to have a singlefriend.”

She opened her door and went in, thinking sadlythat, only for her promise to Doctor Charley, shewould not try to mingle with the family again.

“They hate me—all of them; they will never forgiveme for being the daughter of an actress, instead of aBarry. Perhaps if they knew that my father was SirEdward Trueheart’s son, they would respect me more.But I shall not tell them. I can be proud, too; and ifthey can not love me and forgive me for myself, I willkeep my pleasant secret.”

Florine looked at her narrowly.

“Madame, I can not help thinking you look worseevery time you leave your room. I am sure you arenot strong enough to bear company,” she said, withpretended solicitude.

“I believe you are right, Florine,” Molly answered,with sudden bitterness, and she resolved that she wouldnot go among them again as long as she could help it.

Florine fostered the resolve. She made Molly believeshe was sicker than she was. She excluded every onefrom the room, declaring that her mistress was nervousand could not bear company. Even the Trueheartswere, without Molly’s knowledge, denied admittance.

Her craft had a different effect from what she intended.

The report of Molly’s illness began to soften Cecil’sobdurate heart.

His love, which had been smothered but not destroyedby the discovery of her falsity, began to burn[Pg 189]again with its pristine warmth and ardor, augmentedby sympathy with her illness, loneliness, and her delicatecondition of health.

He tried at first to beat down this reviving tenderness,this exquisite pity, and to keep up the old feud;but the memory of the past, when they had loved eachother so well, pleaded now for the lonely, humbled,neglected wife.

“How happy we were, and how quickly the timepassed. I shall never be so happy again,” he said tohimself, sadly, and there came over him, in the wordsof the poet, a yearning

“I am foolish even to think of her,” he muttered,impatiently. “But she looks so sad, so ill—what if sheshould die?”

That thought frightened him, and showed him firstwith what a passion he loved the frail creature whohad deceived him.

He went to his mother and asked her advice.

“Is it not time for me to forgive that poor girl?What if she should die, mother?” he said.

“She will not die. There is no such good luck,” Mrs.Laurens said, bitterly.

“For shame, mother! I did not know you could becruel enough to wish for any one’s death,” he exclaimed,and flung out of the room hurt and indignant.

He began to repent of that cruel letter he had writtento Molly, and to think that it would not be impossibleto forgive her for her treachery. He formed awistful habit of watching the door behind which shehad hidden herself from angry scrutiny, but it neveropened save for the egress or ingress of Florine whor*garded in such surprise the apparition of MonsieurCecil in the hall, that he would color up to his templesand turn away.

Yet the longing to see his wife, to hear her voice,grew upon Cecil daily, and much of his resentmentdied. Once or twice he was tempted to knock boldlyat her door, to enter and take her in his arms, and tellher he forgave everything, because he loved her so wellhe could not live away from her presence. There wasbut one thing that deterred him; it was the sight everyday in his room of the books Molly had sent back withthat maddening message.

The remembrance of that episode kept alive in hisbreast a tiny spark of resentment.

“She should not have been so resentful, after all thatshe had done. She should have accepted the first overtureI made toward peace,” he thought.

But Louise Barry was not idle. She foresaw all tooplainly that the time was not far distant when CecilLaurens’ love would break down his pride, and forcehim to seek reconciliation with his lovely young wife.

“And when that hour comes I shall be lost, for[Pg 191]Molly will betray me as soon as she can find any oneto listen,” she said to herself.

The yellow eyes gleamed with fear and anger.

“It must not be!” she exclaimed, and a cruel purposeentered her mind.

She sent for Florine Dabol that evening, and themaid came to her in disguise, as she always did.

“Florine, you promised to rid me of that woman!”she exclaimed, reproachfully.

The maid tossed her head.

“Ma foi, what can I do? I have tried to make herdesperate, so that she would run away or kill herself,but she will do neither. Had any one told me the halfI have told her, I should have gone mad with jealousy.But this girl—I never saw such sadness, such dumbhumility. She means to win him back by sheer humilityand patience.”

Louise shrugged her shoulders impatiently.

“I never should have believed it of Molly Trueheart,she was always so fiery, yet she was good-natured, too,at her best. I could wind her around my little fingerby cajolery.”

“And now, Mademoiselle?”

“I can not move her. She has grown stubbornthrough her love for him,” Louise answered, frowning.

In a minute more she asked:

“And the husband, Florine? Has he made any moreovertures toward reconciliation?”

Florine answered with what seemed almost maliciouscandor:

“It is only by constant strategy I keep them apart.He is dying for her; one can see that plainly.”

“He is a fool. He does not seem to know that there[Pg 192]is another woman in the world!” exclaimed the heiress,whose clever plans for monopolizing Cecil had allfailed. Molly might be lost to him through her treachery,but he never thought of Louise or any other.

Florine stayed an hour and they revolved many plansbefore they decided on one. Then the maid hurriedhome, always fearful that Cecil should catch her offguard and make his way to Molly.

But she found her young mistress alone as usual, forthe other members of the family seldom entered thesick-room.

Molly had fallen asleep on her sofa in her prettywhite négligé, and her maid, who had an eye forbeauty, gazed at her admiringly for some moments,noticing that a tear had fallen and was only half driedupon her cheek.

“How pretty she is! No wonder monsieur is soready to forgive her and love her again,” she thought.“I wonder that Miss Barry can have the heart—Ishouldn’t, I know, but for the five hundred dollars.But I need that so bad, or I wouldn’t, no, I wouldn’thave been tempted to do such a deed. Whatever happens,I’ll bet all my money he’ll never marry thatwicked Louise!”

Florine Dabol had promised heartless Louise Barrythat she would poison the hapless creature before her;but, as she gazed at the lovely sleeping face, so likethat of a grieved child that has sobbed itself to sleep,a twinge of keen remorse tore her heart.

She was crafty and deceitful and fond of intrigues,like all French maids; but she had never committed acrime in her life, and she began to tremble now at theenormity of what she had promised to do.

Vain and pretty, fond of finery, ease, and pleasure,Florine’s god was money; and upon her avarice Louisehad cleverly worked, dazzling her with the promise offive hundred dollars in gold when she should come andtell her that deed of crime was accomplished andCecil Laurens’ young wife dead.

In Florine’s pocket was the tiny powder that, placedin Molly’s glass, was to accomplish the deed; andLouise, with the powder, had given the maid a notethat was such a perfect copy of Molly’s writing that,when found in her room next morning, it would beenough to convince every one that Molly had committedsuicide.

It was a clever plan, and there was nothing to preventit* being carried out successfully. Molly lay there,weak and helpless, in her enemy’s power.

Yet in that very helplessness lay her defense againstthe powers of evil.

For Florine Dabol, as she stood there fingering thepoison in her pocket and gazing at the lovely, sorrowful[Pg 194]face, felt moved and troubled, and her feeling ofher mistress’ helplessness found expression in an exclamationof profound remorse and pity:

“Poor baby!”

For Molly, in her youth, innocence, and grief,seemed like an infant, in the eyes of the maturer maid,and an intense repugnance to her contemplated horribledeed rushed over her soul.

She turned away and went into the dressing-room,dropping softly into a chair, that she might not awakethe sleeper.

“I can’t—I can’t do it! I must find some other wayto earn the money. I can’t have that poor thing’s bloodon my soul! She would haunt me, and I should get norest from those hollow black eyes!” she muttered, fearfully.

Evidently Florine’s good angel was pleading withher, for she sat there wrapped in thought while in thenext room Molly slept sweetly, unconscious of thedanger hovering near her in such deadly form.

An hour passed and Florine still sat in her chair,and now and then muttered words escaped her lips.

“She is so good and sweet and patient. She hasnever given me a cross word for all the dreadful liesI’ve told her about her splendid husband. How can Ikill the gentle creature?”

She thought, suddenly:

“If I could only tell her something very dreadful,that would make her go away from The Acacias forever,it would be the same as killing her.”

Poor Molly! Yes, it would be the same, for to thatdevoted heart life without her husband would be deathfar worse than death.

Florine rose up and went noisily into the next room.

[Pg 195]

Molly started, broad awake, and sat up looking inalarm at the maid.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Laurens. I’m afraid Idisturbed you talking to myself in such a loud voice.I was so angry I couldn’t help it, madame,” saidFlorine.

“What has made you angry, Florine?” asked thesad, gentle voice.

“Oh, madame, I oughtn’t to tell you on no account;but it’s a shame their goings-on, and you sick and notable to help yourself.”

“Florine, I don’t understand you,” wistfully.

“Maybe it’s best you don’t, madame, for if you didyou wouldn’t stay with such a shameless man, planninga second marriage while you’re alive, and likely to befor many years, not but that her will’s good to poisonyou if she had a fair chance.”

Molly sat upright with frightened eyes.

“Yes, Florine, I know Miss Barry hates me,” sheshuddered. “But—but—you are my friend, aren’t you?Don’t, oh, don’t let her kill me, please!”

“Not if I can help it, madame, never!” cried themaid. “But what can I do? When she bribes me topoison you and I refuse she’s going to manage it someother way, certainly. You’re in her way and his—don’tyou know that, my poor young lady?—and,”dropping her voice to a warning whisper, “your lifeis more and more in danger every hour you stay inthis house.”

She watched the beautiful face closely. It couldscarcely grow more pale, but it was wild and startled.

“Florine, don’t let her kill me. I—I—will win myhusband’s love back some day,” she moaned, holdingout her trembling little hands.

[Pg 196]

Florine tossed her head.

“Never, never!” she exclaimed.

“Hush, Florine!” sternly.

“Very well, madame,” resignedly.

She sat quiet a few moments until Molly’s jealouslove conquered her pride.

“Florine Dabol, why do you say such things to me?Do you believe that Louise has won my husband’s lovefrom me?” she demanded.

“It is plain to be seen, madame. Such goings-on!”Florine tossed her head and shrugged her shoulders ina way that expressed volumes.

Molly gazed at her with eyes full of pain, and Florinesaid to herself that she was making good progressindeed.

“Madame, you are too good, you are indeed. I wouldnot live with a man that hated me openly, and spentall his time with another woman. It is cruel, it isshameful!” warmly.

Not a word came from Molly’s blanched, writhinglips, but she watched Florine’s face with burning eyes.

The maid continued:

“Madame, where are all your friends and relations?Why do you not write to them to come to your aid,and make your husband treat you with common respect.If he will not do that let them take you awayfrom him, for this life of loneliness and neglect is killingyou by inches.”

“That is true,” Molly gasped with white lips.

“I would bear it no longer, madame. I would goaway out of his life forever since they both wish forit and pray for it.”

“Oh, Florine, you are mistaken. He is angry withme, but if I am only patient he will pity and forgive[Pg 197]me soon, I hope. And—and—he is going to take mehome next week that—our child may be born at his oldancestral home,” Molly cried, piteously.

Florine gazed at her in expressive silence a moment.

“You see he does not hate me as bad as you think,”Molly cried eagerly, and Florine sighed aloud.

Then she asked gravely:

“My poor young lady, who told you he was going totake you home?”

Molly answered: “Mrs. Laurens, his mother.”

“Oh, how cruel!” the maid cried warmly. “Theyhave deceived you, madame. I have taken pains to findout their plans and now I will give them to you. It isnot Mr. Cecil who will take you home. You are to gowith the old folks and the daughters. He—your husband—remainsbehind with the Barrys, and they allthree go immediately to Paris. Ah, madame, Paris isso wicked! And the aunt, the chaperone, she is so old,blind, deaf, she will see but little of the goings-on!”

Florine’s shrugs and glances conveyed even moreevil than her words.

“Florine, are you sure, quite sure, of all you havetold me?” Molly asked in a dejected voice.

“Madame, I am willing to take an oath,” Florine repliedglibly, and for a moment there was a deep silence.The maid was afraid that her mistress was going tofaint, but Molly sat upright as a statue. Presentlyshe spoke.

“No one could blame me if I went away to my ownfriends and left him forever, could they, Florine?”

“No one, madame, for you have had provocationenough to drive you desperate; but your friends, whereare they?” curiously.

“No matter. I am not utterly friendless, Florine,[Pg 198]and since they are trying to drive me desperate, whyshould I go back to America to please them?” angrily.“Why not stay here with my kindred and spare myselfthe torture of trying to win back a heart that haspassed from my keeping forever?”

She spoke rather to herself than to the maid, butFlorine said eagerly:

“Ah, madame, you begin to talk sensibly now, for Itell you plainly that if you stay here much longer, MissBarry will find means to remove you from her path.Oh, I am so sorry for you, my sweet young mistress,or I would not tell you this. But I am frightened foryou, madame, and I know when you go back toAmerica, where I can not go with you, you will haveno one to watch over you like your poor Florine!”

It was all very genuine, all very eloquent, as Florinepoured it out, and Molly’s heart warmed to the maidwhom she had once distrusted.

“Florine, you are very good to me,” she exclaimed,gratefully. She pulled a pretty ruby ring from herfinger, and holding it out to her, said, in a voice chokedwith misery: “Take this to remember me when I amgone.”

The treacherous woman took the gift with profusethanks and inward joy, for Molly’s last words had assuredher that her scheme had succeeded.

She would go away—poor, desolate Molly—and she,Florine would be spared the taking of human life.

“Madame, let me go with you and care for you,” shesaid, curious to know where she would go.

But Molly shook her head.

“No, no, Florine; I shall go alone,” she said, hopelessly;but the maid said to herself:

[Pg 199]

“I shall be sure to find you out, any way, for I wantto keep track of you.”

She saw Molly looking at the pretty clock on themantel, and thought, exultantly:

“She will go tonight, and tomorrow Miss Barry shallpay me the money, for this is just as good as if I hadkilled her,” she decided.

“You may go now, Florine; it is past my usual bed-time,but I shall sit up awhile,” said Molly.

The maid withdrew with a respectful good-night.She knew well that she had been dismissed becauseher young mistress desired to make secret preparationsfor flight.

She was right in her conjecture, for in less than halfan hour the despairing wife stole away from The Acaciasand took her solitary way through the Londonstreets in the moonless darkness of the summer night.

Molly had determined to go to the Truehearts, tellthem her whole sad history, and ask them to love herfor her father’s sake.

“They can not turn me away, they are too fond ofme already,” she said, hopefully to herself. “If theywill only hide me from my enemies I shall love themand be grateful to them forever.”

She had begun to look on Cecil as her enemy now,as one who wished for her death that he might marryhis new love.

“But they shall not kill me. I shall die soon enoughof my broken heart anyhow,” she said sadly.

She would not take a cab, weak as she was, for shewanted to make it impossible for any one to trace her,so she walked wearily and slowly along over the fullmile that intervened between The Acacias and theelegant mansion of the Truehearts.

For a wonder no rough or rowdy molested the small,veiled female figure as it plodded along. Perhaps itwas because every one but Molly herself saw that shewas guarded by another woman who kept just a littlebehind the other and always in the shadow.

It was Florine Dabol, bent on finding out all aboutthe mysterious friends at whom Molly had vaguelyhinted.

“It may be worth my while to know where she is allthe time when they are hunting her high and low!” shecleverly thought.

She was amazed and confounded when she saw her[Pg 201]mistress ascend the stone steps of a splendid mansion,more and more amazed when she saw her after ringingthe bell and waiting but a few moments, disappearwithin the stately door.

“Well, she’s got fine friends anyhow,” said Florine.She ascended the steps and read the name upon thedoor-plate.

“Sir Edward Trueheart, upon my word,” she ejacul*ted.

She waited a while in the shadow of the steps to seeif her mistress would come forth again, but seeingthat she did not, took her way hastily back to The Acaciasand went in by the servants’ entrance, the key ofwhich she had carried when she went out. As she didso the clock in the hall chimed the midnight hour.

“I will run up to her room and see if she has lefthim a note,” she said.

To her amazement, as she entered the dimly lightedupper hall, she encountered Cecil Laurens, who hadjust let himself in with his latch-key. He looked haggardand wretched in the dim light.

“Florine!” he exclaimed, in surprise, at sight of thecloaked and bonneted figure.

“Yes, sir. I have been to the theater. My mistressgave me this evening out,” answered the artful maid,thinking that she could turn this seemingly awkwardcontretemps to good account.

He hesitated a moment, then asked, eagerly:

“Do you think that Mrs. Laurens is awake yet, Florine?”

“I expect so, sir. She does not sleep well at nightfor fretting and crying.”

The words struck his heart with pain and reproach.

“‘Fretting and crying,’ and no one to comfort her,[Pg 202]poor child!” he thought, and held up his hand. “Wait,”he said.

He drew pencil and paper from his pocket, andwrote rapidly some words that had been burning hisheart all day:

He folded the note hurriedly across and put it intoFlorine’s hand with a gold piece.

“That’s for your kindness to my wife, my goodgirl,” he said. “Now, if she is awake, give her thenote at once. If she is asleep, let her have it as soonas she awakens. I shall wait here a few minutes tohear from you.”

Florine courtesied low, took the note and disappearedin a moment inside that door on which Cecil’swistful eyes were eagerly fastened. Then she thrustthe note into her pocket and looked eagerly aroundthe room.

“Ah!” she exclaimed.

There was a note, as she had expected—a note noteven sealed.

It lay upon a little table at the head of the bed whereFlorine usually placed the glass of water Molly drankat night.

Florine read the brief note hastily and without compunction.

Then she put it back upon the table and opened thedoor, beckoning excitedly to Cecil, who was waiting atthe stair-way.

[Pg 203]

He came hurriedly, believing that Molly had summonedhim, eager, like himself, for a reconciliation.

He stepped quickly across the threshold, and Florinepanted, wildly:

“Ah, monsieur! what does it mean? She—my mistress—isnot here!”

She ran into the dressing-room and bath-room andback again, followed by Cecil, startled and anxious.

“Ma foi, I have feared this—that she would runaway!” Florine muttered, just loud enough for him tooverhear.

He turned on her fiercely.

“Woman, you must be mad! She can not have leftthe house. Go and seek her at once.”

But at that moment his eyes fell on the note.

He snatched it up hurriedly and read:

Cecil Laurens turned sternly upon the deceitfulmaid.

“You say that you expected, feared this. Why didyou not warn me?” He exclaimed in a voice whosestern impatience did not hide its key-note of agony.

“Ma foi, monsieur, I thought you did not care,”Florine replied insolently.

“What do you mean?” he stormed; and she answeredwith pretending humility:

“Monsieur neglected his wife and she was wretched.She cried out often that there was one in her own landwho loved her, and that she repented now that shehad left him for Monsieur Laurens! If only she couldfind him again—”

“Stop!” Cecil thundered angrily.

She paused obediently.

“Who has tutored you to this falsehood?” he exclaimed.

Florine muttered cringingly:

“I am sorry monsieur is angry, but it is the truth Ispeak. Madame was lonely and dissatisfied. Whatmore natural than that she should fly from a cold husbandto a devoted lover in her own land?”

An impulse came over him to strike down the impudentwoman at his feet for those maddening words.He restrained himself with difficulty.

“She is foolish and ignorant,” he said to himself,and flung the letter toward her.

[Pg 205]

“Read that and see how you have misjudged yourmistress!” he exclaimed.

He watched her closely, and he saw the plainest incredulityupon her face.

“What do you think now?” he asked.

“Monsieur does not wish my real opinion?” reluctantly.

“Yes.”

“Very well. I should believe this letter only thatMadame Laurens made me bring her the daily papertoday and read aloud the shipping news. There wasone steamer that sailed tonight just before midnight.”

“That proves nothing,” he said curtly.

“No, nothing,” agreed Florine. Then with a deep-drawnsigh: “Only madame wept so bitterly, andexclaimed, ‘No one could blame me if I left my unlovinghusband and went back to my friend!’”

He looked at her sternly, as if trying to pierce thesecrets of her false breast, but she continued unfalteringly:

“Ah, I have lived with so many fine ladies, I knowtheir ways. It might be only a coincidence, but whydid she send me away tonight? Why was she so anxiousI should go to the theater?”

“Hush! No more!” he said, hoarsely, and Florinebowed mockingly.

“You believe, then, Florine, that her note was ablind, and that she sailed tonight for America?”

“Undoubtedly, monsieur.”

“Great heavens! I wish you had warned me!” heexclaimed.

“I thought you would be glad to be rid of an unlovedwife,” low and tauntingly.

[Pg 206]

“Go!” he said, threateningly; then as suddenly recalledher. “This scandal must be kept a secret,” hesaid. “The servants even must not know. The priceof your silence?” sternly.

“I am incapable of telling; but if fifty pounds—”she began.

“My check shall be yours tomorrow, so that youmay be sure to hold your tongue,” he said, takingMolly’s note, and turning away to seek counsel withhis parents.

They had just come in from some fashionable revel,and recoiled in alarm at his haggard, agitated looks.

When he had told them all, they declared that Florinewas doubtless in the right. The letter had been ablind to keep him in London while Molly fled toAmerica to join John Keith.

“She has loved him all the time, and she has foundout that your wealth will not console her for his loss,”Mrs. Laurens said, bitterly.

“As to her having English relations, that is all bosh,of course,” said Cecil’s father. “If she had had them,we should have heard of them before.”

No one had ever thought of Sir Edward Trueheartin connection with poor Molly. No one had ever creditedher with having respectable relations.

“I shall follow her by the next steamer, and let JohnKeith beware if I find him in company with my faithlesswife!” Cecil Laurens exclaimed, furiously.

He kept his word; but, as no steamer sailed for aweek, he was detained in London six days longer. Sothat, when he went, at last, his parents and sisters wentwith him, as had already been arranged. Doctor Laurensalone of the family remained behind.

[Pg 207]

A bitter note from Cecil and a letter from hismother had duly informed him of Molly’s flight.

The noble, honest young physician was amazed,dumfounded.

“How could she do it? I thought she loved him,”he said, but then remembering all Molly’s treacheryin the past he was fain to believe what they said ofher now.

“I was deceived in her. Her beauty and her apparentguilelessness led my judgment astray,” he decided,and a great indignation took possession of his mindagainst the girl whose part he had taken so nobly.

He wrote to his brother that she had not beenworthy of his love, and that the only thing he coulddo now was to cast her from his heart.

Louise Barry said the same thing when they confidedto her the secret of Molly’s flight.

“It is what I have expected all the time,” she said.“Molly never cared for Mr. Laurens. It was his moneythat tempted her, and she has found out now that JohnKeith’s love was more to her than gold. Mr. Laurensought to cast her from his heart forever.”

“I have told him I should be glad if he would divorceher, but he will not agree to do so,” said Cecil’smother.

“I wish he would,” said Louise, and the aspirationcame from her heart.

She was secretly enraged and frightened at the failureof the scheme she had intrusted to Florine Dabol.

“As long as Molly Trueheart lives the sword ofDamocles will be suspended by a single hair over myhead,” she thought, angrily, and in her disappointmentshe had at first refused to pay the promised bribe tothe Frenchwoman.

[Pg 208]

But Florine was insolent.

“Very well,” she said, “break your promise if youwill, and I know where to find Madame Laurens at anymoment. And upon my soul I believe I should feelhappier in reconciling that deceived husband and wifethan in taking the gold you promised me for keepingthem apart.”

That threat frightened Louise and she paid Florine,after binding her solemnly to keep Molly still apartfrom her husband.

“That will be easy to do if you will only make yourarrangements to return to America with the Laurensfamily. It will lend color to the stories I have told herof her husband’s love for you,” said the maid.

“But if she should follow us, if she should relentand come back to her husband?”

“She will not do it. She is too proud. But even ifshe should attempt such a thing I will prevent it,” declaredFlorine.

So Louise and her Aunt Thalia returned to Americaon the same steamer with the Laurens family. Mrs.Barry had been longing for Ferndale for weeks, and soLouise found it easy to throw the blame of her returnupon the old lady.

“I have not the heart to keep her away from homeany longer, however reluctant I may be to leave Londonbefore the gay season is over,” she said, with anaffectation of dutifulness that did not deceive thekeen-sighted old lady, who knew already that her niecewas selfish and cold-hearted, and cared for nothing butmoney.

But she was glad to go home again on any terms, soshe did not even suffer herself to look sarcastic atLouise’s hypocrisy.

[Pg 209]

She knew she had to make the best of the heiress forwhom poor Molly had been discarded.

They went home, and Cecil set out to trace Mollyand her lover, vowing to himself a dark revenge uponthe man for whom his wife had deserted and disgracedhim.

The Barry and Laurens families became more intimatethan ever. There was an unspoken desire on eachside that Cecil would procure a divorce from his faithlesswife and marry the real Louise Barry.

There seemed small prospect of their hopes beinggratified, for the angry husband did not give up thequest for John Keith for two years, and during thosetwo years he never once came home.

Letters came from him but seldom. He was alwayson the wing—always following some new clue, spendingmoney like water in the effort to trace the fugitives.Mrs. Laurens complained that he was spending all hisincome in that wild and foolish pursuit, but to her entreatiesthat he would come home he paid not theslightest heed. She had not given him much sympathyin his sorrow and his heart had grown cold to her. Hefelt vaguely that her hauteur had helped to drive hiswife to despair and flight.

“If we had not neglected her so much, if we hadpitied and forgiven her a little sooner, her heart wouldnot have turned against me,” he thought often; andremembering how his mother had tried to keep up thefeud, he found it hard to forgive her interference.

But the sudden death of his father nearly three yearsafter his wife’s flight brought the wanderer homeagain.

Nina had married a year ago, and gone to a homein Richmond, of which she was the light and life. Only[Pg 210]the mother and Dot remained at Maple Shade, wherethe family of six had once made everything bright andcheerful.

“You must never leave us again, Cecil,” they said,piteously, and he stayed with them in their lonelinessand sorrow until another year had rolled by.

Then Doctor Charley Laurens came home, andbrought a lovely English bride, for whom the familythrew off its somber mourning and made merry.

Nina and her husband came from Richmond, LouiseBarry from Ferndale, other guests from Lewisburg,until the large house was full of friends who came tojoin in the festivities over the marriage and return ofthe favorite son.

Then the bride was lovely, rich, and of gentle birth.She was a cousin of Lord Westerley.

“He knows you all, both he and his wife,” she said.

“We knew Lord Westerley, but he was not married,”Mrs. Laurens answered.

“He must have married soon after you left, forMadelon Trueheart has been his wife four years,” answeredthe vivacious bride.

“Then he married Madelon Trueheart?” Cecil exclaimed,rousing from his usual apathetic manner. Heremembered that beautiful Madelon Trueheart hadbeen his wife’s friend. Molly had told him that Madelonwould not leave her parents to marry her lover.

He said carelessly that he had heard this, withoutadding that his lost wife told him.

Pretty, young Mrs. Laurens answered, eagerly:

“How noble that was in beautiful Madelon, or LadyWesterley as she is now. Happily a missing relativeturned up and took her place in the heart of Sir Edwardand his wife, and left Madelon free to marry.”

[Pg 211]

“A missing relative?” Cecil repeated, with a start;then, eagerly: “But I thought she was the last of therace.”

“Then you have never heard of Sir Edward’s disinheritedson? He made a low marriage, and his peoplewould not forgive him. But he died soon after, andthey repented and sent for his wife and child, whocame and stayed with them, and made happiness possiblefor Madelon and Lord Westerley.”

“Ah!” said Cecil, his momentary flash of interestdying out.

A moment’s eager suspicion had awakened in him,then died out again. He had no interest in the widowand child of Sir Edward’s son, as the bride, who was alittle awry in her facts, called them.

“Poor Sir Edward! They say he tried to make upin kindness to them for his cruelty to his son,” continuedthe pretty English girl. “He died last year; andafter what came by law of entail to his wife andgrandson, he gave all the rest of his money to the beautifulMrs. Trueheart.”

“Was she beautiful?” asked Dot, who adoredbeauty.

“As a dream!” replied her sister-in-law, enthusiastically.“I have heard her called the most beautifullady in England, and no one speaks of her lowbirth now, since Sir Edward took her up and left herso much money. Lord and Lady Westerley adore herand her child.”

“They ought to do so, since she brought them theirhappiness,” said some one; and then the conversationlanguished, as no one took any interest in Sir EdwardTrueheart’s relative except Mrs. Doctor Charley.

Charley himself, who had never met any of the[Pg 212]Truehearts for years, had no suspicion of the truththat the Mrs. Trueheart of his wife’s story was hisbrother’s missing wife and Sir Edward Trueheart’sgranddaughter—not his daughter-in-law, as the bunglingstory ran. He did not even connect the namewith Molly Trueheart, whose mother had been an actressand her father, no doubt, an actor.

“Cecil,” his mother said one week later, “do younever intend to marry again?”

“You forget that I have a wife already,” with afrown.

“Do not speak of her!” impatiently. “No doubt sheis dead, but you ought to have got a divorce from herlong ago. Do you not see that Louise Barry is dyingfor you?”

“Nonsense,” he replied curtly. “I see nothing of thekind.”

“You must certainly have observed a change in her,”persisted Mrs. Laurens.

“Yes, her beauty is fading as might be expected.She must be almost thirty,” he replied cynically.

“She is five years younger than you, at least,” reprovingly.“And she might have been married longago. She has had suitors enough. But I believe shehas loved you all the time.”

“Nonsense!” he said again.

“But, Cecil, you would be so much happier if youmarried again, and you would please us all if youtook Louise.”

“I would do much to please you, mother, but notthis. I shall never love again. My heart’s wealth waspoured out on my false young wife, and all its powerswere wasted. If you wish me to stay with you, leaveme at peace on this subject. I never expect to marryagain,” he answered, sadly but decisively.

Mrs. Laurens sighed deeply, and looked out of the[Pg 214]window of the library where they were sitting together.

To change the conversation she said carelessly:

“There is a strange man and a pretty little girl comingup the maple avenue.”

Cecil made no answer. He was pretending to be absorbedin a book. His mother relapsed into silence,watching curiously the man and child coming up themaple avenue, over the drifts of autumn leaves thatstrewed the ground with a gold and crimson carpet.

He was a good-looking man well dressed in a blacksuit, with the air and manner of a gentleman. Thechild he led by the hand was about five years old,daintily dressed in crimson cashmere and a broadwhite Leghorn hat, beneath which fell soft goldencurls, framing a pretty, tear-stained little face.

Mrs. Laurens saw the man and child going up thesteps, and a sudden vague suspicion darted into hermind.

“That strange child, good Heaven, what if MollyTrueheart has sent Cecil’s child home at last!” shemuttered.

The door-bell clanged loudly, making her start withexcitement. The next moment the library door openedand a servant handed in a card.

Mrs. Laurens glanced at Cecil. He was paying noattention to the little by-play. She glanced down againat the card, and read:

“John Keith to see Mrs. Laurens.”

“Gemmon in de parlor, mistis,” said the old coloredman, and Mrs. Laurens followed him without a word.

She went along the wide hall, shaking with emotion.

[Pg 215]

“Oh, heavenly powers, the man must be mad tocome here. Cecil will murder him,” she muttered, interror. “But I was right. It is the child, as myheart foreboded. That woman must be dead, or shewould not have been brought here.”

She opened the door and went in, a pale, handsome,haughty old lady in black silk, before whose severeaspect John Keith, sensitive as ever, recoiled in dismay.

“You wished to see me, sir?” frigidly.

“I beg your pardon. There is some mistake,” hefaltered.

“There is no mistake, I am Mrs. Laurens,” impatiently.

“Then you are Cecil Laurens’ mother?”

“Yes.”

“I wished to see Mrs. Cecil Laurens!”

She recoiled from him in anger and reproach.

“How can you speak that name here?” she exclaimed.“You of all men ought to know that thereis no longer a Mrs. Cecil Laurens! Or, perhaps, youthink my son has married again?”

The handsome man before her sank back into hisseat like one stunned. His face paled, his voice trembledas he said:

“Madame, I do not understand. Do you mean totell me that your son’s wife is dead! poor, prettyMolly—dead?” mournfully.

“I thought you came here to tell us that?” pointedly.“Whose child is that?” with a loathing gesture.

“Mine, madame,” proudly.

“And hers, Molly Trueheart’s!” exclaimed Mrs.Laurens scornfully.

[Pg 216]

He looked at her, wondering if she could be mad.

“Mrs. Laurens, answer me one question if you can,”he said impatiently. “Where is Mrs. Cecil Laurens ifshe is not dead?”

“I do not know. Cecil—we all thought she was withyou,” hopelessly.

“My God, Mrs. Laurens, I have never seen sweetlittle Molly since her wedding night! Why should shecome to me?”

“She ran away from Cecil four years ago. Everyone thought she went to you,” Mrs. Laurens faltered,her heart beating fast with excitement.

He sprang up again, startled, incredulous. “Whyshould she leave her husband; why should she cometo me, madame?” he demanded.

Mrs. Laurens looked at him in a dazed way and muttered,“Was she not your divorced wife?”

“No, a thousand times, no! She was my sweet littlefriend—no more. My God, what subtle treachery amI about to unearth?” exclaimed John Keith wildly.

Mrs. Laurens sat down and put her hand to herhead. “You are deceiving me,” she muttered.

“Madame, I am not,” he answered coldly. “But Ibegin to scent treachery. Look at this child. She ismine by a heartless wife who divorced herself fromme that she might inherit an old woman’s money.The child, deserted by her heartless mother, was leftwith an aunt, who, in dying, left the child to me. Icame here to ask my kind friend, Molly, to keep thechild for me until I could make some arrangements.Go, madame, bring Cecil Laurens here! Let me hearhis story!”

She rose up from her chair, white and trembling.

[Pg 217]

“Wait then,” she said in broken tones. “I musttell him first all that you have told me, or else he wouldmurder you at sight!”

She went with uncertain footsteps along the hall tothe library, and left him alone. The little child, seeinghim fall into a dejected attitude, slipped away andentered the back parlor, which was curtained from thefront one by falling velvet curtains.

She found a picture-book and sat down upon thefloor to turn the leaves, without noting the presenceof an old lady in gray silk, sitting quietly with foldedhands in a large arm-chair.

The old lady was Mrs. Barry, who was spending theday at Maple Shade. She had been sitting in the frontparlor with Mrs. Laurens, and they had been talkingof the subject that was nearest to both their hearts,the desired union between Cecil and Louise.

When Mrs. Laurens left her to go and sound Cecilon that important theme she slipped into the back parlor,and sat down to doze a little in the large arm-chair.The sound of voices in the next room rousedher, and sitting there quietly, she heard every wordthat passed.

When the pretty child came in, Mrs. Barry stared ather in angry amaze. The little beauty, with her yellowishhazel eyes and falling yellow curls, was a miniatureedition of Louise Barry.

“What does it mean?” the old lady asked herself,nervously.

She sat still, watching the little one with fascinatedeyes, unheeding the lapse of time, until she wasroused again by voices in the next room.

[Pg 219]

Mrs. Laurens had brought Cecil in, after first tellinghim all that John Keith had explained to her; andafter the lapse of five years, the two men were face toface again.

Mutual explanations ensued, and the treachery ofLouise Barry was fully unveiled at last.

“She and I were lovers before she had any expectationsof a fortune from her aunt,” he said. “Mrs. Everettobjected to me because I was a traveling salesman,and Louise and I were married secretly, taking no onebut Molly into our confidence. Very soon afterward Ilost my situation, and was away for months seekingwork in vain. My wife found herself in a delicate situation,and became enraged because I was not in aposition to declare our marriage and support her properly.Then came that fatal letter from Mrs. Barry thatruined all my life.”

Sighing heavily, he continued:

“That rich, heartless old woman wrote to Louisethat she should be her heiress in case she were unmarriedand would accept the man she had in view forher; but if she were a married woman, the matterended there, and she should leave her property tobuild an orphan asylum.”

No one saw the heavy velvet curtains part and anold woman’s face peer cautiously through the aperture.All were too much absorbed in that story of duplicityand deceit on the part of a beautiful, ambitious woman.

John Keith went on, bitterly:

“That letter transformed Louise into a demon, itseemed. She was determined to secure the fortune shehad forfeited by her secret marriage. She took heraunt into her confidence, and they formed a clever,dastardly scheme.”

[Pg 220]

“Ah!” exclaimed Cecil Laurens, with a start.

“You may well start in horror, since you, as well asmyself, were a victim of that plot,” said John Keith.“But to return to my story: Louise was not in a conditionto make the visit that Mrs. Barry demandedrather than requested. The pretty little madcap, MollyTrueheart, Louise’s step-sister, was tutored to act apart and sent to Ferndale as a substitute.”

“Poor child!” exclaimed Cecil Laurens, beginning tounderstand it all.

“It was a bold game, for Molly was expected tokeep it up as long as the old lady lived; but thereseemed no other way possible. Louise was determinedthat the will should be made in her favor, and sweetlittle Molly, who had something of the actress in herveins by inheritance, declared that it would be jollyfun to play the heiress,” John Keith said, sadly, adding,soberly: “There was no fault in Molly Trueheart,except that in one thing she disobeyed her instructions.”

“And that?” Cecil Laurens asked, breathlessly.

“Was in her marriage to you,” replied the other.“In the fact that Mrs. Barry had in view a possiblehusband for Louise lay the greatest danger of thewhole scheme. Louise bade Molly repel the chosenman by every scheme in her power, so that he shouldof his own choice reject an alliance with her, therebybreaking off the match without offending Mrs. Barry.”

Cecil Laurens cried out, remorsefully:

“She did, poor girl, she did use every means to disenchantme. I remember it all now, her frowns, herpretty petulance, her terror at the thought of becomingmy wife. But when I found she loved me, I would[Pg 221]brook no refusals. Between Mrs. Barry and myselfshe was almost forced into that marriage.”

“She was a pitiable victim of circ*mstances,” saidJohn Keith. “She had promised Louise to act a part,and could not get released from her promise. If shehad refused the marriage, Mrs. Barry would have disinheritedher niece.”

“But she loved me,” Cecil Laurens said, quickly.

“She adored you,” answered John Keith; “she toldme so. She revealed to me the whole plot, and beggedme to keep the secret. I must beg your pardon forthis, Mr. Laurens, but how could I betray my noblefriend Molly, and my heartless but idolized wife?”

“She, your wife, deserved no kindness at yourhands,” said Cecil, angrily.

“She did not, that is true; but I was weak enoughto love her still, and I went from your marriage toStaunton to see her. I found only her aunt, who toldme that Louise’s child had died, and that she had goneaway as a traveling governess with a rich lady. Youknow all the rest, Mr. Laurens—how she divorcedherself from me so heartlessly and broke my heart.I went South and engaged in the business of orangegrowing several years, until a restless yearning droveme back here, or rather to Staunton, where I foundMrs. Everett on her death-bed.”

“She confessed all, then?” said Cecil.

“Yes, and produced my little daughter whom shehad falsely said was dead. She told me that everythingwas right between my former wife and Mrs.Barry, that she had found out and forgiven the deceptionabout Molly, but that Louise dared not confessto her marriage and the child.”

[Pg 222]

“The wicked woman!” Mrs. Laurens exclaimed,finding voice at last.

Apparently John Keith’s heart still held some lingeringtenderness for the woman who had deceived him,for his brow clouded, and he said quickly:

“I do not think she was altogether wicked, Mrs.Laurens. Her Aunt Lucy told me that she had a passionatelove for our child, which she visited secretlyseveral times every year, and that much of the incomeMrs. Barry allowed her for pin-money was expendedfor the child, that it might be reared in luxury.”

They told him of all her falsehood and treachery bywhich poor Molly’s life had been wrecked and ruined,and the strong man shed tears of bitter sorrow andregret.

“I will search the world over that I may find yourwife and bring her back to you, if you will say thatyou forgive her the one deceitful act of wedding youunder a false identity!” he exclaimed.

“I would have forgiven her that at first. It was thethought of what she had been to you, and of hertreachery to all that rankled most bitterly in my heart,”answered Cecil, agitatedly.

“Mrs. Barry is here. Shall we not tell her of herniece’s treachery?” exclaimed Mrs. Laurens, indignantat the fraud that had been practiced on them all, andremorseful and ashamed at the part she had taken inpersecuting Cecil’s wife.

“Can we not spare poor, ambitious Louise?” exclaimedJohn Keith, almost pleadingly.

The velvet curtains parted, and Mrs. Barry, sternerand grimmer and uglier than ever, stepped inside theroom.

“No, you can not spare your wicked wife, John[Pg 223]Keith! Mrs. Barry has heard all!” she exclaimed,angrily.

At that moment the parlor door opened quickly, andLouise Barry, Dot, Doctor Laurens and his wife, Ninaand her husband, Mr. Wentworth, came trooping gaylyinto the room from some out-door expedition that hadflushed their faces, tossed their hair, and made themall very bright and happy.

Mrs. Barry raised her long, bony forefinger andpointed angrily at Louise.

“There, John Keith, is your false wife,” she saidgrimly. “But she is no longer niece or heiress ofmine!”

Perhaps Louise had dreaded this scene for years;perhaps she had tutored herself to meet it with calmness.

She paused in the center of the room and contemplatedthe striking scene like one thunderstruck, fora moment, then she crossed gracefully to her aunt’sside and grasped her arm.

“Dear Aunt Thalia, what does this mean? Whyis Molly Trueheart’s husband here? How dare hecome here?” looking expressively at Cecil.

He returned her glance with scorn.

“Spare yourself the trouble of prevarication, MissBarry; your treachery is fully known. Four years agoyou made my wife the heroine of a parlor scene.Now, the tables are turned, and you find yourself inthe same position.”

She stared with apparent innocence at his angryface, carefully avoiding John Keith’s eyes.

“I deny that I have been guilty of any treachery,”she said defiantly.

Mrs. Barry caught her roughly by the shoulder andwhirled her around to face her accuser.

“Look at that man! Do you deny that you are hisdivorced wife?” she asked scathingly.

Louise scanned his face with sullen fury.

“I deny it, yes!” she exclaimed loudly, emphatically.“That man was once married to my step-sister, MollyTrueheart. I have never been married at all!”

The loud, angry voice penetrated the back parlor,and the child upon the floor with the book sprang up[Pg 225]with a low murmur of delight. She ran to the curtains,swept them aside with a touch of her little hand,and bounded into the room.

For a moment she was disconcerted at the sight ofall those strange and wondering faces. She exclaimedeagerly:

“I thought I heard mamma’s voice!”

The next moment she caught sight of Louise gloweringat her father, and rushed precipitately forward.

“Mamma! mamma!” she exclaimed joyously, andflung her little arms fondly around the tall, statelywoman.

There was a minute’s intense silence as Louise’sglaring falsehood was thus set at naught by the sweetlips of her child.

Mrs. Barry, furious that she had been so deceived,broke the hush with a sarcastic laugh.

“Ha, ha, not married, eh?” she cackled. “Well, Ishould think you would be ashamed to own it as youhave a child to call you mother!”

Louise repulsed the child’s caress, and it began tosob.

“Dear mamma, why are you angry, why have youstayed so long away from your Lucy?” she cried, tearfully,and the sight of the grieved baby face, the soundof reproach in the child’s voice went to Louise’s heart.

The motherhood in her was touched irresistibly, andafter a brief struggle with herself she held out herarms, and little Lucy sprang joyously into them, andthe mother hid her shamed face against the little, sunnyhead.

At that sight John Keith went slowly forward andtouched her hand.

[Pg 226]

“Louise, be honest,” he said, huskily. “Acknowledgenow that you were once my wife, that this is ourchild!”

Realizing that nothing else remained to her now, shelooked up and answered, sullenly:

“I am your wife still, John Keith, I lied to you aboutthe divorce. My application failed, although I sentyou a fraudulent notice that the divorce was granted.”

“You had better go away with him then, for youwill never be admitted into Ferndale again. You arethe first Barry that ever disgraced the family and Iwash my hands of you forever!” piped up Mrs.Barry’s shrill treble.

Louise gave her an angry scowl, but John Keithagain touched her hand.

“Take her advice, Louise,” he said, not unkindly.“Come away with me. Your fine friends will all desertyou now as you deserve, but I will forgive you forour child’s sake. I can give you a home of comfortnow in the far South, and you will at least be hiddenfrom the sight of all those who know the history ofyour wicked ambitions.”

She caught eagerly at the offered refuge.

“I will go with you,” she answered, with a shamedand sullen air.

A thrill of admiration for John Keith’s magnanimityran along the nerves of every one, and CecilLaurens felt shamed and remorseful.

“He carries out to the letter his promise to love andcherish her for better or worse,” he thought. “Alas,that I did not do so with my poor little girl-bride,whose youth might have been some excuse for herfaults. Shall I ever find her again, and, if so, will sheforgive me for my coldness and distrust?”

He looked fixedly at Louise, who nestled close to herhusband’s side, as if finding in his fidelity some comfortunder the storm of indignation that had burst onher head.

“Madame,” he said, coldly, “perhaps you carriedyour treachery so far that you were the cause of myyoung wife’s flight from The Acacias. Perhaps youcould tell me, if you would, where to find her now?”

She started and flushed crimson, flashing him asullen, angry glance.

“I can not,” she answered, bitterly.

“You mean that you will not,” he said, and shenodded defiantly.

“Come, Louise,” interposed her husband, “if youknow anything that will help to condone the wrongyou have done, do not withhold it. You must rememberthat you are amenable to the law for your sin, althoughMr. Laurens will not prosecute you, perhaps,if you will help him find his wronged wife.”

That hint was timely. It frightened the wicked[Pg 228]woman, and opened her lips, despite the malice thatwould have sealed them to the truth.

She grew pale and looked at Cecil Laurens, halfpleadingly.

“If I tell you all I know, will you spare me?” sheasked.

“Yes.”

“Very well. Your wife is in England. She had relativesthere, and when she left you she went to them.She is living with them still, and your son, born afew weeks after she left you, is a handsome little fellowof four years.”

Cecil Laurens grew pale with emotion, and hismother whispered to Doctor Laurens:

“So, I am a grandmother. I think I shall beginto wear caps.”

Cecil spoke abruptly:

“And these relatives of my wife—humble people, ofcourse, but dear to me for the care they have given mydarling—their names, Mrs. Keith?”

She started and flushed. It was the first time sinceher secret marriage, six years ago, that any one hadever called her by her husband’s name. Conqueringthe strange emotion it awoke in her breast, she answered:

“I do not know, but I will give you the London addressof Florine Dabol, who used to be her maid. Florinewas in my service, and helped to alienate yourwife from you and drive her away. She knew whereshe went, but she kept it a secret in order to extortmoney from me. I hope you will punish her for herwickedness, for she has been bleeding me all theseyears, until between the support of my child and paying[Pg 229]her hush-money over and over, the allowance I hadfrom my aunt was spent, until I could barely dressmyself decently.”

She drew a pencil from her pocket, and rapidly,though with a shaking hand, wrote on a slip of paperFlorine Dabol’s address.

“That is where I send her money,” she said, handingit to Cecil Laurens.

He took it with a courteous bow and a word ofthanks.

“Now you have done all that you can to makeamends, Louise, we will go. Of course Mr. Laurenswill be anxious to see you gone,” said John Keith,sadly.

“On the contrary, Mr. Keith, I beg that you, withyour wife and child, will accept the hospitality ofMaple Shade for tonight at least,” answered CecilLaurens, gravely; for he said to himself that he hadno quarrel with John Keith, who had himself enduredsuch bitter suffering through a woman’s ambition.

John Keith declined gratefully, but decisively, theoffered hospitality.

“We will go now,” he added.

Old Mrs. Barry—perhaps taking a lesson in politenessfrom Cecil—said, carelessly:

“You may go to Ferndale, Louise, and get yourclothes and everything that belongs to you personally,for you will never see a penny of my money.”

“I do not want it, for it has been the curse of mylife! It tempted me, and made me the sinner that Iam!” Louise answered, bitterly, as she turned away,and without a word of farewell to any one, left thehouse which she had entered so proudly but a littlewhile ago.

[Pg 230]

Perhaps the hard old aunt remembered those wordsand reflected on them; for when she died, several yearslater, it was found that, after a legacy of twenty thousanddollars to Cecil Laurens’ wife, she had giventwenty thousand to John Keith, and Ferndale and allher other estates to her grandniece, little Lucy Keith.

“It will keep the money in the family; and JohnKeith is a good man, and deserves something for takingLouise back after all her wickedness, and trying tomake a good woman out of such poor material,” shewrote.

To her servants each she left a small legacy of fivehundred dollars, which made them very grateful andhappy; and they forgot all her faults, and lauded“Ole Mistis” to the skies.

Ferndale was shut up for a long time, and thensold, for John Keith could never bring his family backto the county where the story of his wife’s wickedschemes was for years a subject of gossip.

“I shall leave here as soon as I can make some arrangementsfor mother and Dot,” Cecil said, when hehad bidden John Keith farewell and God-speed. “Imust lose no time in seeking my wife, and revealing toher my knowledge of the treachery that parted us.”

It touched him to see his stately mother sobbing forlornlyin Dot’s sympathizing arms. He knew it wassorrow and remorse for her hardness to his wife.

“Do not fret, mother. She was such a loving littlesoul, I am sure she will forgive you when she finds thatyou are sorry,” he said, gently.

“I will write to her, Cecil, as soon as you find her. Iwill humble myself as I deserve to do until I win herpardon,” she sobbed.

[Pg 231]

“And I, too!” Mrs. Barry exclaimed, dashing a suspiciousmoisture from her eyes. “Dear girl! I alwaysloved her until Louise set me against her. Iwould have pardoned her that night when she askedme so sweetly, only my wicked niece hustled me outof the room before I could answer the poor child!”

A few days after, Cecil was en route for England.Doctor Laurens and his wife bore him company, forthe young doctor was anxious to aid in the search forhis sister-in-law, in whom he had had such loyalfaith so long.

Arrived in London, they put up as usual at their favoriteLangham, and the gentlemen sallied forth insearch of Florine Dabol.

At the address Louise had given them they foundher parents—a decrepit pair of old French people.

Florine was down in the country they said. She waslady’s maid to a great, rich lady, but she had never toldthem her name. Their daughter came to see themabout twice a year, and gave them money to live on,but they never wrote letters to her nor received anycommunication from her in the interim.

Cecil went away in despair. What should he donow? He had given an address to the old couple, andtold them to send word when their daughter came, buthow could he wait so long in the fever of remorse, unrestand longing that possessed him?

Surely it was his good angel that made him meetLord Westerley coming out of a fashionable club.

The urbane nobleman was delighted at the rencontrewith Doctor Charley, but he was decidedly stiff withCecil, who in his preoccupation did not observe thecoolness.

“Everybody is out of town,” he said, shrugging his[Pg 233]shoulders in the chill November air. “I broughtMadelon up from the country this morning for a fewdays’ shopping. You will come and dine with us thisevening?”

Cecil was about to decline, but his brother hastilyaccepted. When they had parted from Lord Westerleyhe said:

“Perhaps Lady Westerley can find out where Florineis staying.”

Somehow Cecil got a good chance to confide all hispainful story to the beautiful lady who had been hiswife’s dearest friend. She listened to him with emotion.The tears even fell from her beautiful eyes.

“But these are tears of joy,” she said, pensively. “Iam so glad that the martyrdom of that dear girl isover, and that you had some cause for your apparentheartlessness. Florine Dabol, yes, I can tell you whereshe is!”

“Oh, Lady Westerley.”

She smiled at the interruption, but continued:

“She is down in the country at The Oaks, our ancestralhome. You are aware, Mr. Laurens, that myfather and mother both are dead, and that Sir Edward’sgrandson has come into the title and estates.Well, Florine is maid to the heir’s mother, my beautifulniece, Ernestine Trueheart.”

She glanced at him sharply as she pronounced thename, but it did not seem to strike his attention.

“I shall go down there tonight,” he said, eagerly.

“Nonsense!” she replied, with a merry laugh.“You would arrive there in the middle of the night.Wait until the morning train. When you get to The[Pg 234]Oaks ask for Mrs. Trueheart. When she comes to youtell her what you want of the maid and you will getyour wish.”

He obeyed Lady Westerley’s instructions to theletter. He waited till the morning train. When theyreached the station where his journey ended he tooka shabby fly to The Oaks.

“The lady of The Oaks must excuse the dust oftravel. I am too impatient to linger a moment,” hethought.

They drove several miles through one of the mostbeautiful estates in the country, and at length drewup before a magnificent abode, one of “The statelyhomes of England.” He paid the driver and dismissedhim.

The sun shone brightly on the terraced walks as heproceeded on his way, but suddenly he came to a deadstop and cried out in surprise.

He had come face to face with a woman and a littleboy—a lad with a handsome, spirited face, blue eyes,and chestnut curls. It struck him as strangely familiar.

“Phebe, what are you doing here?” he exclaimed inwonder.

It was the maid whom he had discharged at LouiseBarry’s instigation. She had not forgotten her wrongs,for she answered, sullenly, as soon as she recognizedhim:

“I’m nurse to the heir, Mr. Laurens—little Sir CecilTrueheart!”

He brushed past her, with a smothered sigh to thememory of his wife, and went up the broad stonesteps. Presently he found himself waiting in a stately[Pg 235]reception-room for the coming of the mistress of TheOaks.

While he waited, he stood at the window watchingPhebe and her little charge as they strolled upon theterrace. He murmured to himself, with a thrill ofpride:

“Somewhere in England, I have a little son as beautifuland noble, doubtless, as this little heir of a nobleline.”

The door opened. A graceful lady in lustrous bluevelvet came slowly toward him over the velvet carpet.

At first sight of her there flashed over him thewords of the young English girl, his brother’s wife:

“The most beautiful lady in England!”

Dark, curling hair, dark, dreamy eyes, and a face thesaddest his eyes had ever seen. She came slowly onuntil they were face to face, then a cry of passionatejoy came from the lips of each:

“My wife!”

“My husband!”

The hour for which she had hoped and longed hadcome at last. She knew that the truth had come to himsomehow, and that the long, sad parting was over foraye. Holding her close in his arms, he told her all.She rang the bell for Florine Dabol, but, seeing CecilLaurens coming into the house, the wily maid hadguessed all. She had instantly fled; and she was cleverenough to remain hidden forever from those she hadhelped Louise to separate.

“My darling, you will forgive me all, even the cruelsneers at your mother, so bitterly repented now?” hesaid, humbly.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

[Pg 236]

“Cecil, my mother was an angel,” she said, tenderly.“Although she was an actress, she was not of low birthas Mrs. Barry told you. She was an earnest Christian,too, and I am sure that when she was instantly killedby a railroad collision her pure soul went straight toHeaven. But this is too sad to dwell upon. Comeand let me show you our beautiful little son, Sir Cecil.”

THE END.

Laura Jean Libbey Miss Caroline Hart Mrs. E. Burke Collins Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
Charlotte M. Braeme Barbara Howard Lucy Randall Comfort Mary E. Bryan Marie Corelli

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48—The Madness of Love, Caroline Hart.
49—Little Sweetheart, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
50—A Working Girl’s Honor, Caroline Hart.
51—The Mystery of Colde Fell, Charlotte M. Braeme.
52—The Rival Heiresses, Caroline Hart.
53—Little Nobody, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
54—Her Husband’s Ghost, Mary E. Bryan.
55—Sold for Gold, Mrs. E. Burke Collins.
56—Her Husband’s Secret, Lucy Randall Comfort.
57—A Passionate Love, Barbara Howard.
58—From Want to Wealth, Caroline Hart.
59—Loved You Better Than You Knew, Mrs. A. Miller.
60—Irene’s Vow, Charlotte M. Braeme.
61—She Loved Not Wisely, Caroline Hart.
62—Molly’s Treachery, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
63—Was It Wrong? Barbara Howard.
64—The Midnight Marriage, Mrs. Sumner Hayden.
65—Ailsa, Wenona Gilman.
66—Her Dark Inheritance, Mrs. E. Burke Collins.
67—Viola’s Vanity, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
68—The Ghost of the Hurricane Hills, Mary E. Bryan.
69—A Woman Wronged, Caroline Hart.
70—Was She His Lawful Wife? Barbara Howard.
71—Val, the Tomboy, Wenona Gilman.
72—The Richmond Secret, Mrs. E. Burke Collins.
73—Edna’s Vow, Charlotte M. Stanley.
74—Hearts of Fire, Caroline Hart.
75—St. Elmo, Augusta J. Evans.
76—Nobody’s Wife, Caroline Hart.
77—Ishmael, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth.
78—Self-Raised, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth.
79—Pretty Little Rosebud, Barbara Howard.
80—Inez, Augusta J. Evans.
81—The Girl Wife, Mrs. Sumner Hayden.
82—Dora Thorne, Charlotte M. Braeme.
83—Followed By Fate, Lucy Randall Comfort.
84—India, or the Pearl of Pearl River, Southworth.
85—Mad Kingsley’s Heir, Mrs. E. Burke Collins.
86—The Missing Bride, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth.
87—Wicked Sir Dare, Charles Garvice.
88—Dainty’s Cruel Rivals, Mrs. Alex. McV. Miller.
89—Lillian’s Vow, Caroline Hart.
90—Miss Estcourt, Charles Garvice.
91—Beulah, Augusta J. Evans.
92—Daphane’s Fate, Mrs. E. Burke Collins.
93—Wormwood, Marie Corelli.
94—Nellie, Charles Garvice.
95—His Legal Wife, Mary E. Bryan.
96—Macaria, Augusta J. Evans.
97—Lost and Found, Charlotte M. Stanley.
98—The Curse of Clifton, Mrs. Southworth.
99—That Strange Girl, Charles Garvice.
100—The Lovers at Storm Castle, Mrs. M. A. Collins.
101—Margerie’s Mistake, Lucy Randall Comfort.
102—The Curse of Pocahontas, Wenona Gilman.
103—My Love Kitty, Charles Garvice.
104—His Fairy Queen, Elizabeth Stiles.
105—From Worse than Death, Caroline Hart.
106—Audrey Fane’s Love, Mrs. E. Burke Collins.
107—Thorns and Orange Blossoms, Charlotte Braeme.
108—Ethel Dreeme, Frank Corey.
109—Three Girls, Mary E. Bryan.
110—A Strange Marriage, Caroline Hart.
111—Violet, Charles Garvice.
112—The Ghost of the Power, Mrs. Sumner Hayden.
113—Baptised with a Curse, Edith Stewart Drewry.
114—A Tragic Blunder, Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron.
115—The Secret of Her Life, Edward Jenkins.
116—My Guardian, Ada Cambridge.
117—A Last Love, Georges Ohnet.
118—His Angel, Henry Herman.
119—Pretty Miss Bellew, Theo. Gift.
120—Blind Love, Wilkie Collins.
121—A Life’s Mistake, Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron.
122—Won By Waiting, Edna Lyall.
123—Passion’s Slave, King.
124—Under Currents, duch*ess.
125—False Vow, Braeme.
126—The Belle of Lynne, Braeme.
127—Lord Lynne’s Choice, Braeme.
128—Blossom and Fruit, Braeme.
129—Weaker Than a Woman, Braeme.
130—Tempest and Sunshine, Mary J. Holmes.
131—Lady Muriel’s Secret, Braeme.
132—A Mad Love, Braeme.

The Hart Series books are for sale everywhere, or they will be sent by mail, postage paid, for 30 cents a copy,by the publisher; 4 copies for $1.00. Postage stamps taken the same as money.

THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.

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